People enjoy writing for the Literary Review because they are given a free hand. If they exceed the recommended length, they rarely find heavy cuts being made. In general, reviews are printed just as they are received from the reviewer. As a result reviewers are seldom dissatisfied. They are still paid just £50, but at least this arrives as a cheque pinned to the copy of the magazine in which the review appears. 

Some years ago in "Pulpit", Waugh explained the absence of a review of Ted Hughes's Birthday Letters: the publisher had placed an embargo on copies being sent early for review. It is one of the boasts of the magazine that books are not reviewed late. This means that reviewers are often required to read books at proof stage. This is less agreeable than reading finished copies. Nevertheless we submit to it to please Nancy.

She has kept the magazine proudly independent of the celebrity circus. If most reviews are generous, even enthusiastic, they never descend to puffery and hype. The Literary Review exists for its readers, and the assumption is that they want to be informed and entertained. I find that almost every month I read every review — this is not a boast I could make about the TLS or the London Review of Books. Nancy never, it seems, forgets that, while some are compelled to read for professional reasons, most people read for pleasure — and this is what the Literary Review offers. In sour and often philistine times, its message is that you can be serious without being dull or solemn, and that good literature still matters.

Nancy's watchword is appreciation, not denigration. Reading the Literary Review, you can believe that we still enjoy a common culture. Our world would be poorer without Nancy Sladek or the Literary Review.