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 Galchen, 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.

Wednesday, April 30, 2025

April 21, 2025 Issue

The best line in this week’s anemic issue is Josh Lieb’s description of the pumpernickel bagel: 

The king. Strong flavor, but not too strong. Dances with, rather than fights against, the cream cheese and the lox. (Or whitefish, if that’s your thing. I don’t judge.)

His note on the blueberry bagel is pretty good, too:

O.K., you’ve been alive for a thousand years. You were cursed by God after stepping on a butterfly or something. You’ve seen multiple generations of your descendants grow up and live and die, painfully. You watched Rome burn. You made love to Mona Lisa. You killed Kennedy. There is nothing in this world your jaded senses haven’t experienced and become weary of. Finally, you’ve come to this.

That bit about making love to Mona Lisa made me smile. 

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