Something must be amiss in the mail service from London: I just received yesterday the May 21 London Review, with Sy Hersh's big expose of the Osama Bin Laden killing.
Looks like a long, involved story that I probably should read. Or perhaps I'll stand pat with all of the commentary I've read in the last two weeks or so. Most of it indicated that Hersh is wrong. Suppose I should read it and judge for myself, but the New Yorkers are stacking up again.
So much for the age of instant information. This makes me feel as if I'm living in Victorian times and waiting for the next installment of a Dickens novel.