The Mail

Peter Hessler ’ s story about post-pandemic Wuhan is a fine piece of reporting , and I share his faith that one day the truth about the pandemic ’ s origins will be revealed ( “ The Sealed City , ” October 12th ) .
Hessler refers to “ leftists ” and “ far left ” attacks on critics of the Chinese Communist Party ’ s official version of events .
The usage of these terms may inadvertently confuse Western readers , who perhaps more readily associate the left with positions such as anti-capitalism , anti-discrimination , egalitarianism , social @ @ @ @ @ @ @ rights .
But , in Chinese popular discourse , being on the left denotes fierce nationalism , loyalty to the state , and even deeper loyalty to the Party .
Its brand of anti-capitalism is only in opposition to the capitalism of the West , and socialism is whatever the Party says it is .
Of course , there are people in China who hold positions that would be more widely understood as belonging to the Western notions of the left or far left , but the more vocal or organized among them @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the suppression of an egalitarian , democratic , workerist left has a long history in the People ’ s Republic , from the nineteen-fifties to the present .
It would be best not to confuse these leftists with the current regime ’ s most rabid defenders .
Christopher Connery Professor of World Literature and Cultural Studies University of California , Santa Cruz Anthony Lane ’ s piece about John Berryman provided an enjoyable journey through some of the poet ’ s best-known work ; the new edition of selected letters that Lane reviews @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , October 19th ) .
However , I was surprised by the casual insult to confessional poetry .
Lane notes that Berryman “ viewed the notion of his being a confessional poet ‘ with rage and contempt , ’ ” and states , “ And rightly so ; the label is an insult to his craftsmanship.
” Confessional poetry is not universally viewed this way .
It has a storied history , and , though it is frequently spoken of today as a feminine mode , it was pursued by both male and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Anne Sexton , and Robert Lowell , all of whom contributed to the rise of “ confessionalism ” in the nineteen-fifties and sixties .
It is not a style that , in Lane ’ s words , pines “ for mere self-expression ” ; rather , it is a complex poetic movement , and the post-confessional and neo-confessional strains remain extremely important to contemporary poets .
Confessional poetry is no less worthy than other poetic styles—nor does its common association with women ’ s self-expression imply that it is somehow easier to write @ @ @ @ @ @ @ thank Lane for his wonderful article about John Berryman , which brought back memories of my time as a psychiatrist ( and poet ) in training .
In the mid-nineteen-seventies , I became fascinated with Berryman , who had died a few years earlier , and other poets from the era who experienced severe mental illness .
I once flew to San Francisco and presented a paper that was partly about a documentary entitled “ I Don ’ t Think I Will Sing Any More Just Now , ” showing footage of Berryman @ @ @ @ @ @ @ On the flight home , I was inspired to write a poem about Berryman ’ s death .
Studying the lives and works of poets such as Berryman allowed me to better understand the torment in the minds of my patients , much more effectively than simply reading Freud or a textbook would have ; I have also seen some patients turn to poetry as a way to explore the suffering and trauma in their lives .
Letters should be sent with the writer ’ s name , address , and daytime phone @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Letters may be edited for length and clarity , and may be published in any medium .
We regret that owing to the volume of correspondence we can not reply to every letter .

China’s Left
Peter Hessler’s story about post-pandemic Wuhan is a fine piece of reporting, and I share his faith that one day the truth about the pandemic’s origins will be revealed (“The Sealed City,” October 12th). Hessler refers to “leftists” and “far left” attacks on critics of the Chinese Communist Party’s official version of events. The usage of these terms may inadvertently confuse Western readers, who perhaps more readily associate the left with positions such as anti-capitalism, anti-discrimination, egalitarianism, social justice and welfare, and workers’ rights. But, in Chinese popular discourse, being on the left denotes fierce nationalism, loyalty to the state, and even deeper loyalty to the Party. Its brand of anti-capitalism is only in opposition to the capitalism of the West, and socialism is whatever the Party says it is. Of course, there are people in China who hold positions that would be more widely understood as belonging to the Western notions of the left or far left, but the more vocal or organized among them are generally silenced. In fact, the suppression of an egalitarian, democratic, workerist left has a long history in the People’s Republic, from the nineteen-fifties to the present. It would be best not to confuse these leftists with the current regime’s most rabid defenders.
Christopher Connery
Professor of World Literature and Cultural Studies
University of California, Santa Cruz
Revisiting Berryman
Anthony Lane’s piece about John Berryman provided an enjoyable journey through some of the poet’s best-known work; the new edition of selected letters that Lane reviews seems like an excellent resource (Books, October 19th). However, I was surprised by the casual insult to confessional poetry. Lane notes that Berryman “viewed the notion of his being a confessional poet ‘with rage and contempt,’ ” and states, “And rightly so; the label is an insult to his craftsmanship.” Confessional poetry is not universally viewed this way. It has a storied history, and, though it is frequently spoken of today as a feminine mode, it was pursued by both male and female poets, including Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, and Robert Lowell, all of whom contributed to the rise of “confessionalism” in the nineteen-fifties and sixties. It is not a style that, in Lane’s words, pines “for mere self-expression”; rather, it is a complex poetic movement, and the post-confessional and neo-confessional strains remain extremely important to contemporary poets. Confessional poetry is no less worthy than other poetic styles—nor does its common association with women’s self-expression imply that it is somehow easier to write or to analyze.
Leanna Petronella
Austin, Texas
I want to thank Lane for his wonderful article about John Berryman, which brought back memories of my time as a psychiatrist (and poet) in training. In the mid-nineteen-seventies, I became fascinated with Berryman, who had died a few years earlier, and other poets from the era who experienced severe mental illness. I once flew to San Francisco and presented a paper that was partly about a documentary entitled “I Don’t Think I Will Sing Any More Just Now,” showing footage of Berryman near the end of his life. On the flight home, I was inspired to write a poem about Berryman’s death. Studying the lives and works of poets such as Berryman allowed me to better understand the torment in the minds of my patients, much more effectively than simply reading Freud or a textbook would have; I have also seen some patients turn to poetry as a way to explore the suffering and trauma in their lives.
H. R. Spencer
Chapin, S.C.
•
Letters should be sent with the writer’s name, address, and daytime phone number via e-mail to themail@newyorker.com. Letters may be edited for length and clarity, and may be published in any medium. We regret that owing to the volume of correspondence we cannot reply to every letter.


