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.

Saturday, February 9, 2019

Janet Malcolm's "Nobody's Looking at You"
























I see Janet Malcolm has a new essay collection out called Nobody’s Looking at You. Malcolm is one of my favorite writers. I first encountered her work in 1976, when I read her transfixing New Yorker review of an exhibition of photographs by the team of Nina Alexander and Herta Hilscher-Wittgenstein. I’ve been reading her ever since. Her new book contains several New Yorker pieces, including her superb “Performance Artist” (September 5, 2016). That’s the one where she says of pianist Yuja Wang, “She looked like a dominatrix or a lion tamer’s assistant. She had come to tame the beast of a piece, this half-naked woman in sadistic high heels. Take that, and that, Beethoven!”

Parul Sehgal, in her “Janet Malcolm, a Withering Critic, in a Nostalgic Key” (The New York Times, February 5, 2019), says of Nobody’s Looking at You, “There is stirring, beautifully structured writing here.” I look forward to reading it.

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