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In the days of 'There Is No Alternative', we are all Panglossian pessimists: we live in the best of all possible worlds, and it is shit.

It would be at best vainglorious for a political writer to suppose herself exempt from this

The linguistically gamesome, literarily ludic, neologising Marx arguably invented a whole dialect the better to theorise.

There is hardly a sentence in English that is not in some sense polysemic, with a range of possible interpretations.

As though simplicity, directness and 'clarity' in this sense were coterminous.