newyorker--2020-11-02--The Disappearance and Cryptic Return of Salem

But hindsight has offered little clarity in the case of Salem , a trio of petulant electronic musicians who rose to notoriety a decade ago , stirred up a sandstorm of intrigue and consternation , and promptly disappeared from sight .
Formed by twentysomething burnouts from Michigan and Illinois , the band included two scraggly tattooed producers and vocalists , Jack Donoghue and John Holland , and the keyboardist and vocalist Heather Marlatt .
( Marlatt is no longer working with the group . )
Their music was a heavily distorted fog of blown-out samples , slurring vocals , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
The sound was compelling , but often clouded by their shenanigans .
Donoghue and Holland enjoyed cultivating a messy public image : Donoghue famously blew off an interview with the Times ; when they did manage to engage with the press , the conversations could be outrageous and lurid .
They gave such drowsy , lacklustre live performances that even their most passionate fans sometimes booed them off the stage .
Salem ’ s first EP , issued in a run of five hundred highly coveted white-vinyl pressings , in 2008 , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” This kind of behavior might simply have seemed like obnoxious spectacle if the music were not such a perfect evocation of a certain strain of American scumbaggery—a tone poem that captured the melancholy and the absurdity of a life lived at rock bottom .
These musicians were in constant dialogue with the void and having fun with it .
The group brought new energy to a corner of the indie-music world that had gone slack .
At the time , a genre of sensuous , lo-fi synth music called chillwave was gaining @ @ @ @ @ @ @ included Salem began making music that sounded like a reaction against chillwave ’ s perceived tepidness and its oppressive .
.
.
well , chillness .
This was the heyday of the music blogosphere , which was fixated on the invention of microgenres .
Salem ’ s cohort was designated as “ witch house , ” for its spooky style .
Witch house had in common with chillwave a tendency to put vibe before substance .
But , whereas chillwave hushed listeners into tranquillity , witch house had an unsettling undercurrent that jolted @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Demons speak to me , so that ’ s who I ’ m leaving with , ” Donoghue raps on “ Sick , ” a standout track on the album “ King Night , ” from 2010 , his vocals pitched down to resemble a devil ’ s .
Whether you found Salem to be profound , or profoundly unlistenable , probably depended on what kind of mood you were in , and what you ’ d absorbed from the reams of vitriolic or fawning essays written about the group .
Some critics @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hacks or blustering jerks , or that they flippantly drew inspiration from rap music without self-consciousness .
If you revisit old writing about Salem , what ’ s most striking is the sheer volume and enthusiasm of the discourse .
One critic described it as “ the worst new band in America , ” made up of people “ too stupid to function as humans , let alone musicians.
” Another characterized the début album as “ sick .
.
.
not just in the sense that it ’ s outstandingly good but @ @ @ @ @ @ @ unwell.
” But , as young provocateurs peddling seedy , highly stylized mischief , the trio earned attention from a rarefied segment of the creative class .
Michael Stipe and Terence Koh attended an early gig , and Givenchy used Salem ’ s music for a runway show , in 2011 .
Kanye West recruited Donoghue to work on his album “ Yeezus.
” The band remained obscure to most people , but it forecast a number of musical currents , including the eerie , spastic sounds of pop experimentalists , and hip-hop @ @ @ @ @ @ @ emotional .
Then , in 2011 , Salem abruptly stopped making music , for reasons that are still obscure .
( Its members are not the type to explain themselves . )
To no one ’ s surprise , Salem is not interested in anything so dull as a redemption narrative .
The band makes this plain on “ Fires in Heaven , ” its first album in ten years , which came out at the end of October .
“ Ask me what I ’ m doing with my life / Ain @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” a voice announces menacingly on “ Capulets , ” the bracing opening track .
“ I don ’ t have to apologize for shit , that ’ s another day.
” It ’ s difficult to tell , exactly , who ’ s speaking , because Donoghue and Holland heavily modulate their voices and sometimes affect a Southern drawl , making them sound more like Houston rappers than like white indie kids from the Midwest .
This sleight of hand , which has become quite common recently , allows them to avoid @ @ @ @ @ @ @ identities , access to which they probably haven ’ t earned—another form of provocation that they ’ re unwilling to surrender after ten years .
Musically , “ Capulets ” is classic Salem .
The group draws as much from Catholic liturgical music and Gregorian chant as from anything contemporary .
( Its biggest song , “ King Night , ” from 2010 , is a screeching interpolation of “ O Holy Night.
” ) On “ Capulets , ” Donoghue and Holland riff over a lo-fi recording of Sergei Prokofiev ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ tends to use its pieces as loud , blunt instruments to stir up sensation .
This puts it in a lineage of mood-minded musicians that includes the shoegaze artists the Cocteau Twins , the sludgy post-hardcore band Slint , and the narcotic producer DJ Screw .
The tracks on “ Fires in Heaven ” are less like songs than like bursts of melodrama .
The record , despite occasionally feeling sloppy and slight , is potent—full of nightmarish energy , bravado , and mysticism .
In the final years of the band ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , posting cryptic snapshots .
The images had an improvised feel , but , together , they revealed a peculiar , American-gothic sensibility : a dead deer on the side of the road ; a sinister flock of crows perched on an electrical wire ; a grizzly , bearded man in a tank top shaking a hailstorm of apples from a tree ; a raucous religious gathering .
Similarly , Salem ’ s music is a scrapbook of dispatches from the fringes of a nation under siege .
This allows the band to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they were described head on .
On a song called “ Crisis , ” a young woman frantically pleads for forgiveness .
“ It was a mistake , ” she screeches .
It becomes clear that the song is about a search for a missing person in opioid-addled America : “ All up on the news because they say they can ’ t get you / Walmart parking lot , supposed to forget you.
” Donoghue ’ s raps make it sound as if he may be implicated , and still at large @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hate / Never learning from lessons , ” he says .
“ I hate it / But I should have died on that pavement.
” “ Fires in Heaven ” has arrived without the antics that attended the group a decade ago .
A snippet of “ Capulets ” first appeared in May , in a mix broadcast on an independent London-based radio show .
The song offered no clues about how the members of Salem have experienced the past decade .
Their music remains oblique : a bit scary , frustratingly opaque @ @ @ @ @ @ @ who listen closely , there are a few detectable emotional shifts on the album .
Occasionally , the sound becomes cleaner and bigger , more celestial than hellish : the lead single , “ Starfall , ” has the wide-eyed quality of a movie soundtrack .
Here and there , Holland and Donoghue ’ s real voices pierce the thick fog , shifting the mood from nihilistic to yearning .
On “ Old Gods , ” one of them begs , “ Give me one more chance to set you free.
” For @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , it ’ s a startling offer of hope .
♦

