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With Ms. Brown’s New Yorker, you had the sense that the world of ideas was up for grabs (sometimes by hands more grubby than manicured, but up for grabs nonetheless); with Mr. Remnick’s magazine you feel you are in the stifling embrace of a clerical clique, a kind of Upper West Side ulema, that reflects a prevailing, self-satisfied code.

More here from Tunku Varadarajan at the Wall Street Journal. I couldn’t agree more.

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