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 Goldfield, 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.

Friday, March 6, 2020

Richard Cobb 's Wonderful "The Streets of Paris"


I’m a fan of Richard Cobb’s writing, particularly his wonderful The Streets of Paris (1980), an illustrated account of several flâneurial walks that he and photographer Nicholas Breach took along some of Paris’s ancient backstreets. Cobb was an aficionado of peeling plaster, faded advertisements, dilapidated shutters, crumbling walls, dim staircases, and other manifestations of what today is sometimes called ruin porn. He was a superb describer. For example, here’s his depiction of the side of an apartment building in the Xme arrondissement:

Cadoricin and Delsol, to the accompaniment of accordion music, balmusette style, on Radio-Paris advertising, in the 1930s, the fading reminder of a disappearing social history, on the cut-off end of a tall apartment house as if from a scene of a Carné film: Shampooing Brillant à l’Huile, and with something already indecipherable about hair.

That musical reading of a faded ad on the side of an old apartment house is inspired! The whole book is inspired – a great testament to the pleasures of being a flâneur. 

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