When it comes to assessing contentious cultural moments, only time can provide the perspective needed to hone one’s judgment. We revise and clarify our understanding of trends and phenomena in hindsight: scandals become milestones, controversies become delights, lowbrow artifacts become national treasures, “major” works feel expendable. In retrospect, disco was actually a complicated and musically significant genre; Kanye West’s monologues were never the brilliant orations we took them to be.
But hindsight has offered little clarity in the case of Salem, a trio of petulant electronic musicians who rose to notoriety a decade ago, stirred up a sandstorm of intrigue and consternation, and promptly disappeared from sight. Formed by twentysomething burnouts from Michigan and Illinois, the band included two scraggly tattooed producers and vocalists, Jack Donoghue and John Holland, and the keyboardist and vocalist Heather Marlatt. (Marlatt is no longer working with the group.) Their music was a heavily distorted fog of blown-out samples, slurring vocals, and allusions to drug use and the occult. The sound was compelling, but often clouded by their shenanigans. Donoghue and Holland enjoyed cultivating a messy public image: Donoghue famously blew off an interview with the Times; when they did manage to engage with the press, the conversations could be outrageous and lurid. They gave such drowsy, lacklustre live performances that even their most passionate fans sometimes booed them off the stage. Salem’s first EP, issued in a run of five hundred highly coveted white-vinyl pressings, in 2008, was called “Yes I Smoke Crack.” This kind of behavior might simply have seemed like obnoxious spectacle if the music were not such a perfect evocation of a certain strain of American scumbaggery—a tone poem that captured the melancholy and the absurdity of a life lived at rock bottom. These musicians were in constant dialogue with the void and having fun with it.
The group brought new energy to a corner of the indie-music world that had gone slack. At the time, a genre of sensuous, lo-fi synth music called chillwave was gaining prominence. A subset of bands that included Salem began making music that sounded like a reaction against chillwave’s perceived tepidness and its oppressive . . . well, chillness. This was the heyday of the music blogosphere, which was fixated on the invention of microgenres. Salem’s cohort was designated as “witch house,” for its spooky style. Witch house had in common with chillwave a tendency to put vibe before substance. But, whereas chillwave hushed listeners into tranquillity, witch house had an unsettling undercurrent that jolted them awake in adrenalized terror. “Demons speak to me, so that’s who I’m leaving with,” Donoghue raps on “Sick,” a standout track on the album “King Night,” from 2010, his vocals pitched down to resemble a devil’s.
Whether you found Salem to be profound, or profoundly unlistenable, probably depended on what kind of mood you were in, and what you’d absorbed from the reams of vitriolic or fawning essays written about the group. Some critics believed that its members were musically unsophisticated hacks or blustering jerks, or that they flippantly drew inspiration from rap music without self-consciousness. If you revisit old writing about Salem, what’s most striking is the sheer volume and enthusiasm of the discourse. One critic described it as “the worst new band in America,” made up of people “too stupid to function as humans, let alone musicians.” Another characterized the début album as “sick . . . not just in the sense that it’s outstandingly good but in the fact that it seems extremely unwell.”
But, as young provocateurs peddling seedy, highly stylized mischief, the trio earned attention from a rarefied segment of the creative class. Michael Stipe and Terence Koh attended an early gig, and Givenchy used Salem’s music for a runway show, in 2011. Kanye West recruited Donoghue to work on his album “Yeezus.” The band remained obscure to most people, but it forecast a number of musical currents, including the eerie, spastic sounds of pop experimentalists, and hip-hop’s turn toward the drugged-out and emotional. Then, in 2011, Salem abruptly stopped making music, for reasons that are still obscure. (Its members are not the type to explain themselves.)
