A diligent reader has dug up the WFB column I referred to in my brief tribute yesterday. Inevitably, I had mis-remembered it slightly — or rather, for this is what “mis-remember” usually means, unconsciously massaged it somewhat to suit my own circumstances.

It’s from November 1975, which is just about the time I started reading National Review, so this must have been one of my earliest encounters with Bill’s work. How beautifully it still reads! And I had quite forgotten that it is in fact a book review — of this book.

(That “Evans” in the list of authors, by the way, is Harold Evans, husband of Tina Brown.)