My father died tonight, December 16, a month shy of his 96th birthday. Norman Podhoretz passed peacefully and without pain, with a new translation of The Odyssey on his desk that had been sent to him by his friend Roger Hertog. It sat next to a copy of Alexander Pope’s legendary translation, which he had asked my sister Naomi to order for him so he could compare the two.
At the very end of his life, Norman Podhoretz was his truest self, a man of letters.
His greatest teachers, the men who had the most profound effect on him—Lionel Trilling at Columbia and F.R. Leavis at Cambridge—were critics who believed the life of the mind as expressed in literature was a high and noble calling.
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