We live, apparently, in a time of the composure of grievance, the forgiveness of transgressions, the putting-behind us of the past. Ancient
wrongs are righted, traditional conflicts resolved or dissolved. In the lees of this soothing tonic of lenience and euphemism, what is left for the bitter integrity of the radical personality? Well, there’s always Nixon-hating. But, as I read this, the latest of his awful “books,” I felt an uneasy slackening even in that usually taut string. On page 101, for instance, I hit upon the following:
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