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Time has a way of messing with our poor little mind, but we feel like it’s been mere days since we read the flurry of excited articles about Brigid Hughes taking over The Paris Review. Well, a lot of bits and bytes could have been saved (though, frankly, they’re not much in the way of endangered). Hughes is gone, the literary journal is soul-searching, and George Plimptom remains dead. There are likely other issues, but we think we’ve hit the major points.

• Plimpton’s Big Shoes Are Vacant Yet Again