the New Yorker
Reading pulp fiction taught me how to write, said S.J. Perelman
The great humourist ascribes his success to the hours he spent deep in the adventures of Tarzan and Fu Manchu – and watching lurid B movies in afternoon cinemas
Small but perfect: So Late in the Day by Claire Keegan reviewed
The author once takes a big issue and, with her characteristic quiet brilliance, illuminates it in a small homely setting
Jeffrey Toobin’s stroke of misfortune
Jeffrey Toobin is a man much wronged. On Monday, the New Yorker writer was suspended by the magazine for which…
My quest for a universal cartoon
The universal cartoon is a rare thing
Greece is the word for the New Yorker’s Comma Queen
Mary Norris’s book about her love affair with Greece and the Greek language starts with a terrific chapter about alphabets.…
How I’d sex down the weather forecast
I have, for utterly explicable reasons, not been asked to guest-edit Radio 4’s Today this Christmas. Had I, though, I would…
Art and aspiration
When Adam Gopnik arrived in Manhattan in late 1980 he was an art history postgrad so poor that he and…
America’s greatest magazine — at its greatest
The New Yorker has always been revered for the supreme quality of its writing, says Philip Hensher
My role in saving The Spectator
I was wondering what to write about this week when I suddenly realised that exactly 40 years ago this Saturday…
The New Yorker’s grammar rules (and how to break them)
‘I had had a fantasy for years about owning a dairy farm,’ says Mary Norris, as she considers her career…
The cruellest present you could give a hated old in-law
It takes a special sort of talent to be able to make drawings of your own 97-year-old mother on her…
