Goddammit, Clive James. The man spends a decade not dying of an allegedly rapid terminal illness, and then shuffles off while half a dozen other things are going on. This august publication should probably observe the practice of writing its obituaries ahead of time, but we don't so ehhhhh, this will not be a full consideration of Vivian Leopold James, simply a first reaction.
Call it a prelimbituary, an amuse mort. The man wrote 40 books, and one imagines there are more to come, from diverse sources. He deserves a bit more consideration than can be given in a morning.