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The Sept. 30 issue of The New Yorker (that contained the review of Painted
Shadow) also contains an extensive article about Harold Bloom.  It appears
similar to this review:  portraying the world of Bloom according to Bloom,
and noting his apparent declining influence.  Though I am unsure if one can
predict the influence of a "man of letters" in his or her lifetime, or even
within one or two subsequent generations, it appears that Bloom in his
inimitable way does focus attention upon literature.  Thus, I too would
suggest, as I think Rick does, that we afford Bloom some leeway in his
definitions of and attempts at greatness.  Perhaps he is our contemporary
Sainte-Beuve?

Best,
Eugene Schlanger