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.

Thursday, June 26, 2025

Inspired Sentence #4

The land sharpens to a last dark-forested point, and beyond it the horizon widens into ocean and the co-motion of sky and water is lost in a white, grainy light, and there the river’s last trace is slow-vanishing spirals in the water, shallowing as they slip on; now just faint dints in the water’s pewter, now shined flat. 

This is from Part III of Robert Macfarlane’s Is a River Alive? (2025), which I’m currently reading. Part III is called “The Living River.” It’s my favorite section of the book. It’s about a kayak trip that Macfarlane and four others take down the Mutehekau Shipu River in the Nitassinan territory of eastern Quebec. The above quotation is a description of the Mutehekau Shipu’s mouth, where it empties into the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Macfarlane is a superb describer. That “now just faint dints in the water’s pewter, now shined flat” is very fine. 

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