So here I am smoking a nice cigar at my cigar shop (which I have written about here and here), when a friend sends me this scintillating analysis:
“Houellebecq does have a serious advantage over the lanyard wearing wonks who usually commentate on US politics: he is a serious smoker. Here is a man who looks as if he lights each cigarette with the butt of the last cigarette, somebody who began mainlining Gauloises – like every other Frenchman since time began – as a toddler. That he is able to understand Trump’s presidency with more clarity and style than the likes of Ezra Klein and Jonah Goldberg is a testament to the inspirational power of a fine, earthy, combustible tobacco blend.”