




On Thursday morning a magazine names him the person of the year for the second time, and by half past nine he is standing on a balcony above the oldest trading floor in the country with his hand on the bell. The floor below him is not a rally and does not pretend to be; it applauds anyway. That is the temperature of the whole week. He begins it by calling the Canadian prime minister a governor and Canada a state, which starts as a dinner-table joke and does not stop being repeated for a year. He offers any company on earth every permit it wants, environmental approvals included, for a billion dollars of investment. The head of the bureau that raided his house announces he will leave before January 20 rather than be removed. Objects nobody can identify drift over New Jersey for a fortnight and he tells the government to say what they are or shoot them down. And at twenty-five past midnight on Saturday, alone, in five words and three exclamation marks, he names the era that has not started yet.
Readers' Corner
Letters from the readership on Week 496. Pick a pen name — no account needed.
Opening the mailbag…