06 September 2012


I've stopped saying that I 'mixed' with Christopher Hitchens. I hovered on the fringe of the Amis/Wheatcroft/Hamilton/New Staggers crowd and swam into focus whenever I was toting an author of interest ~ Bellow, Fuentes, Jong, Oz ... Piers' cannibals.

I never came into Hitch's focus which explains my unwavering admiration.

I post this review because it moved me and and sent me back to re-read passages and even copy out the passage about,

“For me to remember friendship is to recall those conversations that it seemed a sin to break off: the ones that made the sacrifice of the following day a trivial one.”
I'm going to send it to my shrink who accused me of winding him up by swearing that i'd never a hangover I didn't like. Hitch nailed what i was struggling to say.

But after going on about it and dabbing my eyes, i declared that i would *not* post it on Facebook that had the keeper of my conscience pursing lips and narrowing lids.

Why not? Too long, too morbid, too 'heavy'? Too private? Above everyone else's head?


And yes that's the pic i'm going with because that's how remember him and how i read him.

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