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, January 15, 2026

Inspired Sentence 7

A few special conifers such as bristlecone pine can live through sequential, sectorial deaths – compartmentalizing their external afflictions, shutting down, section by section, producing fertile cones for an extra millennium with the sustenance of a solitary strip of bark.

That’s from Jared Farmer’s brilliant Elderflora (2022), a history of ancient trees. I relish the clear scientific precision of it (“sequential,” “sectorial,” “compartmentalizing”). Farmer is explaining how the bristlecone pine works, how it manages to live almost indefinitely. I love that “compartmentalizing their external afflictions.” The final part – “shutting down, section by section, producing fertile cones for an extra millennium with the sustenance of a solitary strip of bark” – is inspired. Note that “for an extra millennium” – not a year, not a decade, not a century. A millennium! All from a “solitary strip of bark”!

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