How do you read The New Yorker?

Interesting news regarding Kindle-iPad-paper subscriptions to The New Yorker. I can't tell if the threat of censorship from Apple is real or no but apparently, "We're going to publish what we're going to publish," Mr. Remnick said. "If the Pentagon isn't going to talk me out of a story, then Apple in Cupertino isn't going to either. If they throw me off, they throw me off."

I like the bit from the commenter, too, "as S.J. Perelman reportedly said to James Thurber when asked about The New Yorker's social purpose, moral perspective, and aesthetic obligation: 'Jeezus, Jim, it's just another ten-cent magazine.'" I've never heard that one.

Remember, summer is here and the beach has sand, water, sun and all kinds of things that make the reading of screens difficult and dangerous.

Also, I just this week gave away my New Yorker archive CDs . . .

happy mothers' day

The best mothers' day reading?

Gail Collins on birth control (NYT) and John Seabrook on international adoption (TNY).

I don't love the Seabrook piece. As a matter of fact, I hate it in some ways - the child's name is Rosalie. Rosalie. [Actually, the child's name is NOT Rosalie. It is Rose and remains Rose throughout the essay. See comments.] Ask anyone named Rosalie and they will tell you that their name is not Rose. Ask anyone named Rose and they will tell you their name is not Rosalie. The silliest, most trite response, I know, but international adoption is an issue that renders me inarticulate and angry whenever I have to think or talk about it, which is maybe every other year. International adoption, in practice, seems to violate a lot of what I think of as basic human rights and it forces me to explore the idea that I believe, after all, in basic human rights. For children, no less.

So I usually don't think about it but I was in the middle, literally, of reading an excellent novel about international adoption and/or child trafficking, set in Guatemala - The Long Night of White Chickens - when I got this week's issue of The New Yorker. Seabrook is available to subscribers only, I think.