As The Final Year quietly argues, if the United States' electorate fails to elevate itself to a higher level of political vernacular than coarse tweets and reality TV-style colloquies, then 2016 may be the best year the US will have had for a long time to come.
Deft and crude, Michael Wolff's gossipy Trump Administration rip-and-read tells us what we already know—America is led by a mendacious man-child surrounded by dishonorable lackeys—but in a pungent style that makes it resonate.
"We sometimes project our problems onto sports," Louisa Thomas notes. "But sports can also be ... where we start to work them out."
There's something characteristically English about the Royal Society, whereby strangers gather under the aegis of some shared interest to read, study, and form friendships and in which they are implicitly agreed to exist insulated and apart from political differences.
This book offers a poignant and jarring reminder not just of the resilience of the human spirit, but also of its ability to seek solace in the materiality of one's present.
That the political class now finds itself relegated to accidental Alan Partridge territory along the with rest of the twits and twats that comprise English popular culture is meaningful, to say the least.
Protomartyr's story of the USA is the "Paradise Papers" of a country that officially considers itself a developed nation but in fact is developing in the wrong direction -- and everyone knows it.