Paul Goodman was a difficult man. Anyone who knew him seems to attest to this. He was selfish, arrogant, narcissistic, volatile, nasty, and rude. On the other hand, Goodman was comfortable in his own skin. He openly courted young men in 1940s New York, spoke in a confident anarchistic tongue in the 1950s and early 60s (well before it was cool to do so), and then fearlessly sparred with student radicals by the end of the decade. In the process, his brilliant resolve bore a lot of fruit, some of it now spoiled or rotten, but a bunch that’s maintained its savor to the present day. So it’s nice to see the New York Review of Books investing in a new edition of Goodman’s…