The man who shot and killed Osama bin Laden sat in a wicker chair in my backyard, wondering how he was going to feed his wife and kids or pay for their medical care.It is a strange world. The last issue of Esquire contained an interview with Megan Fox (Icons passim) that ploughed new depths of puerile, jejune, cod-literary banality.
This month there is a piece that could take its place in the company of work from Tom Wolfe, Truman Capote, Hunter S. Thompson, Norman Mailer, Joan Didion, Robert Christgau, Gay Talese etc. from the long-ago golden age of long-form magazine writing.
Dramatisation, intensive reporting, empathy and acknowledged subjectivity are deployed in the exposure of something dark in the American heart. Enjoy isn't the right word, but it is a rewarding read.