writing: David Brooks and quiet writing

I've been a twee fan of David Brooks ever since reading Bobos in Paradise. I didn't even realize he was a conservative columnist until my mentor professor told me. At any rate, he and I have not always been on the same page the last few years, but his last ten columns or so have been really well done, even if I have disagreed. What made Bobos in Paradise work was Brooks's ability to be interested in odd minutiae and the bigger picture. He had a column last year on intelligence and height that was fascinating, for example. Today's look at Lincoln is probably one of the best columns I've read on the necessary temperament for being president. What I liked about it in particular is that he avoided the wrestling with the angels metaphor, which is a good one to be sure, but not entirely apt here. Of course, one of the things I appreciate about Brooks is that he's a smart, quiet prose stylist. I love Maureen Dowd for sheer imagery, but she too often browbeats. As a quiet writer myself, I tend to gravitate towards quiet writers. Hence, my adoration of Elizabeth Gaskell; Wives and Daughters is frequently elegiac. But back to Brooks. Today's column is astute, sweeping, informed, and leaves you with space to ruminate over his last point. Key graf:

"Somehow a leader conversant with his own failings wouldn’t be as affected by the moral self-approval that afflicts most political movements. He’d be detached from his most fervid followers and merciful and understanding toward foes. He’d have a sense of his own smallness in the sweep of events. He or she would contravene Lord Acton’s dictum and grow sadder and wiser with more power.

All this suggests a maxim for us voters: Don’t only look to see which candidate has the most talent. Look for the one most emotionally gripped by his own failings."

I like the idea of being "conversant" with your failings, particularly for a politician.