Mortality reviews

August 26, 2012

The Guardian

In these final essays, Hitchens examines his own disbelief that writing – indistinguishable to him from living – is about to end. "Will I really not live to see my children married? To watch the World Trade Centre rise again? To read – if not indeed to write – the obituaries of elderly villains like Henry Kissinger and Joseph Ratzinger?"

Daily Mail Online

There has been a recent spate of books written by men suffering from terminal cancer. Mortality by Christopher Hitchens is, by my reckoning, the third this year, the others being When I Die by the New Labour PR Philip Gould, and Until Further Notice, I Am Alive by the art critic Tom Lubbock.


No one who might have glanced over back in December at a post on my now defunct political blog, Orwell’s Hanky, about the death of Christopher Hitchens, will labor through this review with any misapprehensions regarding objectivity. I’ve grown to become very comfortable in the position that no review (or even, honestly, rather much journalism of any sort) can or should reach for objectivity.



Christopher reads from Hitch-22: A Memoir