Friday
Dec162011
Hitch is dead, long live Hitch
Friday, December 16, 2011 at 01:35AM I wish that I had possessed the foresight of Christopher Buckley, and prepared this post before Christopher Hitchens passed; his article, which I have yet to read carefully, has the benefit of prior preparation. Time allowing or not, I have decided to write this short piece in the moment, while Hitch’s death isn’t just fresh as it is now, to prevent any later temperance from clouding how I feel about the occurrence and, admittedly negative, momentous occasion.
Hitch is dead. Long live Hitch. I can hardly imagine a more fitting bit of cliche to apply to this moment. Hitchens has passed, but his massive body of work lives on. I hold one of his books in my lap right now, proof of his lack of mortality. He lives on, even as he no longer lives.
That I was drinking a functional scotch and reading D’Souza’s Illiberal Education when the news came is only appropriate. Dinesh was his longtime sparring partner, and embodied, or used to, a good deal of what made Hitch so important to so many of us, myself included. The scotch was simple contextualism, but an appropriate exercise.
I can write nothing that will be better than what Hitchens’ real friends will produce; they knew him as I do not, and they know him better than I ever might have hoped. Life’s greatest component - that it ends - made it fact that I would never meet the man. But I know his work, and due to diligence on my own part, do know it better than most. I respond to that which I can, and not to which I used to hope for.
In his masterwork, deeming this title to be such based on my personal preference and short knowledge, Letters to a Young Contrarian, Hitch wrote a perfect paragraph on the critical importance of irony. His words, once we substitute himself for his original topic of the ironic, fit this instant perfectly. He would not have allowed me the indulgence of applying his words on a separate topic to himself, but I can do so without grimace as he can’t protest. But I can think of no more fitting tribute than the words that he so previously penned. I amend as denoted with brackets:
“As for [Christopher], I shan’t attempt a definition here. [He is] the gin in the Campari, the x-factor, the knight’s move on the chessboard, the cat’s purr, the knot in the carpet. [His] elusive and allusive nature is what makes [him] impossible to repress or capture.”
I certainly could not improve on that.
Christopher made space in the public sphere for the iconoclast, and he did so with charm. He could be endlessly frustrating, but, as the recent 60 Minutes segment made clear, you would never be bored dealing with him and his thoughts. He was not always right, but his views ever sparked vigorous debate as he had no patience for either fluff or slow thinking.
He is now dead. His work, and his legacy, will endure. Sleep well Hitch, you join the great host of the sadly departed. If we are wrong about god and the afterlife, say hello to Samuel Clemens for me. He would be lucky to meet you.
Hitch is dead. Long live Hitch. I can hardly imagine a more fitting bit of cliche to apply to this moment. Hitchens has passed, but his massive body of work lives on. I hold one of his books in my lap right now, proof of his lack of mortality. He lives on, even as he no longer lives.
That I was drinking a functional scotch and reading D’Souza’s Illiberal Education when the news came is only appropriate. Dinesh was his longtime sparring partner, and embodied, or used to, a good deal of what made Hitch so important to so many of us, myself included. The scotch was simple contextualism, but an appropriate exercise.
I can write nothing that will be better than what Hitchens’ real friends will produce; they knew him as I do not, and they know him better than I ever might have hoped. Life’s greatest component - that it ends - made it fact that I would never meet the man. But I know his work, and due to diligence on my own part, do know it better than most. I respond to that which I can, and not to which I used to hope for.
In his masterwork, deeming this title to be such based on my personal preference and short knowledge, Letters to a Young Contrarian, Hitch wrote a perfect paragraph on the critical importance of irony. His words, once we substitute himself for his original topic of the ironic, fit this instant perfectly. He would not have allowed me the indulgence of applying his words on a separate topic to himself, but I can do so without grimace as he can’t protest. But I can think of no more fitting tribute than the words that he so previously penned. I amend as denoted with brackets:
“As for [Christopher], I shan’t attempt a definition here. [He is] the gin in the Campari, the x-factor, the knight’s move on the chessboard, the cat’s purr, the knot in the carpet. [His] elusive and allusive nature is what makes [him] impossible to repress or capture.”
I certainly could not improve on that.
Christopher made space in the public sphere for the iconoclast, and he did so with charm. He could be endlessly frustrating, but, as the recent 60 Minutes segment made clear, you would never be bored dealing with him and his thoughts. He was not always right, but his views ever sparked vigorous debate as he had no patience for either fluff or slow thinking.
He is now dead. His work, and his legacy, will endure. Sleep well Hitch, you join the great host of the sadly departed. If we are wrong about god and the afterlife, say hello to Samuel Clemens for me. He would be lucky to meet you.
