Listen. I am not going to try to unpack and critique the bonkers Rogue One review published by the New Yorker’s Richard Brody today. I do not even know where to begin. I am just going to blockquote some portions down below this paragraph, and I invite you to join me in making halting, inarticulate, baffled…
This review of Tequila Sunrise originally appeared in 1988 at The New Yorker and is reprinted here with permission from Pauline Kael’s daughter, Gina James.
William Finnegan’s new book, Barbarian Days: A Surfing Life looks like a choice read. Dig the excerpt in The New Yorker:
David Ochsner is reading every issue of The New Yorker. He’s got a blog about it, A New Yorker State of Mind. It’s my favorite new site. Dig in.
Oh, man, great job by The New Yorker making John McPhee's classic profile of Dollar Bill Bradley at Princeton available to us for free.
What can it mean for jazz as a living art when the most hotly debated genre event of 2014 was a satirical post on a humor blog? Only Charlie Haden's death earlier that month can rival the New Yorker's awkward July 31 unveiling of writer Django Gold's "Sonny Rollins: In His Own Words," a 480-word goof later appended…
On Saturday in Cooperstown, Roger Angell was given the J. G. Taylor Spink Award, the baseball Hall of Fame's writing writing honor. His sports writing career is a happy accident that began in 1962 when Angell went to spring training to write about New York's new team, the Mets. He was a 41-year-old fiction editor at …
There's a good excerpt from Mike Sacks' new book, Poking a Dead Frog: Conversations with Today's Top Comedy Writers, over at the New Yorker.
Earlier this year Kottke linked a New Yorker profile on the pick pocket Apollo Robbins as well as this New York Times video: