The New Yorker

It has just gone 0528 on the first train to London and the carriages are already full.  My fellow passengers muse themselves with pages of the Metro and cast suspicious glances in my direction as I flick through the July issue of The New Yorker magazine. 

“America remembers” declares the most prominent cover line on the front cover half sleeve that opens to reveal a cartoon scene depicting the ground zero monument where the twin towers once stood.

Tourists and locals shuffle about taking photos and carrying various articles of undeterminable paraphernalia, smiling happily in the summer sun.

 My eye is drawn to one individual who stares disparagingly at a woman in a scarf; a security guard stands between them somewhat metaphorically. This is certainly a weighty prospect to be considering at this tender hour but I continue.

The first pages pass quickly, with letters from readers and preludes, listings and reviews of events happening in New York City.

“Stones and Bones”  

  

The main story appears on page 38. Adam Gopnik gives an insightful account of his visit to the 9/11 Memorial and compares it to various other historical sites. His observations pertain to the psychology behind the bricks, mortar and marble cladding.

The page turns easily but the subject matter remains heavily provoking and politically charged. The rest of the articles seem fluffy in comparison.

Cartoons and poetry occasionally break the torrent of text and the photography is gritty, deep, carefully thought out and tells its own story.

If you expect more from a publication this is the magazine for you, its quirky design belies a wealth of worldview altering, progressive journalism between its slender leaves.  

                   

The New Yorker is a grown up publication for grown up readers. It stares critically at American society and American society stares back like a child awaiting the approval of an austere parent.