Usually, I rather enjoy Leon Wieseltier’s biweekly essays in The New Republic: there may be just another 100 people (plus Maureen Dowd) who agree, but I find his ponderous, mid- to late-20th century prose a welcome diversion from most of the stenography that passes for journalism in this modern world. Wieseltier is purposely provocative, and if his musings are out of synch with the current TNR, well, that hasn’t really changed since his literary editorship began there in 1983.
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