Sublime

Walker’s letter had squarely blamed the

of outlandish facts and quotes—he is a tenacious reporter—and a style that barely suppresses his own amusement. It works particularly well on the buccaneers who continue to try the patience of the citizenry, as proved by his profile in The New Yorker of the developer Donald Trump. Noting that Trump “had aspired to and achieved the ultimate luxury,

if Perkins did not have the time of his life, he would wheelbarrow him all the way back to New York.

in his final death-driven surge towards ‘the big picture’.

Some writers like John Barth, Donald Barthelme, and William

is good-looking in a kind of unhappy way.

fucked-up rich kids. My son the doctor Mark Vonnegut, who wrote a swell book about his going crazy in the 1960s, and then graduated from Harvard Medical School, had an exhibition of his watercolors in Milton, Massachusetts, this summer.