Death has made a telling visit to the literary world in the past week: Christopher Hitchens, George Whitman and Vàclav Havel have all died. The appreciation of Hitchens is fast approaching the precedents set by his targets, Princess Diana and Mother Theresa — an irresistible irony that he would certainly have appreciated. The growing beatification is the measure of journalists who aspire to Hitchens’ undoubted courage and style; the greatest possible testament to the man himself.
Next to the fabled Hitchens, Whitman needs further introduction. He restored the Shakespeare & Company English bookshop on the Rue Bûcherie in Paris after the war. But he was rather more than a shopkeeper. Whitman’s acumen was for humanity, a point made by the New Yorker’s memorial. He featured in the lives of luminaries such as Samuel Beckett, as well as providing free board and lodging for every tatterdemalion scribbler who happened to pass through the city. The shop became a tourist institution on the Left Bank, renowned for its disorder.

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