Prose By Another Name Wouldn’t Read The Same

April 21, 2012

Christopher Hitchens died a few months ago. Lovers of English prose were dealt a serious blow. Luckily, he leaves behind the tender graces of a day that is dead. Arguably can be read as a long, classy epitaph written by one who knew that he was being inexorably beaten by malignant cells within his frame. It is a collection of essays published in various magazines between 2005 and 2011. Most of them are book reviews. There are some polemical pieces dealing with contemporary issues and some unforgettable ribald pieces, including a not-to-be-missed essay on the solemn subject of fellatio and another one on the lasting gifts of the late unlamented British empire.

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