I always feel a bit guilty for subscribing to the New York Review of Books. Pulling it out of the mailbox, impressed by its authoritative headlines, I step inside and put it on the front left corner of my desk, confident that I'll tackle it in a day or two and finally become a smart, thoughtful person with unassailable knowledge and intellectual confidence. A month later, when my desktop copy is half-covered with bills and other unread magazines and the cover has taken on a slightly yellowed tinge, I realize that I may not be fated to be a true member of the intelligentsia.
But I keep the Review around, not just to see colorful ads for all the amazing books I'll never get to read, but also because it has reporting that is different from so much else we all consume in one form or another. Take a look at Michael Massing's excellent travelogue from today's Iraq (with most stops inside the Green Zone) and you'll realize how much we don't know about our government's continuing failures in Iraq -- the country we've been occupying for five years. You'll also realize just how difficult it will be to extricate ourselves in the next five.