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.

Sunday, March 6, 2022

Postscript: Jonathan D. Spence 1936 - 2021

Jonathan D. Spence (Photo by Misha Erwitt)














I want to pay tribute to Jonathan D. Spence, who died a few months ago, age eighty-five. Spence was an eminent scholar of Chinese history. And he was a great writer. His style was spare and elegant. I’m not a student of Chinese history. But I enjoyed reading his writing, especially his New York Review of Books pieces: see, for example, “A Master in the Shadows” (April 5, 2012); “The Ball and the World” (December 8, 2011); “The Enigma of Chiang Kai-shek” (May 28, 2009); “Portrait of a Monster” (November 3, 2005).

There’s a sentence in the “Acknowledgments” of his wonderful The Question of Hu (1988) that I cherish:

And just in case all that love and caring from so many people might not prove enough, my aged dog Daisy climbed the narrow wooden steps to my summer study countless times a day, and lay across from me during every word, sighing gently in her sleep over my endless attempts to draw some meaning out of the constantly vanishing past.

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