21 Hours With Alan Dershowitz

Tom Chiarella: “When he next speaks, his voice is suddenly full throated. Dershowitz jumps to his feet, pads across the worn, loose, and lumpy carpet in this beige chamber, egg-crated in cement who knows when. He raises his hand in an imaginary wave to John Roberts. ‘Mr. Chief Justice,’ he says. ‘Distinguished senators, House managers and attorneys and fellow Americans ….’ He’s positively animated, a little electricity running through his bones. His voice is rich, and he’s taking deep looks beyond the corners of the room, calling up the nation. A guy selling a tonic on a street corner. This faceless huckster. A carny, but full of life. Or maybe he’s this little Mark Twain figure. I can’t say. He certainly fills the room with his story. It’s hard not to like the sound of it. It feels august.”

“But although I’ve listened to it dozens of times by now, maybe more than anyone on this earth at this point, it still makes no sense to me.”