The New Yorker

Michael Schulman (“Comic Effect,” p. 34) is a staff writer at the magazine. His new book, “Oscar Wars,” was published in February. Jiayang Fan (“What Am I Without You?,” p. 18) became a New Yorker staff writer in 2016. She is at work on her first book, “Motherland.” George Saunders (Fiction, p. 56) won the 2017 Man Booker Prize for “Lincoln in the Bardo.” Most recently, he published “Liberation Day: Stories.” Marisa Acocella (Sketchpad, p. 17) is a cartoonist and a graphic novelist. Her latest book is “The Big She-Bang.” Frank X. Gaspar (Poem, p. 60) has published five poetry collections and three novels, including, most recently, “The Poems of Renata Ferreira.” Merve Emre (Books, p. 70), a contributing writer, is working on a new book, “Love and Other Useless Pursuits.” She is a writer-in-residence…

BREAKING THE CYCLE As someone who has experienced homelessness, I read with great interest Adam Iscoe’s piece on the tragedy of Jordan Neely (“The Revolving Door,” May 22nd). I was fortunate to receive the help that I needed to turn my life around; my best friend was not as fortunate. He was homeless, and took his own life when faced with forced psychiatric intervention. I was impressed by the community organizations and social workers cited in Iscoe’s article who are offering alternatives to the endless cycle of forced treatment, incarceration, and homelessness, but such alternatives are scarce. I wish the article had included a discussion of the Housing First approach, an evidence-based practice endorsed by multiple government agencies. Providing housing first and making mental-health services available on a voluntary basis significantly reduces…

JUNE 7 – 13, 2023 The outdoor screening series from Rooftop Films has been a New York mainstay since 1997. Upcoming programs, at venues throughout the city (such as Green-Wood Cemetery, pictured above), include “In the Heights,” at Hinton Park, in Queens, and a première of the post-apocalyptic drama “Biosphere,” at Brooklyn Grange, in Sunset Park. A Juneteenth-weekend presentation of a documentary about the great jazz drummer Max Roach—in Herbert Von King Park, in Brooklyn’s Bed-Stuy—features a Q. & A. with the filmmakers and members of Roach’s family. As ever, it’s advisable to check in advance to confirm engagements. DANCE Yanira Castro Even more than most of Castro’s work, “I Came Here to Weep” is interactive. It’s billed as a “collective exorcism,” examining the colonial possession of Puerto Rico through the deconstruction and mockery of…

A few Saturday mornings ago, I made a grievous logistical error. There was a half-marathon in Brooklyn, where I live, and it was pouring rain. And yet I packed my entire family into our station wagon and set out for Staten Island: I had a reservation at a new Turkish restaurant, Zara Forest Grill, and a little traffic wasn’t going to stand in my way. The G.P.S. estimated forty-five minutes. An hour later, we’d barely gone a mile. Even in the best circumstances, a trip to Staten Island from any other borough is a commitment, a decent journey by bridge or boat. For Zara Forest Grill, in Graniteville, which is closer to New Jersey than Manhattan, it’s a commitment I’m willing to make. The following Monday, I went for breakfast, stayed…

You may think that child labor was abolished a century ago, at least in the United States. That was never quite true. The Fair Labor Standards Act, passed during the New Deal, outlawed “oppressive child labor” but exempted agricultural work from many of its restrictions, which, in the decades since, has left hundreds of thousands of children in the fields. In every industry, enforcement of the law has been uneven. States have always been free to strengthen protections, which some did, but challenges to the federal standards have been rare. The Reagan Administration, in its pro-business zeal, proposed lowering the standards, but abandoned the idea under fire from teachers, parents, unions, and Democratic lawmakers armed with Dickens references. Today, however, child labor in America is on the rise. The number of…

For almost two decades, Sven Marquardt has worked as the doorman and principal sorter at Berghain, the Berlin night club. He has been as responsible as anyone for its singular admixture of interesting humans, which, along with its freethinking ethos and its killer sound system, has made it world-famous and very hard to get into. Typically posted by the entrance, dressed in black, face-tattooed, with lower-lip piercings that look like silver fangs, he has become in his own way world-notorious, too—as an embodiment of Berghain’s old East Berliner queer-punk spirit, and as the intimidating assessor of that spirit’s traces in the aspirants who stand in line. The criteria for entry are obstinately imprecise. They aren’t his alone, but for better or worse he has become their face. He has milked…