by Martin Ralya
Trevor Legassick, to my mind, looks like a slice of Oxford transplanted to Ann Arbor: never have I met a man more quintessentially British in appearance. His manner is somehow both calm and energetic, and at no point in our acquaintance have I ever heard him raise his voice. Somehow, he has always impressed me as refusing to simply let the events of his life pass into memory ñ but instead recalls and reexamines them constantly, like a historian. We begin, as is appropriate, at the beginning.
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