Yet another book about Elizabeth Anscombe, Iris Murdoch, Mary Midgley and Philippa Foot was reviewed in the Grauniard yesterday. I only recently finished Benjamin Lipscomb's The Women Are Up to Something (Icons passim). "Nothing is more powerful than an idea whose time has come" eh?
If you decide to read the review (over by here), you can wonder - as I do - that the sentence "If you want to know what colour of silk cushions and bedspread Foot had in her rooms near Somerville College, then this is the book to read." has been published in the Guardian in 2022! God knows I will pass for a knuckle-dragging misogynist until a real one comes along, but that is a bit rich even for my blood.
Further (and I agree with the comment that says "Anscombe, Foot, Midgley, and Murdoch were not principally targeting the views of A.J.Ayer, who by the way was a Fellow of Wadham at the end of WW2, and held a chair in Oxford from 1959 to 1978. Their main targets were Austin, Hare, and Ryle.") though I cannot abide AJ Ayer, our heroines' supposed bete noir, I would have loved to have gone out for a drink with "Freddie" Ayer the friendly charming bonvivant who lived in the same body.
Stop sniggering at the back! This is actually interesting Blenkinsop, and the essay I have set you - Wittgenstein and Sheffield Wednesday - is still due tomorrow.
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