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.
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| Photo by John MacDougall |
Praia de Tavira, Portugal, February 6, 2024. We came out onto the magnificent beach, and there she was to greet us: fish net plumage, mannequin legs, one lime green high heel shoe, shiny CD eye, mesh crab pot head and beak, and spiky green reed hair. The coolest beach sculpture I’d ever seen. I took her picture, the intense blue Portuguese sky showing through her fine mesh basket head. I thought of you, Picasso.
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