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, July 10, 2020

Johanna Fateman's Excellent "Good as Hell"


Johanna Fateman (Photo from Los Angeles Review of Books)























Johanna Fateman, who reviews art shows in The New Yorker’s “Goings On About Town,” has a terrific essay in the current Bookforum. It’s titled “Good as Hell,” an account of her experience listening to an audio version of Philippa Gregory’s The Red Queen (2010) while in coronavirus self-quarantine. Here’s a sample:

Or, sometimes, I wouldn’t completely follow along. I’d instead let Beaufort’s story—her many humiliations and her long, convoluted crawl to victory and vengeance—become a steady nightmare in the background. I’d doze off, losing the thread, then jolt awake at a note of alarm in the reader’s voice, a loud siren outside, or a spike of dread from nowhere. Then I’d put on a mask made from a T-shirt, and orange kitchen gloves, and stand in the doorway of the bedroom—the sickroom—gripping my phone in case it was time to call 911. I’d listen for the rise and fall of a breath, then another, and another, until it seemed safe to take myself back to the couch—to the desolation of Pembroke Castle, that is, or the slaughter at Tewkesbury Abbey. My phone, now held more loosely in my hand, conveyed the medieval horror calmly.

Fateman’s artful blending of her personal situation (“when nights in New York grew more cinematically wretched and scary: sleepless, ambulance sirens nonstop”) with “the intoxicating gloom of Gregory’s medieval Europe” is fascinating. I enjoyed it immensely.  

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