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I read this to re-live my days as an English major. Eliot was a great critic even if his stiff-backed relgiosity can be hard to take. The prose is wonderful, but also wonderfully stuffy and even snotty. Still a banquet of thought ... it's not surprising if some of the treats are stale by now. Any book that makes me want to march off and re-discover the poetry of John Dryden is doing something right!
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