Posts Tagged: new yorker
In an extended essay in the New Yorker, Megan Marshall, author of the forthcoming Elizabeth Bishop: A Miracle for Breakfast, writes about Bishop’s late, serendipitous move to Harvard where she met Alice Methfessel, a young “house secretary” who would become her caretaker, and the last great love of her life:
“The poor heart doesn’t seem to grow old at all,” [Bishop] wrote to Methfessel in March of 1971, a month after her sixtieth birthday and two weeks past Methfessel’s twenty-eighth.
In an article for the New Yorker, Richard Brody writes about the newly restored 1967 film by Hans-Jürgen Syberberg, Romy: Anatomy of a Face. The film “offers an intimate view of the actress Romy Schneider, revealing crucial conflicts behind the image of a public figure who loomed large in the German national imagination—and within the art of movies itself” and will be shown during the Museum of Modern Art’s “To Save and Project” film festival this month....more
If some have trouble coming to terms with what Mège has made or done, it could be useful to think of her work, as conceptual as it might be, as a dance that lasted twenty-two years.
For the New Yorker, Anna Heyward profiles Isabelle Mège, a regular person who has sought out portraits of herself from dozens of esteemed photographers....more
I only have a curiosity, an interest, a love, and that’s it, really.
At the New Yorker, Michele Moses shares a video clip from the 2016 New Yorker Festival featuring writers Zadie Smith and Jeffrey Eugenides in conversation about their writing habits, point of view, and research....more
Over at the New Yorker, Jonathan Blitzer writes about novelist Rabih Alameddine’s artful Twitter feed and how posting paintings and photographs is part of the author’s writing process. “[W]hile the welter of distractions on the Internet is a liability to many authors, Twitter settles him,” Blitzer writes....more
At the New Yorker, Ed Caesar interviews Anna Lyndsey, author of the memoir Girl in the Dark, about her mysterious light sensitivity that kept her in the dark for over a decade. Citing prominent dermatologists, Ceasar questions Lyndsey’s symptoms and explores the possibility that they were psychosomatic, a possibility Lyndsey herself dismisses:
My situation was so extreme, rare and unusual that when I described it to people in the hope of seeking help, the response was usually incredulity.
For the New Yorker, Peter Moskowitz talks to poet Tommy Pico about anger, juxtaposition, and inheritance:
He told me that he uses poetry to square two identities that don’t fit together well: being a poor, queer kid from the rez, and being a pleasure-seeking, technology-addicted New Yorker who would rather chase the boys he meets on apps than think about centuries of pain passed from one generation to another.
For the New Yorker, author Belle Boggs reflects on Italian writer Natalia Ginzburg’s collection of essays, The Little Virtues, and how the book influenced her own parenting philosophy. Boggs writes:
The title essay considers what we should teach children—“not the little virtues but the great ones,” according to Ginzburg.
At the New Yorker, Amanda Petrusich writes an ode to Other Music, a New York City record shop that recently closed its doors after more than twenty years in business. For Petrusich, the store was more than a place to buy music; it was an important part of her personal history:
My scramble for self-identity was tied up in records, and Other Music was where I went to get myself sorted out.
The New Yorker hosted a discussion about a previously unpublished Langston Hughes short story with Arnold Rampersand, who wrote a two-volume biography of the Harlem Renaissance poet, and first discovered the unpublished story thirty years ago. The story, “Seven People Dancing,” explores themes of sexuality and expression:
I think that his cruelly comic, or comically cruel, vision of humanity is at play here in a dominant way.
The New Yorker’s Jill Lepore laments the devaluation of truth in politics with the rise of “big data”:
The era of the fact is coming to an end: the place once held by “facts” is being taken over by “data.” This is making for more epistemological mayhem, not least because the collection and weighing of facts require investigation, discernment, and judgment, while the collection and analysis of data are outsourced to machines.
I had considered envying men before—I pretend to envy things like their higher incidence of ungrounded confidence and monomania, but I don’t really envy those things, and I’m not sure I even believe in them…
In an excerpt published in the New Yorker from her forthcoming book, Rivka Galchen writes about her first experience of real gender envy....more
For a black woman in a white world, a conversation with the self is crucial: for when she walks through that often-unwelcoming world she is subjected to confining perceptions of who she might be. When that world insists on racist and narrow paradigms, the diary gives these women a chance to scratch out and rewrite such definitions.
We need to know that the dictionary, as an institution, has a cultural power beyond the sum of its parts…And that does carry with it a responsibility to realize that we exist within that tension, and to not always hide behind the idea of descriptivist lexicography
Over at the New Yorker, Nora Caplan-Bricker compiles stories of problematic dictionary definitions and ultimately calls for dictionaries to reexamine their construction and eliminate sexist definitions....more
“I keep trying to imagine a universe in which too many public figures declaring themselves feminists would be a bad thing,” Roxane Gay, the novelist and the author of an essay collection entitled “Bad Feminist,” wrote, before concluding, “Of all the words that should be spoken more, ‘feminist’ should be at the top of the list.”
Over at the New Yorker, Adelle Waldman explores how men and women authors write about marriage. Citing examples from Leo Tolstoy, Jane Austen, Karl Ove Knausgaard, Elena Ferrante, and many others, Waldman writes:
Ideas about love, about its essential nature and its causes, are highly idiosyncratic and often unstable.
For the New Yorker, David Denby listens to Jane Austen’s Emma and reflects on how listening to the book highlights the insincerity of the its characters:
Austen was one of the first modern writers, one of the first thoroughly to understand the unconscious and such things as insincerity and false candor.
Reporter and writer Svetlana Alexievich recently won the Nobel Prize for literature. In a piece for the New Yorker, Philip Gourevitch brings up some questions that this poses about the relationship between reportage literature and other forms—is one more necessary or relevant in our current times?...more
Can one speak about suffering if one hasn’t experienced it?
Kenneth Goldsmith has long been a figure of tension in the literary community: at once a savior for the conceptual intellectualists and avant-garde, and a malicious clown bent on provocation and appropriation....more
Another school year has begun leading to age old questions like: is this degree worth it? The New Yorker takes a look at college degrees and how over the last century, the liberal arts degree that once served as a ticket to white-collar, upper-middle-class careers has since become a basic resume builder for service jobs like barista....more
Once your journal exists, it will wing its way into a world already full of journals, like a paper airplane into a recycling bin, or onto a Web already crowded with literary sites. Why would you do such a thing?
People have been starting literary magazines for centuries—and they certainly don’t do it for the money....more