To no one’s surprise, Salem is not interested in anything so dull as a redemption narrative. The band makes this plain on “Fires in Heaven,” its first album in ten years, which came out at the end of October. “Ask me what I’m doing with my life / Ain’t got shit to tell,” a voice announces menacingly on “Capulets,” the bracing opening track. “I don’t have to apologize for shit, that’s another day.” It’s difficult to tell, exactly, who’s speaking, because Donoghue and Holland heavily modulate their voices and sometimes affect a Southern drawl, making them sound more like Houston rappers than like white indie kids from the Midwest. This sleight of hand, which has become quite common recently, allows them to avoid vulnerability, and to shape-shift into alternative identities, access to which they probably haven’t earned—another form of provocation that they’re unwilling to surrender after ten years.
Musically, “Capulets” is classic Salem. The group draws as much from Catholic liturgical music and Gregorian chant as from anything contemporary. (Its biggest song, “King Night,” from 2010, is a screeching interpolation of “O Holy Night.”) On “Capulets,” Donoghue and Holland riff over a lo-fi recording of Sergei Prokofiev’s “Dance of the Knights.” Salem tends to use its pieces as loud, blunt instruments to stir up sensation. This puts it in a lineage of mood-minded musicians that includes the shoegaze artists the Cocteau Twins, the sludgy post-hardcore band Slint, and the narcotic producer DJ Screw. The tracks on “Fires in Heaven” are less like songs than like bursts of melodrama. The record, despite occasionally feeling sloppy and slight, is potent—full of nightmarish energy, bravado, and mysticism.
In the final years of the band’s hiatus, Donoghue reëmerged on Instagram, posting cryptic snapshots. The images had an improvised feel, but, together, they revealed a peculiar, American-gothic sensibility: a dead deer on the side of the road; a sinister flock of crows perched on an electrical wire; a grizzly, bearded man in a tank top shaking a hailstorm of apples from a tree; a raucous religious gathering. Similarly, Salem’s music is a scrapbook of dispatches from the fringes of a nation under siege. This allows the band to evoke horrific events more vividly than if they were described head on. On a song called “Crisis,” a young woman frantically pleads for forgiveness. “It was a mistake,” she screeches. It becomes clear that the song is about a search for a missing person in opioid-addled America: “All up on the news because they say they can’t get you / Walmart parking lot, supposed to forget you.” Donoghue’s raps make it sound as if he may be implicated, and still at large. “I hate it, I hate / Never learning from lessons,” he says. “I hate it / But I should have died on that pavement.”
“Fires in Heaven” has arrived without the antics that attended the group a decade ago. A snippet of “Capulets” first appeared in May, in a mix broadcast on an independent London-based radio show. The song offered no clues about how the members of Salem have experienced the past decade. Their music remains oblique: a bit scary, frustratingly opaque, but absorbing nonetheless. For those who listen closely, there are a few detectable emotional shifts on the album. Occasionally, the sound becomes cleaner and bigger, more celestial than hellish: the lead single, “Starfall,” has the wide-eyed quality of a movie soundtrack. Here and there, Holland and Donoghue’s real voices pierce the thick fog, shifting the mood from nihilistic to yearning. On “Old Gods,” one of them begs, “Give me one more chance to set you free.” For a group possessed of such deadened world-weariness, it’s a startling offer of hope. ♦


