I’m enamored by The New Yorker. It’s available via the Apple News+ subscription that Erin and I share as part of a broader service package, and indeed it’s one of the few publications I follow on that app. But I’ve spent little time reading any of its eclectic writing. I had only a vague awareness of its history, and had seen plenty of its comics.
The miasma of information I’d gathered but hadn’t yet assimilated about The New Yorker came together after Ronan Farrow and Andrew Marantz published a detailed profile of Sam Altman. I read it all, then read the interview transcript of Farrow’s appearance on the excellent Decoder podcast with Nilay Patel of The Verge. Since then, I’ve read The New Yorker’s Wikipedia page, poked through their archives, saved the landmark “Hiroshima” report from 1946 to read later, and recently followed a link to the hilarious “Coyote V. Acme” piece.1
I’ve tried tracing my awareness of The New Yorker before I intentionally began to learn more. In no particular order:
- George Saunders is outstanding, and he regularly contributes fiction to The New Yorker.
- I appreciate John Gruber over at Daring Fireball, and he appreciates The New Yorker. I read his coverage of their style guide changes, and notice when he links to other pieces published there.
- Speaking of style guides, The New Yorker is delightfully quirky while also being steady and thoughtful in its approach. In the few pieces I’ve read over the years, it’s impossible to ignore the unusual spelling, the diaeresis marks (e.g., coöperative), and hyphenation decisions.
- Their comics are iconic.
- Their covers are also iconic, even if I didn’t fully get them without the broader context of the magazine’s history and style.
- I probably used to think it had some meaningful connection to The New York Times. Eventually, learning that isn’t the case helped improve my estimation.
- They capably publish a mixture of journalism, opinion essays, fiction, and other pieces that defy classification. This breadth without sacrificing quality is commendable.
None of this was enough to fully capture my attention. But reading 17,000 words by Farrow and Marantz, followed by Farrow thoughtfully expanding on his approach on Decoder, established Farrow as an important representation of The New Yorker’s journalism arm and spoke to the magazine’s ethos. A publication that can allow a reporter to spend two years on this story while maintaining an influential role in modern literature (and humor) is well worth my attention.
So, I dove in deep. I was most impacted by discovering the reputation of their fact-checking operation. What a refreshing and admirable focus they’ve maintained through a difficult time for honest media. They provide thoroughly researched journalism that, being in a magazine, does not bluster, trying to convince us it’s breaking news. It’s methodical and takes a stance on what’s important. But, sometimes life is too difficult to look at directly. In those cases, The New Yorker can hold a mirror to the world with well-reasoned essays. Go a step beyond, and enjoy the funhouse look via comics and fiction.
I’m amazed that I haven’t been reading The New Yorker cover-to-cover for years. I guess I’m not ready for what’s right in front of me until I’m ready.2