I've known for a couple of days that Christopher Hitchens was about to die and yesterday asked his brother to deliver a farewell note, via email. I was fond of him as an occasional drinking companion, but also admired him as journalist and I said that in the note. I've no idea whether he got it or not, but I hope so.
In an appreciation for the Guardian (no longer available), Martin Amis contrasted his lifelong friend with Nabakov who famously claimed that he thought like a genius, wrote like a distinguished author and spoke like a child. Christopher, according to Amis, thought like an idiot, wrote like a distinguished author and spoke like a genius. The first part of that description is debatable, but the last isn't. To hear the Hitch in full prosecutorial flow, marshalling his arguments against some pitiable opponent, was to witness something special. He made full use of every argumentative device – logic, sarcasm, irony, moral indignation, withering contempt – but the most striking thing was his seemingly perfect recall. Every relevant fact about the subject in question, however obscure, seemed weirdly available to him, as if he had access to some internal Wikipedia. He would usually throw in a quote from a philosophes for good measure. He was the Cicero of the saloon bar. (To read more, click here.)
