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.

Friday, August 30, 2019

August 26, 2019 Issue


Pick of the Issue this week is Nicola Twilley’s “Trailblazers.” It’s about the use of prescribed burns to prevent megafires. The first paragraph hooked me:

Before Terry Lim handed me an aluminum flask filled with a blend of gasoline and diesel and asked me to set fire to the Tahoe National Forest, he gave me a hard hat, a pair of flame-resistant gloves, and a few words of instruction. “You want to dab the ground,” he said. “Just try to even out the line.”

I read that and just kept going right to the end. What a trip! First stop was the Sagehen Creek Field Station, twenty miles north of Lake Tahoe, in the eastern Sierra Nevada (“When I drove there, in May, there were still patches of snow in the shade, but the banks of Sagehen Creek were dotted with the first buttercups of spring”). Second was a hike through the Sagehen Experimental Forest. Third was a hike along Caples Creek, in the Eldorado National Forest, just south of Lake Tahoe. And fourth was a visit to the Illilouette Creek wilderness area, in Yosemite National Park, resulting in this superb passage:

On a two-mile hike to one of three monitoring stations she maintains there, we passed perhaps only a hundred and fifty feet of what most people would consider picture-postcard Sierra Nevada forest—dark-green, conifer-packed woods with a rust-colored carpet of fallen pine needles. The rest was a surprising patchwork of landscapes: rush-filled meadows, crisscrossed with fallen logs; large, sunny grasslands punctuated by a few big trees; copses of young pines and willows; and recently burned expanses, where the ground was brownish black, spattered with delicate pink flowers and adorned with carbonized trunks, gleaming and sculptural.

Along the way, I learned about megafires, prescribed burns, drip torches (“The lit cannister of fuel I was holding, known as a drip torch, had a long, looped neck that emitted a jaunty quiff of flame”), masticators, slop-overs, and other interesting things (e.g., “Lodgepole pinecones do not open until heated by fire“; “Black-backed woodpeckers dine almost exclusively on seared beetle larvae”). 

Twilley’s engaging first-person approach and vivid nature descriptions (“A foot-long alligator lizard skittered in front of me, pausing to pump out a couple of quick pushups before vanishing into the brush”) remind me of the work of John McPhee and Ian Frazier. I’ve been wondering if there’d ever be a successor to those two greats. Maybe Twilley is the one.  

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