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.

Tuesday, November 20, 2018

November 12, 2018 Issue


Pick of the Issue this week is Amy Goldwasser’s wonderful “Wet Ink,” a Talk story about ink foraging in Central Park. It begins,

On a recent drizzly Tuesday morning, a small group of ink enthusiasts—already rain-slicked, under umbrellas and ponchos—stood on Gapstow Bridge, in Central Park, admiring a brilliant-pink pokeweed bush.

I read that and just kept going, devouring the piece in one delicious gulp. The group’s leader is Jason Logan, founder of the Toronto Ink Company. Goldwasser says of him, “Logan speaks like a laid-back chemist, using words like “petrichor,” the earthy scent produced when rain falls on dry soil. He carried a backpack filled with ink pots and collection bags.”

The piece glints with beautiful natural colors: “fuchsia stems,” “scarlet berries,” “red cardinal,” “goldenrod.” My favourite passage describes a batch of ink made from “five varieties of acorn boiled with rust from various sources—nuts and bolts, wire, brackets—and a drop of gum arabic. It came out a complicated silver-gray.”

Goldwasser enacts the foraging she describes, creating a colourful prose poem from found materials. The result is pure readerly bliss.    

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