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, June 30, 2022

June 27, 2022 Issue

Pick of the Issue this week is Ed Caesar’s absorbing "Sanctuary," a chronicle of refugee reality as experienced by a Ukrainian mother and her two daughters. The mother’s name is Inna Blahonravina; her daughters are Sasha, age seven, and Oliviia, age five. Caesar first encounters them on a mini-bus traveling from Lviv to Shehyni, just east of the Polish border. Here’s the scene:

Outside the station, bus drivers advertised trips to various locations on the border. A minibus driver named Pavlo offered passage to Shehyni, just east of the Polish border, for the equivalent of ten dollars. He was leaving immediately, and, because there were still a few free seats, my translator and I got on. Sitting across the aisle from me was a slim woman wearing a beige puffer jacket. She had wavy auburn hair and ice-blue eyes, and she held two cats in a carrier on her lap. In the row behind her were two young girls, both dressed in bright ski jackets and pants. The woman was looking out the window at a tall man with a birdlike face, who wore a charcoal-colored hat. He returned her gaze.

Pavlo started the engine. The man placed his hand on the glass. The woman placed her palm on the other side of the windowpane. The man removed his hand as the bus drove off. After a few yards, some pedestrians walked in front of the bus, forcing it to stop. The man ran to catch up with the bus and waved. The woman waved back, as did the older girl, but the younger one was facing the other way and missed the moment.

The woman let out a long breath, closed her eyes, and gathered herself. Then she opened her eyes, turned to me, and said, in English, “Here we go.”

Caesar recounts Inna’s personal history, and the chain of events culminating in her desperate departure from Ukraine with her daughters. He describes her life as a refugee in Germany. He also tells about Inna’s fight to save the family she left behind – her husband (Maksym), mother (Svetlana), aunt (Lyuda), and her aunt’s son (Oleksandr) – all of whom were uprooted by the Russian invasion. Caesar writes,

From Ladenburg, Inna attempted to find a group that could evacuate a bed-bound woman from a seventh-floor apartment in a city under siege. After two weeks of searching, she learned of Fight for Right, an organization that supports Ukrainians with disabilities. Svetlana called the group, and it agreed to help—it would transport Svetlana, Lyuda, and Oleksandr all the way to Ladenburg. (Oleksandr was of fighting age, but, because he was Lyuda’s caregiver, he could legally leave Ukraine.) Svetlana asked Inna whether Fight for Right might evacuate them to Russia instead. No, Inna said.

Evacuate them to Russia? Good god, Svetlana, give your head a shake! 

Caesar’s “Sanctuary” tells the story of one family’s fight to save itself from destruction at the hands of the Russian army. Multiply it by thirteen million, and what do you have? The worst humanitarian catastrophe in Europe since the end of World War II. 

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