Excerpt from the April issue:
Lately I've been wallowing in Watergate, as people my age often do when they approach their anecdotage. Why, I remember it as if it were yesterday: the sweltering summer of 1973, the motionless air and the hum of cicadas across a suburban lawn, the cool of the shade on the side porch of a friend's house where an ancient TV buzzed hour after hour with the high drama of the Senate Watergate hearings. A writer named Max Holland, a few years older than I, spent the summer glued to the hearings, too. After many years as a muckraking journalist, he has also returned to wallow, with grand results.
His new book, Leak, is an assault on the foundation myth of modern American journalism.
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