Introduction

What is The New Yorker? I know it’s a great magazine and that it’s a tremendous source of pleasure in my life. But what exactly is it? This blog’s premise is that The New Yorker is a work of art, as worthy of comment and analysis as, say, Keats’s “Ode on a Grecian Urn.” Each week I review one or more aspects of the magazine’s latest issue. I suppose it’s possible to describe and analyze an entire issue, but I prefer to keep my reviews brief, and so I usually focus on just one or two pieces, to explore in each the signature style of its author. A piece by Nick Paumgarten is not like a piece by Jill Lepore, and neither is like a piece by Ian Frazier. One could not mistake Collins for Seabrook, or Bilger for Goldfield, or Mogelson for Kolbert. Each has found a style, and it is that style that I respond to as I read, and want to understand and describe.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

March 1, 2010 Issue


When I turned to Larissa MacFarquhar’s “The Deflationist,” which bears the tagline, “How Paul Krugman found politics,” I thought Oh boy, this is going to be a wearisome slog. Then I read the first paragraph and found myself hooked. But not for long. This is one of the most boring pieces ever to appear in the magazine. Krugman and his wife come across as drone-like careerists. Maybe MacFarqhuar intended that effect. Maybe I’m just tired of politicians and economists and all their empty rhetoric. Maybe I’m feeling some of that Tea Party disaffection that Ben McGrath so ably wrote about in the magazine a couple of weeks ago (“The Movement,” February 1, 2010).

McGrath has a piece in the current issue, which I’m pleased to turn to now. “Strangers on the Mountain” is this week’s Pick Of The Issue. I read it quickly. You might almost say I skimmed it, touching down now and then for a closer read, and when I came to the last part – the section that begins, “Harold Dennison pleaded guilty to weapons charges …” – I slowed down to absorb the writing. Then I turned back and reread the whole piece, taking pleasure in the way it’s structured and in various inspired sentences. (Example: “After more than a mile of steep, winding incline, of the sort that strains an old Honda Civic, I had to slow to let a family of wild turkeys pass.”) If I’m not mistaken, McGrath is forging his own recognizable journalistic style. He throws a lot into his articles, lots of facts, people, and places, churning in a fast-paced narrative. His stories don’t sit still; they’re alive on the page. There’s a fizz in his prose I really enjoy.

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