Yesterday The Washington Post printed the last edition of its eminent Book World, the weekly insert that stood as one of the country’s best book reviews. The story is what we’ve come to expect from print media today: plummeting subscription, faltering ad revenue, disappearing profits. Considered alongside the recent deaths of the Los Angeles Times’ and Chicago Tribune’s print book reviews, this seems to be the death knell for the form.

I feel that anguished sense of desolation that inevitably accompanies news that an aging relative is on her deathbed.

Old, infirm and hopelessly behind the times, the gray lady’s moment has arrived. The stale scent of death has already set in. And yet, I cannot help but resent the loss of so rich a life. Overcome with chagrin, I throw up my arms and plead frantically to the heavens. I dream of miracles.

In my case, the doctor’s prognosis is four months. four months! I should lie down and weep.

You should too.