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The New Yorker April 15, 2019

Founded in 1925, The New Yorker publishes the best writers of its time and has received more National Magazine Awards than any other magazine, for its groundbreaking reporting, authoritative analysis, and creative inspiration. The New Yorker takes readers beyond the weekly print magazine with the web, mobile, tablet, social media, and signature events. The New Yorker is at once a classic and at the leading edge.

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47 期号



Paul Elie (“Acts of Penance,” p. 34) is a senior fellow at Georgetown University’s Berkley Center for Religion, Peace, and World Affairs. He is the author of “The Life You Save May Be Your Own” and “Reinventing Bach.” Anne Boyer (“The Undying,” p. 28), a poet and an essayist, has published several books, including “A Handbook of Disappointed Fate.” Her new book, “The Undying,” will be out in September. Mark Singer (The Talk of the Town, p. 17), a longtime contributor to the magazine, is the author of, most recently, “Trump and Me.” Hannah Goldfield (Tables for Two, p. 13) is The New Yorker’s food critic. Daniel Halpern (Poem, p. 54) has written nine collections of poetry, including “Something Shining.” He is the publisher of the HarperCollins imprint Ecco. Emily Nussbaum (On Television, p. 78),…

the mail

WOKENESS ONSTAGE In Hilton Als’s review of “White Noise,” the new play by Suzan-Lori Parks, he writes that New York theatre, perhaps to its detriment, has become “woke” (The Theatre, April 1st). Politicized interest in marginalized people, he says, serves to discourage playwrights from evoking the specifics of discrimination and oppression. The piece clarified for me why I dislike using the term “woke”: it condenses many possible understandings of injustice into a single position, as if there were only one way to be aware of racism and its effects. But Als’s proposal for an antidote to “woke” art—to “sing, freely and loudly, about being human”—strikes me as abstract and overly generalized, like the term “woke” itself. Sonya MichelSilver Spring, Md. Als seems to have decided what sort of playwright Parks should be, and…

goings on about town: this week

Arthur Miller wrote “All My Sons” as a Hail Mary pass, after his first Broadway play, “The Man Who Had All the Luck,” closed in four performances. But “All My Sons,” which opened in 1947 and tells the story of an airplane-parts manufacturer wrestling with his complicity in a series of wartime pilot deaths, established Miller as postwar America’s moral tragedian. A Roundabout revival, directed by Jack O’Brien (in previews and opening April 22, at the American Airlines Theatre), stars Annette Bening and Tracy Letts (above). NIGHT LIFE Musicians and night-club proprietors lead complicated lives; it’s advisable to check in advance to confirm engagements. James Carter Organ Trio Birdland It’s been nearly thirty years since James Carter hit the scene as a rough and tough tenor with a heart of gold, but there’s still plenty…

tables for two: o:n°

Study the menu carefully at O:n°, a new restaurant just outside Koreatown—you could be quizzed on it later. Or at least that’s the feeling you may get as you flip through the thick binder, which has a stylish blue patchwork-quilt cover and cleanly laminated pages. Dishes are organized into meticulous charts that display exhaustive lists of ingredients, spice levels by percentage, and prices, plus symbols noting potential allergens and impeccably photographed, miseen-place glamour shots. Once past the appetizers, you’ll find a minute-by-minute schedule of how your meal will unfold if you opt into the main event, an experience inspired by jeongol, also known as Korean hot pot. This is not hot pot of the Chinese and Japanese varieties that have become widely available in New York—choose-your-own adventures featuring roiling broth, a…

comment: barr review

Daniel Patrick Moynihan, the intellectual polymath who represented New York in the United States Senate for twenty-four years, developed a well-founded skepticism toward government secrecy. Bureaucrats and others, Moynihan knew, could always conjure reasons to keep information under wraps, and the ratchet of secrecy generally worked in only one direction. Secrets begat more demands for secrecy, at ever greater peril to the public’s right to know what was happening in its name. Secrecy, Moynihan wrote in his 1998 book of that title, thus became “a hidden, humongous, metastasizing mass within government itself.” That swelling mass may yet envelop the Mueller report. When President Trump nominated William P. Barr to be Attorney General, late last year, it was clear that one of his principal responsibilities would be to determine how much of…

good fences dept.: moving day

On a drizzly Sunday at the end of March, a white-and-yellow moving van occupied a space in front of 77 East Third Street that had long been reserved—and carefully delineated with traffic cones—for gleaming Harley-Davidson choppers. From August, 1969, until that day, the six-story lightly gargoyled Renaissance Revival apartment building with a first-floor brick façade was the New York City headquarters of the Hells Angels Motorcycle Club. Its distinctive front door, between two Doric columns painted with sevens, depicted a motorcycle-helmeted skeleton gleefully wielding a pitchfork atop a bed of flaming skulls. A plaque read “IN MEMORY OF BIG VINNY 1948-1979: ‘WHEN IN DOUBT, KNOCK ’EM OUT.’” That day, the Post’s front-page headline was “HELL FREEZES OVER: Yuppiçs Bouncç Snowflakç Bikçrs Out of East Villagç.” After fifty years, the Hells…