Little, Brown, 265 pp., $6.50
Not the least funereal aspect of a New York City that has come during the past few years to seem ever more distinctly ashen is the disappearance of Murray Kempton from the pages of the New York Post. Mr. Kempton's musings on the political and other comedies of our time are still available, to be sure—though in a somewhat altered format—in the New Republic. But the very special place they once occupied in the daily life of New York now stands depressingly (perhaps the word is shamefully) empty. Three times a week, in the bleak years between 1949 and 1963, he broke into the afternoon with a momentarily heightened sense of the reality of things. Sanity has been known to depend on a good deal less.
Review, 1568 words
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