newyorker--2020-11-02--A Speed-Reading App Condenses the Jeffrey Epstein Saga

Hours before the final debate between Donald Trump and Joseph Biden , a federal court unsealed the four-hundred-and-sixty-five-page transcript of a deposition given by the British socialite Ghislaine Maxwell in 2016 , about the sex-trafficking ring she allegedly ran with Jeffrey Epstein .
Those trying to manage their daily news-bingeing couldn ’ t have known in advance to budget hours for both of these unnerving events .
Blinkist , a book-summarizing subscription service with sixteen million users , caters to people who prefer not to sift through nearly five hundred pages .
“ Almost none of us have the time @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to read , ” the app ’ s Web site says .
Blinkist ’ s “ expert readers ” mine nonfiction titles to distill them into fifteen-minute audio slabs of what they call “ key insights ” ; recent top downloads include “ Fire and Fury , ” by Michael Wolff ; “ Political Order and Political Decay , ” by Francis Fukuyama ; and “ Becoming , ” Michelle Obama ’ s memoir .
The service eliminates the vicissitudes of normal reading ; as one user put it , “ By playing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ can squeeze in a book while standing in line , riding in an Uber or as a bedtime story .
I just want the information , not to be the author or be forced to see through his or her eyes.
” Even “ The Ethics of Ambiguity , ” by Simone de Beauvoir , and Immanuel Kant ’ s “ Critique of Pure Reason ” have been boiled down into bullet points , a SparkNotes for high-functioning grownups .
Take the extracted essence of Joe Biden ’ s “ Promises to Keep @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Biden the courage to pursue his ambitions ” ; “ Slowly , Biden became more engaged in his work in the Senate.
” After the release of the Maxwell deposition , Blinkist employees convened a war room at the company ’ s headquarters , in Berlin ; three of them sat around a table next to a whiteboard , drinking tea and contemplating how they ’ d condense the Epstein saga .
Recent projects included two books about the Harvey Weinstein trial ; “ The Education of Brett Kavanaugh , ” by Robin @ @ @ @ @ @ @ She Comes First , ” an instructional treatise on female orgasm by Dr. Ian Kerner .
The company had considered Blinking the Mueller report and decided that the task was too difficult , but it had a go at Maxwell ’ s testimony .
Erik Niklasson , the company ’ s content producer , said , “ Sometimes we do very abstract books .
Our tone is hand-holding , like : Bear with us , this gets a bit complicated .
We use repetition and disclaimers .
And context is so important.
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ t get cultural references sometimes .
I ’ m from Sweden.
” “ Our star writer found this pretty tough , ” Thomas Anderson , the company ’ s head of English content , said of the Maxwell transcript .
“ Compared with a nonfiction book , there isn ’ t too much concrete information in there.
” Despite the salacious nature of the case , he said , the key insights are “ a bit bland.
” The Blinkist summation makes no mention of a basket of sex toys , a detail @ @ @ @ @ @ @ highlight .
Here ’ s a Blinked version of the Blinkist distillation : “ The first key insight is : Ghislaine Maxwell claims that Virginia Giuffre is a liar .
‘ Lies , ’ ‘ liar , ’ ‘ lied , ’ ‘ lying ’ —the words appear again and again throughout the deposition .
During the afternoon session , however , allegations of Virginia ’ s mendacity appear in a dense cluster—thirty-four times in a mere thirteen pages.
” Jonathan Arac , the former chair of Columbia ’ s English department , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ version of an old way of reading.
” He recalled the approximately ten-line summary of Homer ’ s Odyssey in Aristotle ’ s Poetics : “ Aristotle invented the idea of the unity of a work as defined by its plot .
The plot as the soul of the work , the component that gives it its integrity and wholeness .
Plato didn ’ t seem to understand this .
He probably wondered , Is Homer writing about how to drive a chariot ?
Or how to slaughter an ox ?
Aristotle says @ @ @ @ @ @ @ plot.
” Arac went on , “ We choose to have someone else do it for us because we assume this is an experience we don ’ t have time for.
” In the nineteenth century , he noted , Edgar Allan Poe argued that modern life was so busy that the short story was the right form for it .
A new app , Instaread , condenses fiction titles : one can experience “ The Fountainhead , ” “ 1984 , ” or Jonathan Franzen ’ s latest , “ Purity ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and sixty-three pages ) , as a twenty-six-minute audio summary .
Franzen , who has not checked out the whittled-down version , said , “ My own approach is to talk knowledgeably at a party about a book I ’ ve never even cracked or read the dust jacket of—it ’ s the tried-and-true approach.
” He added , “ The trend has been towards the tweet , so , at this point , spending more than twenty minutes actively engaged with a complete work of something seems like a step forward .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ it.
” Sarah Allison , a professor of English—and a pro-summary Victorianist—is the author of “ Reductive Reading : A Syntax of Victorian Moralizing.
” Of Blinkist , she said , “ It ’ s the TED-talk-ification of nonfiction.
” But is a summary of the 9/11 report or the Maxwell deposition enough ?
“ It could be that , as a cultural document , the most important thing you need to know is : how was it summarized ?
” she said .
“ Though , of course , these days , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ takes.
” ♦

