Like most addicitons, my addiction to the letters of Isaiah Berlin is rather personal. The reason is not merely that Berlin’s unmatchable fluency is (almost) always interesting. It is (mostly) very interesting. But what hooks me is that is makes me feel so good. In fact, great. The surge of Berlin’s articulateness sweeps me along and makes me feel more, not less, intelligent. In fact, whenever I read Isaiah Berlin, whether in letters or essays or reminiscences, I have the delicious illusion of having miraculously added fifteen or twenty i.q. points simply by opening the book at random. There are very brilliant writers who make you feel like the kid in the back row who can’t get it and never will. At the opposite end of the spectrum are writers like Berlin, who include you in their brilliance and so make you feel smarter than you are. I wonder if Berlin had this effect in his famous conversation? I bet he did. In any case, the effect is irresistible, and a wonderful place to take your first snort of this top-notch brain-drug are the letters.
Jul 28