The Man Without Illusions

Do something on Samuel Johnson, the editor urges me. Nothing political. Not “What would Samuel Johnson think of the method of tariff calculation.” Just a purely literary essay on this mighty figure of our civilization. At this, my mind goes temporarily blank, and when it restarts a figure comes into view. He is tall, big and clumsy, compulsively twitching and muttering (Tourette’s, some have diagnosed him with), wearing an 18th-century wig singed from holding a candle too close while reading.