The connection between Christopher Buckley, the sort of writer whose novels are invariably described as “wickedly” something or other (clever, satirical, entertaining et al.) and the folksy, friendly glass of warm milk that went by the name of E.B. White would seem to be an unlikely one. Until you consider that, though their approach is Read More
When I met him at the Times Square offices of The New Yorker, Roger Angell—who’s just published a new book of autobiographical essays, Let Me Finish—seemed slightly out of place, though he’s been showing up for work at the magazine for 50 years. A spry and healthy 85, he may have looked the part, dressed Read More
Hey, it’s you! I thought you’d disappeared. No! No! You’re missed! By me, at least. I guess I just haven’t come across your work recently. That’s so you, to disappear off the radar screen like that and not care. So quirky, so indie, so Eastern. Not into mere recognition. It’s all about the work!
And Read More
Dogs and cats, I think we’d all agree, rank at the summit of the pet pecking order. This isn’t to suggest that New Yorkers with other companion animals–snakes or ferrets, for instance–are out of step, even a little demented. Only that our narrow-minded society is oriented around the love of canines and felines.
So when Read More
Wickerby: An Urban Pastoral , by Charles Siebert. Crown Publishers, 216 pages, $21.
This guy Siebert is a writer. Somewhere near the end of his book, on the night he returns to New York after a summer in a semi-isolated Canadian cabin, he describes catching his first glimpse of the city’s glowing skyscrapers, “savoring Read More