Ghislaine Maxwell Illustration by João Fazenda
Hours before the final debate between Donald Trump and Joseph Biden, a federal court unsealed the four-hundred-and-sixty-five-page transcript of a deposition given by the British socialite Ghislaine Maxwell in 2016, about the sex-trafficking ring she allegedly ran with Jeffrey Epstein. Those trying to manage their daily news-bingeing couldn’t have known in advance to budget hours for both of these unnerving events. Blinkist, a book-summarizing subscription service with sixteen million users, caters to people who prefer not to sift through nearly five hundred pages. “Almost none of us have the time to read everything we’d like to read,” the app’s Web site says. Blinkist’s “expert readers” mine nonfiction titles to distill them into fifteen-minute audio slabs of what they call “key insights”; recent top downloads include “Fire and Fury,” by Michael Wolff; “Political Order and Political Decay,” by Francis Fukuyama; and “Becoming,” Michelle Obama’s memoir.
The service eliminates the vicissitudes of normal reading; as one user put it, “By playing Blinkist books at 2x normal speed I can squeeze in a book while standing in line, riding in an Uber or as a bedtime story. I just want the information, not to be the author or be forced to see through his or her eyes.” Even “The Ethics of Ambiguity,” by Simone de Beauvoir, and Immanuel Kant’s “Critique of Pure Reason” have been boiled down into bullet points, a SparkNotes for high-functioning grownups. Take the extracted essence of Joe Biden’s “Promises to Keep”: “Falling in love gave Biden the courage to pursue his ambitions”; “Slowly, Biden became more engaged in his work in the Senate.”
After the release of the Maxwell deposition, Blinkist employees convened a war room at the company’s headquarters, in Berlin; three of them sat around a table next to a whiteboard, drinking tea and contemplating how they’d condense the Epstein saga. Recent projects included two books about the Harvey Weinstein trial; “The Education of Brett Kavanaugh,” by Robin Pogrebin and Kate Kelly; and “She Comes First,” an instructional treatise on female orgasm by Dr. Ian Kerner.
The company had considered Blinking the Mueller report and decided that the task was too difficult, but it had a go at Maxwell’s testimony. Erik Niklasson, the company’s content producer, said, “Sometimes we do very abstract books. Our tone is hand-holding, like: Bear with us, this gets a bit complicated. We use repetition and disclaimers. And context is so important.” He added, “I don’t get cultural references sometimes. I’m from Sweden.”
“Our star writer found this pretty tough,” Thomas Anderson, the company’s head of English content, said of the Maxwell transcript. “Compared with a nonfiction book, there isn’t too much concrete information in there.” Despite the salacious nature of the case, he said, the key insights are “a bit bland.” The Blinkist summation makes no mention of a basket of sex toys, a detail that other news accounts of the deposition highlight.
Here’s a Blinked version of the Blinkist distillation: “The first key insight is: Ghislaine Maxwell claims that Virginia Giuffre is a liar. ‘Lies,’ ‘liar,’ ‘lied,’ ‘lying’—the words appear again and again throughout the deposition. During the afternoon session, however, allegations of Virginia’s mendacity appear in a dense cluster—thirty-four times in a mere thirteen pages.”
Jonathan Arac, the former chair of Columbia’s English department, said, “This is a new version of an old way of reading.” He recalled the approximately ten-line summary of Homer’s Odyssey in Aristotle’s Poetics: “Aristotle invented the idea of the unity of a work as defined by its plot. The plot as the soul of the work, the component that gives it its integrity and wholeness. Plato didn’t seem to understand this. He probably wondered, Is Homer writing about how to drive a chariot? Or how to slaughter an ox? Aristotle says the poet knows how to make a plot.”
Arac went on, “We choose to have someone else do it for us because we assume this is an experience we don’t have time for.” In the nineteenth century, he noted, Edgar Allan Poe argued that modern life was so busy that the short story was the right form for it.
A new app, Instaread, condenses fiction titles: one can experience “The Fountainhead,” “1984,” or Jonathan Franzen’s latest, “Purity” (which clocks in at five hundred and sixty-three pages), as a twenty-six-minute audio summary. Franzen, who has not checked out the whittled-down version, said, “My own approach is to talk knowledgeably at a party about a book I’ve never even cracked or read the dust jacket of—it’s the tried-and-true approach.” He added, “The trend has been towards the tweet, so, at this point, spending more than twenty minutes actively engaged with a complete work of something seems like a step forward. I’m hard pressed to deplore it.”
Sarah Allison, a professor of English—and a pro-summary Victorianist—is the author of “Reductive Reading: A Syntax of Victorian Moralizing.” Of Blinkist, she said, “It’s the TED-talk-ification of nonfiction.” But is a summary of the 9/11 report or the Maxwell deposition enough? “It could be that, as a cultural document, the most important thing you need to know is: how was it summarized?” she said. “Though, of course, these days, sometimes that’s memes or hot takes.” ♦


newyorker--2020-11-02--“Mt. Rushmore,” by Clarence Major

“Mt. Rushmore,” by Clarence Major

We ’ re about thirty miles outside Rapid City , South Dakota , at Keystone ’ s Black Hills or call it Lakota Paha Sapa .
We ’ re here for Borglum ’ s big faces .
They ’ re granite and long-standing under the sun .
They ’ re sun-baked and whipped by rain and loved by tourists .
George gazes into an endless distance .
Tom ’ s sight is set high , bravely staring down the light .
Teddy ’ s in sombre introspection and Abe ’ s in a trance .
Is George daydreaming his youth @ @ @ @ @ @ @ his first slave , a man called Trumbull , or is George daydreaming the comforts of Mount Vernon or the future of America ?
Is Tom remembering the importance of dissent or the frail nature of democracy ( Benjamin ’ s “ if you can keep it ” ) or the swish of Sally Hemings ’ dress hem or Easton ’ s freedom or is he daydreaming Shadwell ’ s countryside or the future of humanity ?
Is Teddy riding roughly , galloping really , or thinking about his parks or a Square @ @ @ @ @ @ @ future of nature ?
Is Abe remembering that first telegraph or his boat and its title or wrestling days or the new Secret Service or is he thinking about the future of Africans in America and the future of America ?

