November 16th, 2010
I’m not as besotted with Chris Hitchens as many of my friends are, but Chris Caldwell mounts the most compelling argument about his merits:
His writing calls to mind something the Australian literary critic Clive James once wrote about the correspondence of Evelyn Waugh: that Waugh’s were the last great collection of letters we would see “unless the telephone is uninvented.” Hitchens is the last great practitioner of a literary journalism that was still robust in our lifetimes — it lingered into the 1980s at the Spectator in London — but is vanishing in the Internet age.
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