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.

Showing posts with label Anna Wiener. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Anna Wiener. Show all posts

Sunday, September 29, 2024

September 23, 2024 Issue

Three excellent pieces in this week’s New Yorker (“The Fall Style & Design Issue”):

1. Anna Wiener’s “Joy Ride,” a profile of bicycle designer Grant Petersen. Wiener visits Petersen at his company’s headquarters in Walnut Creek, California. She goes for a trail ride with him at Fernandez Ranch, in Martinez. And, riding a bike that Petersen loans her (“an A. Homer Hilsen the color of celestine, with upright bars and a metal basket”), she joins a group of cyclists for a day ride from the Golden Gate Bridge into Marin. She says of Petersen, “He is an advocate of pleasurable, unhurried riding—alone, or with family and friends—and is obsessive about comfort.” I can relate to that. I do a lot of cycling, and that’s my approach, too. I enjoyed Wiener’s piece immensely.

2. Rachel Syme’s “Sniff Test,” a profile of Parisian perfumer Francis Kurkdjian. This piece brims with wonderful descriptions of scent. This one, for example: “The resulting perfume did not smell edible or organic; it evoked something air-gapped and untouched by human sweat, like a new Porsche that happens to be filled with cotton candy.” And this: “At the end of the meeting, he pulled out a vial of a Privée scent he’d been working on, dipped a mouillette, and handed it to me. It smelled of honey and bonfire, cut through with a bright note of snap-pea green.” I enjoyed this sensuous piece enormously.

3. Jackson Arn’s “Eyes Wide Shut,” a review of Jackie Wullschläger’s Monet: The Restless Vision. Arn says of it, “Some important events are done in smudged glimpses, but the over-all shape of his eighty-six years is clear. Every few chapters, a sudden nub of detail robs you of your breath.” Arn also considers some of Monet’s paintings. Of Branch of the Seine Near Giverny (1897), he writes, “The scene is only a few firm details away from abstraction, a Rorschach test tilted sideways—not a thing plus its echo but an unbroken flat-deep surface. If it is still an impression of a lost moment, there is something newly sturdy mixed in; each brushstroke declares, I’m still here.” I love this line: “Diving into his lonely, flickering subjectivity, shushing his doubts, he discovered a kind of beauty beloved by so many that it became universal."