Minor classics

Mea culpa. I opened Michael Dirda’s book with a sigh, expecting a primer, a handbook, some inky form of self-help muck, and I was so totally and egregiously wrong, so increasingly amazed and delighted, so driven headlong to the library to read his suggestions—with mounting astonishment—that I begin this review bluntly by saying that I am an idiot, that Dirda is not, and that this is one of the most riveting and enlightening books I have ever had the fortune to digest. Mea maxima culpa.

 

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