Audio: Read by the author.
We’re about thirty miles outside Rapid City, South Dakota,
at Keystone’s Black Hills or call it Lakota Paha Sapa.
We’re here for Borglum’s big faces.
They’re granite and long-standing under the sun.
They’re sun-baked and whipped by rain
and loved by tourists.
George gazes into an endless distance.
Tom’s sight is set high, bravely staring down the light.
Teddy’s in sombre introspection
and Abe’s in a trance.
Is George daydreaming his youth at Popes Creek
or age eleven getting his first slave,
a man called Trumbull, or is George daydreaming
the comforts of Mount Vernon
or the future of America?
Is Tom remembering the importance of dissent
or the frail nature of democracy
(Benjamin’s “if you can keep it”)
or the swish of Sally Hemings’ dress hem
or Easton’s freedom
or is he daydreaming Shadwell’s countryside
or the future of humanity?
Is Teddy riding roughly, galloping really,
or thinking about his parks
or a Square Deal for everybody
or railroads or the future of nature?
Is Abe remembering that first telegraph
or his boat and its title or wrestling days
or the new Secret Service or is he thinking
about the future of Africans in America
and the future of America?


newyorker--2020-11-02--Wile E. Coyote, Republican Strategist

Wile E. Coyote, Republican Strategist

My name is Wile E. Coyote , and let me just say that it ’ s an honor to be meeting with the Committee to Reëlect President Donald Trump , both as a lifelong Republican and as a connoisseur of high jinks .
Your schemes to purge the voter rolls , gum up the Postal Service , and plant fake ballot boxes are some of the Looniest and Tooniest I ’ ve seen in American politics .
But , if we want to win this election , we ’ re going to have to get a lot more creative .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ a good start , but have you considered painting a trompe-l ’ œil polling place onto the side of a cliff ?
When people show up , excited to vote , at eighty miles an hour , they will be flattened .
And if—as is sometimes the case—a voter is somehow able to pass through the cliff face , you must not try to give chase .
I ’ ve learned this the hard way .
Your online disinformation campaigns are laudable , but disinformation isn ’ t just for Facebook .
What @ @ @ @ @ @ @ side of the road ?
“ ELECTION CANCELLED ” ?
You just won Iowa .
“ NEXT BALLOT BOX—300 MILES ” ?
Texas is ours .
“ FREE BIRDSEED ” ?
Game over .
Democrats love birdseed .
Take my home state , Arizona .
Years of demographic change and an unpopular President have turned it into a battleground .
But it doesn ’ t have to be .
What if we put the polling place at the end of a shaky rope bridge ?
When the Roadrun—I mean , when the voter—goes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the ropes and send him plummeting to the bottom of the Grand Canyon .
We can do this several million times .
If you find yourself also standing on the bridge when you cut the ropes—well , I ’ ve been there , brother .
That ’ s just the price of freedom .
Now , I know what you ’ re probably thinking : Is any of this legal ?
In a word , yes .
Ever since the Supreme Court gutted the Voting Rights Act , there is effectively no legal @ @ @ @ @ @ @ or harebrained a voter-suppression tactic can be .
You can do almost anything to voters these days .
Using an industrial-sized rubber band to launch them into the next county ?
That ’ s protected speech .
Punching them with a boxing glove affixed to the end of a giant spring ?
That ’ s what the Framers envisioned .
Dropping a grand piano on a voter ’ s head ?
In the state of Florida , that ’ s called “ standing your ground.
” I don ’ t need to tell @ @ @ @ @ @ @ we win .
I am an unequivocal supporter of the right to bear arms .
Also bombs , catapults , giant bows that shoot me in place of an arrow , and rockets you can ride on .
A Biden Administration would surely pass common-sense gun reform and end all the fun .
I am a staunch opponent of gun reform , and an even stauncher opponent of common sense .
And don ’ t get me started on the Supreme Court .
Obviously , we ’ re all thrilled that the passing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ up a seat for Amy Coney Barrett , a personal hero of mine .
She hasn ’ t responded to my dozens of letters , but I ’ m certain that she ’ ll make reproductive rights disappear , even if she doesn ’ t use the Acme invisible paint that I mailed her .
But why stop there ?
Have you considered sawing a giant circle in the floor beneath Justice Sotomayor ’ s chair ?
Maybe a 6–3 Court will finally rule on my pending case : Wile E. Coyote v. @ @ @ @ @ @ @ advice , and we should be cruising to a comfortable win come November 3rd .
One word of caution , however .
If on Election Night things are looking good , by no means should you look straight into the camera while rubbing your hands together in evil glee .
This always , and I mean always , backfires .
And don ’ t even think about tying on a bib and licking your chops .
Put on a goddam tie .
This party used to stand for something .
♦

