Don't Go Quietly into Remainders!

But rage, rage against the copy editor ...

A good many years ago, during a weekend in New York, I was happy to belly up to lunch with an old friend of mine, a poobah in the publishing world who was always generous with both his time and his expense account. We had a cozy little spot we both liked for the times when I was in town and his crowded schedule had an opening; the place was appealingly dark, with over-cluttered walls and silent, gliding staff. The place’s owner indulged in a theatrical reverence for what he called “literary men” and always did some proprietary grinning when my old friend and I each arrived with books in hand (these were the days when books could always be found in my shoulder bag but also in my left hand, always ready for subway delays and opera intermissions).