We're back in town, having taken a terrifyingly early flight this morning. We're tired and in disarray, with tons of email to sort through, so regular literary posting resumes tomorrow. We can say that the trip was a memorable one for more reasons than the terrific, lively panel yesterday evening. (You can read some fairly comprehensive reportage from James Marcus here, and Ed's more impressionistic take here. We'll advise when the podcast is available.)
We can say that most memorable moment of weekend (and possibly of our literary life) came not at the panel, but at the dinner afterwards, when Elisabeth Sifton (whose eloquent summation of the eternal high/low conflict in American culture should be written down and distributed, well, everywhere) began a sentence to us with the words "You remind me of Irving Howe ... " We endeavored, not altogether successfully, to remain upright at the dinner table.