Recently, I’ve blogged about good (and bad) writing, here and here. In a bit of serendipity, I came across yesterday two happily short essays, both written by law professors who are masterful writers with formal training in literature.
One essay is by Bill Miller at Michigan, the other by Stanley Fish at FIU, and both dwell on the meaning of old age. As he does in his addictive books, Miller writes with brio and a wit that is generous and droll. Fish, surely one of the eminent public intellectuals of his time, reflects on his life with candor, humility and, something that I didn’t naturally expect from a law professor, a moving and genuine affect.
Miller and Fish hint that they are near the end; as someone who, by turns, adores and covets their talent for the craft of writing, I hope not.
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