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.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

April 11, 2011 Issue


When was the last time you saw “moviegoers,” “prep,” “colonoscopy,” “woman,” “drinks,” “swears,” and “orgasm” combined in one sentence? I’ll bet never. If you want to read it, turn to Tad Friend’s delightful “Funny Like a Guy,” in this week’s issue, and you’ll find, amidst the rich verbal textures, this miracle of inventive construction: “Studio executives believe that male moviegoers would rather prep for a colonoscopy than experience a woman’s point of view, particularly if that woman drinks or swears or has a great job or an orgasm.” There’s poetry in that! Here’s another example from the same piece: “Though she had arresting cameos in 'Lost in Translation' and 'Brokeback Mountain,' her more usual task in fare like 'The Hot Chick,' has been to perform CPR on such dialogue as 'It’s not every day that your best friend grows a penis' – to be a one-woman rescue team for films that aimed low and crashed before they got there.” That “to perform CPR on such dialogue” is inspired, as is the combination of movie titles, together with the surrealistic quote and “one-woman rescue team.” “Funny Like a Guy” is filled with such assemblages – grammatical equivalents of Joseph Cornell’s miniature boxes of weird, poetic images and oddments. Reading them is bliss!

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