This column will not, at least this year, discuss your correspondent’s 10 favourite books of last year. This is because I have far too much respect for your time, and also the past year was not perhaps the most enjoyable in history, and nobody wants to remember it.
However, I fear that this act of reticence will be as isolated as it is splendid. At this time of year, one is perforce inundated by “best-of” lists. Everyone and their editor is convinced that we want to know exactly what they were reading this year. If you are of a cynical turn
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