Christopher Hitchens

ESOTERICA

Fellow Boomer Christopher Hitchens has esophageal cancer, and, of course, the prognosis isn't good.

Hitchens is a maddeningly variegated writer who seems to know everything. To a certain extent, Hitchens is what I could have been. (Not that that's necessarily a good thing: pedant? check; atheist? check; alcoholic? check; smoker? check.) As David Brooks points out,

He makes a quick mention of Bob Dylan in his [latest] book, but by the first few pages of his memoir [Hitch-22], he has already cited his key sources: W.H. Auden, James Joyce, T.S. Eliot and so on—the literary paragons of an earlier time.

Indeed, as one who quotes the likes of Oscar Wilde and H.L. Mencken more than anyone I know, I can relate.

Hitchens can drive me crazy with his attacks on things modern, but his depth of knowledge certainly makes me look forward to his regular articles in the Atlantic Monthly. (An example from his oeuvre can be found here.)

Having had a very good friend succumb to this form of cancer twenty years ago ("We know he had a prolific consumption of alcohol and cigarettes and he had quit smoking, but it might be a little late."), I don't hold out much hope for Mr. Hitchens. On a purely selfish level, I'm sorry this is the case.