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.

Wednesday, June 26, 2024

The Art of Quotation (Part III)

Portrait of Madonna by Andrea Ventura














Joanna Biggs, in her superb “ ‘Give Me Joy’ ” (The New York Review of Books, May 23, 2024), a review of Mary Gabriel’s Madonna: A Rebel Life, writes,

The image of the whore was crystallized in Susan Seidelman’s 1985 movie Desperately Seeking Susan: Madonna played the eponymous Susan, strolling East Seventh Street and eating cheese puffs like an “indolent, trampy goddess,” as Pauline Kael put it in The New Yorker

The quote is from Kael’s “Passion” (The New Yorker, April 22, 1985; included in her wonderful 1985 collection State of the Art), in which she says, “Nobody comes through in the movie except Madonna, who comes through as Madonna (she moves regally, an indolent, trampy goddess)....” 

Kael’s “indolent, trampy goddess” is very good. Biggs’ “eating cheese puffs like an ‘indolent, trampy goddess’ ” is brilliant! Biggs takes Kael’s phrase and makes it her own. 

Postscript: Biggs’ piece contains another inspired line: 

Halfway through Sex there is a beautifully composed, and hot, picture of her leaning over a full-length mirror masturbating, watching her own cheeks bloom pink with orgasm. 

I nominate that as the best sentence of 2024 (so far). Biggs is one of today’s best critics. I’d like to see more of her in The New Yorker

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