let's pretend it's the week of sept 21
We've all just gotten a new issue of TNY and we're mulling things over. These things might be:
Crain on the culture of the Great Depression, and Depression-era "holidays." This Dickstein book is something I'd like to read. I love 1930s realism.
Denby on Campion's Bright Star.
Campion makes only one serious mistake: when Whishaw recites the lines “Pillowed upon my fair love’s ripening breast, / To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,” he actually rests his head on Cornish’s chest. The literalness borders on the laughable . . .
This made me smile. I had the same reaction during a recent episode of "Mad Men," when Don is confronted by his father's ghost. I think, time-wise, Denby wrote this before I yelled at the TV "No, don't look at your hands!" I give up. We have a deep, spiritual bond, Denby and I.
Though, immediately afterwards, I think he's wrong. The sentence continues . . . and you wonder, disconcertingly, how these two relieve what look like unbearable states of arousal. Maybe Campion is making the joke that you are laughing at Denby? Did you ever think of that? She makes lots of great visual sexual jokes. She's like that. Then again, so do the MM writers.
Paul Simms' "Shouts and Murmurs." A hilarity that exists somewhere between houseguests and colonization.
And Ben Yagoda's letter about Rose Wilder Lane. She is "in fact, the first ghostwriter in history." Henry Ford, Charlie Chaplin and Art Smith, "Boy Aviator" owe her.
Thank god my wait at the doctor's office did not allow me to read all of "The Eight Days of the Financial Crisis." I don't even think I made it through day one. But I was impressed with what one might call the (pardon me) "economy" of the writing. Not a lot of superfluous detail. Stewart sets the scene and gets to business. Everything he tells you means something, and soon. I wish more New Yorker pieces were this controlled.
I also laughed out loud at more than one of the cartoons. Including the contests in the back. Fellow patients stared at me in wonderment.
Crain on the culture of the Great Depression, and Depression-era "holidays." This Dickstein book is something I'd like to read. I love 1930s realism.
Denby on Campion's Bright Star.
Campion makes only one serious mistake: when Whishaw recites the lines “Pillowed upon my fair love’s ripening breast, / To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,” he actually rests his head on Cornish’s chest. The literalness borders on the laughable . . .
This made me smile. I had the same reaction during a recent episode of "Mad Men," when Don is confronted by his father's ghost. I think, time-wise, Denby wrote this before I yelled at the TV "No, don't look at your hands!" I give up. We have a deep, spiritual bond, Denby and I.
Though, immediately afterwards, I think he's wrong. The sentence continues . . . and you wonder, disconcertingly, how these two relieve what look like unbearable states of arousal. Maybe Campion is making the joke that you are laughing at Denby? Did you ever think of that? She makes lots of great visual sexual jokes. She's like that. Then again, so do the MM writers.
Paul Simms' "Shouts and Murmurs." A hilarity that exists somewhere between houseguests and colonization.
And Ben Yagoda's letter about Rose Wilder Lane. She is "in fact, the first ghostwriter in history." Henry Ford, Charlie Chaplin and Art Smith, "Boy Aviator" owe her.
Thank god my wait at the doctor's office did not allow me to read all of "The Eight Days of the Financial Crisis." I don't even think I made it through day one. But I was impressed with what one might call the (pardon me) "economy" of the writing. Not a lot of superfluous detail. Stewart sets the scene and gets to business. Everything he tells you means something, and soon. I wish more New Yorker pieces were this controlled.
I also laughed out loud at more than one of the cartoons. Including the contests in the back. Fellow patients stared at me in wonderment.
Labels: books, currentevents, film, newyorker
posted by zoe p. at 10:20 PM
5 Comments:
I want to read that book just because the guy's last name is Dickstein. I'm simple like that. ;)
I've been addicted to your blog for a while, steathily lurking, but this is the first entry I could immediately relate to, being that I paged through this issue on the website, while impatiently waiting for my subscription to start by mail, which happened the next week.
I'll still be here, but sometimes, you won't know it. ;)
Just noticed I spelled "steathily" wrong. Well....
WV: monsterl - Here's where the "l" went! Annoying little shit keeps running from me.
Oh wait, I spelled it right the first time. Now I know it's the allergy pill I took earlier to combat the tail end of this cold. I couldn't see the "l".
That's it, I'm going to bed. Sorry for the clutter.
Sorry, sorry. I was looking at the second "l" a minute ago when I wrote that apology, and not where the first "l" should be.
Remember when I talked about The New Yorker a little while ago? That was awesome. ;)
Lurk your heart out, Rory.
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