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.

Tuesday, August 9, 2022

Joy Williams's "Curran Hatleberg's Florida, Past and Future"

Curran Hatleberg, Untitled (Last Light)











Joy Williams is a sharp photography writer: see her “Curran Hatleberg’s Florida, Past and Future” (newyorker.com, August 5, 2022). I particularly like the point she makes about Hatleberg’s pictures of standing water. She says, 

The standing water in these photographs is its own signifier. The water reflected in Hatleberg’s eye, in the world he is chronicling, is slack, slick with torpor. It lies on the compacted soil of the junk yard and the cement steps of homes. Its oily sheen coats the alleys and the marshes. Only once does it appear fresh, alive, sustaining the figure borne on the river at peace, as if in a dear dream.

I love the rhythm of that passage. And the point about “the standing water in these photographs is its own signifier” strikes me as exactly right. Williams is rapidly becoming one of my favorite writers.

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