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.

Monday, July 21, 2025

Corrosion and Flow

A few days ago, we had to call a plumber. Our hot water tank was bulging alarmingly. It looked like it was about to burst. We called Luke, a local plumber who’d done work for us before. Luke is a great guy and a skillful plumber. He looked at the tank and recommended we get a new one. We agreed. He installed it the next day. It works perfectly. His fee was very reasonable. The episode reminded me of John Updike's short story “Plumbing” (The New Yorker, February 20, 1971), in which an old plumber “gazes fondly” at rusty pipes in the narrator’s basement, “musing upon the eternal presences of corrosion and flow.” I love that line. Updike repeats it near the end of the piece: “His eyes open wide in the unspeaking presences of corrosion and flow.” 

Updike could make art out of almost any experience, including a plumbing job. In the Foreword of his The Early Stories 1953-1975 (2003), he refers to his stories as “fragments chipped from experience and rounded by imagination.” I think that’s one of the most inspired definitions of art I’ve ever read. 

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