David Berlinski lives in the shadow of the Notre-Dame in Paris and poignantly remembers the cathedral before it burned.
From climate change to the coronavirus, one tendency among writers and commentators is to an urgent, insatiable, almost sexual desire to cast unwarranted terror over other people.
Their conversation is so full of treasures, it’s hard to distill it down to an essence. But I’ll try.
There’s an inviting coziness about this time of year, perfect for shutting the computer down, putting the accursed iPhone away, and retreating to the beauty of printed pages.
Berlinski tempts Peter Robinson to ask him whether he still considers himself an agnostic.