Kurt Andersen lives in a Brooklyn brownstone, and from the window of the room he uses as an office, he has a view of late 19th century residences that have only grown spiffier with time.  “Am I literally imagining that I’m living 120 years ago? No,” he says.

He’s defending himself, sort of, as an American who might harbor bits and pieces of magical thinking. He concedes that he’s played paintball wars and is superstitious enough to say, “knock on wood.”

“But,” he maintains, “I don’t think I was ever abducted by aliens.”

Read the full article in NewWorld Review