Back in the good old days when the Brits ruled the roost in the American colonies, the sneaky Brits used a system of their own to lord it over those who looked like them, spoke like them, and worshipped the same God as them, but called themselves American rather than British. It was very simple, really. The bad old Brits recalled an old British law passed by those whose knowledge of democracy was equal to mine of homosexuality, ...

He has the appearance of a startled vulture, a sort of prefab mannerism, but he’s all greed and preening self-importance. Selfishness is his holy grail, and he’s a lying, self-serving opportunist who knows whose ring to kiss at all times. This malodorous cesspit used his son-in-law position to get $2 billion off the Saudis and save his bankrupt business. He is Jared Kushner, the man who last week made a remark so jarring in ...

I’ve never had much use for diplomats, nor did my father, who called them gigolos and freeloaders living high on the hog off taxpayers like him. “Except for George Kennan,” I used to tell him, and Dad would reluctantly agree. For any of you young whippersnappers unfamiliar with George Kennan, he was the author of America’s Cold War policy of “containment,” in which the U.S. would try to constrain the expansion of ...

Of all the lovely things and habits that Big Tech has deprived humans of by turning us into electronic robots, the one I miss the most is the love letter. Those sleepy types who go by the name of millennials have declared letter writing over, with the great majority of them ages 18 to 35 proudly admitting in a recent poll that they have never written an epistle, let alone a love letter. So, what else is new? All one needs to ...

I recently watched a Swedish movie, 1939, as good a film as I’ve seen in years, with a beautiful young blonde as the heroine, and with none of those boring Bergman silences that trademarked his movies. Alas, nowadays the moronic youth that watches movies prefers the visible to exceed reality, ergo endless science fiction and horror fantasies. It all has to do with the moneymen. As a Hollywood-based friend once described a ...

“She” strangles a cat, then dissects it and shreds what is left. “She” then hits a man with a bottle, strangles him, and finally drowns him. “She” calls herself Scarlet Blake, and the British papers and media feel obliged to refer to this muscular and terrifying individual as a woman. But this monster of a human is as male as there is, and only the female writer J.K. Rowling has the guts to point this out. J.K. has ...

The late ’60s and early ’70s were great years for yours truly. Sporting successes in tennis and karate, a great president in the White House, and some good reporting from Hue for National Review’s William Buckley had given me a career boost. That’s when Bill, a very good friend, decided Paris would be a safer place for an eager young Taki to make his name. There was another reason Bill picked the City of Light as my ...

Things ain’t looking that good. Nothing seems to be working in the so-called free world: rubbish in the streets, vandalism and violent crime, illegal immigration at record levels, no-go areas in towns and cities; is this why we pay taxes and call ourselves free? Mass shootings have become a way of life in America, illegal underage migrants are turning New York and Chicago into war zones, and Joe Biden is given a pass by an ...

I’m back scribbling about writing again because penmanship is like cocaine—once you start it’s difficult to stop. Disaffection is my customary response to contemporary writers and literature—long-winded me-me-me balderdash—and I won’t go near hysterical American female screeches who pass for writing from know-nothings at The New York Times. So, everyone I mention in this column is, alas, dead, but their writing ...

If it weren’t for Papa Hemingway’s machismo, or Scott Fitzgerald’s lovely prose, Somerset Maugham would have been my favorite writer. And one of the things I most regret is having refused an invitation for lunch at La Mauresque, the great man’s Cap Ferrat Riviera villa, a few years before his death. The invitation had come through an old “queen” by the name of Eric Nielsen, who had been making passes at the poor ...

I read somewhere that Saint Kitts and Nevis, thriving democracies somewhere south of Miami Beach, are demanding reparations from the Brits because the bad old English owned slaves back at the time when owning black people was rather chic. What surprised me is that I haven’t seen any claims from descendants of slaves against African owners—who thrived in the vile economy that slavery produced—nor against any Arab states ...

The massacre in Gaza has shoved the Ukraine war aside, which is just as well for Zelensky, who canceled the election he was about to lose and has outlawed rival political parties for the duration. I recently watched an interview the ex-comedian gave, and I must admit he comes through as a charming, honest, and warm person. Was I fooled by his act? Probably, but compared with his archenemy Putin’s thespian abilities, Volodymyr ...

The magical embroidery of memory is not involved in this one: I remember it as if it were yesterday, despite something like sixty years having gone by. I had had dinner at El Morocco, the best dinner-nightclub that has ever been, back when New York still spoke English. I had drunk Chateau Mouton Rothschild 1947 and had gone back to my parents’ apartment at the Sherry Netherlands and lay in bed drunk and dreamy. I had turned ...