The California Republican Party has admitted responsibility for placing more than 50 deceptively labeled “official” drop boxes for mail-in ballots.
—The Times.
Gentlemen, allow me to introduce myself.
My name is Wile E. Coyote, and let me just say that it’s an honor to be meeting with the Committee to Reëlect President Donald Trump, both as a lifelong Republican and as a connoisseur of high jinks. Your schemes to purge the voter rolls, gum up the Postal Service, and plant fake ballot boxes are some of the Looniest and Tooniest I’ve seen in American politics. But, if we want to win this election, we’re going to have to get a lot more creative.
Closing polling places in Democratic-leaning precincts was a good start, but have you considered painting a trompe-l’œil polling place onto the side of a cliff? When people show up, excited to vote, at eighty miles an hour, they will be flattened. And if—as is sometimes the case—a voter is somehow able to pass through the cliff face, you must not try to give chase. I’ve learned this the hard way.
Your online disinformation campaigns are laudable, but disinformation isn’t just for Facebook. What about a few well-placed signs along the side of the road? “ELECTION CANCELLED”? You just won Iowa. “NEXT BALLOT BOX—300 MILES”? Texas is ours. “FREE BIRDSEED”? Game over. Democrats love birdseed.
Take my home state, Arizona. Years of demographic change and an unpopular President have turned it into a battleground. But it doesn’t have to be. What if we put the polling place at the end of a shaky rope bridge? When the Roadrun—I mean, when the voter—goes to cast a ballot, we cut the ropes and send him plummeting to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. We can do this several million times. If you find yourself also standing on the bridge when you cut the ropes—well, I’ve been there, brother. That’s just the price of freedom.
Now, I know what you’re probably thinking: Is any of this legal? In a word, yes. Ever since the Supreme Court gutted the Voting Rights Act, there is effectively no legal limit on how zany, ill-conceived, or harebrained a voter-suppression tactic can be. You can do almost anything to voters these days. Using an industrial-sized rubber band to launch them into the next county? That’s protected speech. Punching them with a boxing glove affixed to the end of a giant spring? That’s what the Framers envisioned. Dropping a grand piano on a voter’s head? In the state of Florida, that’s called “standing your ground.”
I don’t need to tell you all how important it is that we win. I am an unequivocal supporter of the right to bear arms. Also bombs, catapults, giant bows that shoot me in place of an arrow, and rockets you can ride on. A Biden Administration would surely pass common-sense gun reform and end all the fun. I am a staunch opponent of gun reform, and an even stauncher opponent of common sense.
And don’t get me started on the Supreme Court. Obviously, we’re all thrilled that the passing of Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg has opened up a seat for Amy Coney Barrett, a personal hero of mine. She hasn’t responded to my dozens of letters, but I’m certain that she’ll make reproductive rights disappear, even if she doesn’t use the Acme invisible paint that I mailed her. But why stop there? Have you considered sawing a giant circle in the floor beneath Justice Sotomayor’s chair? Maybe a 6–3 Court will finally rule on my pending case: Wile E. Coyote v. the Law of Gravity.
Take my advice, and we should be cruising to a comfortable win come November 3rd. One word of caution, however. If on Election Night things are looking good, by no means should you look straight into the camera while rubbing your hands together in evil glee. This always, and I mean always, backfires. And don’t even think about tying on a bib and licking your chops. Put on a goddam tie. This party used to stand for something. ♦


“Ghoul”

“ Why aren ’ t the old served first ?
” crabs Leonard , Squatting Ghoul Two , senior to all .
Last week Leonard ’ s knee went out .
We , his fellow Squatting Ghouls , have since been allowing him to sit upon a plastiform Remorseful Demon , which , at this moment , emits one of its periodic Remorse-groans .
“ Grieve on , foul beast , ” I say , per Script .
“ Foul indeed !
” says Tim , Feuding Ghoul Four : great guy , always blurting out such quips as “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , in terms of the way you keep casting your eyes fitfully back and forth while squatting !
” To which I might reply , “ Thanks , Tim , you Feuding Ghouls are also ripping it up , I so admire how , every day , you guys come up with a whole new topic for your Feud !
” Into my paper bowl goes : Lunch .
A broth with , plopped down in it , a single gleaming Kit Kat .
Someday I , too , may be old , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Squatting Ghouls as yet unborn ( or currently mere Li ’ l Demons , running around in their bright-red diapers ) allowing elder me , kaput like Leonard , to sit on , perhaps , this very same plastiform Remorseful Demon , in that dismal future time !
Today , however , all is well : Break Week is nigh .
Plus we each get a niche into which to put our stuff .
In the Room , we may mingle with individuals from our sister workhouses , such as BENEATH OUR MOTHER @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
May we mate there ?
Sure .
We may .
Many do .
Should you observe someone mating and wish to be polite ?
Lurch off suddenly , as if you have left something back in your niche .
Sometimes ( tight quarters in the Room ! )
you may need to step or hop over a mating pair .
The polite thing : step or hop over , saying nada .
Should you personally know one or both , and feel saying nada might violate politeness , well , say something @ @ @ @ @ @ @ go , go !
” or “ Looking good , James and Melissa , all best wishes !
” Today , hopping over two such folks , I think , Hey , isn ’ t that Mr. Tom Frame , normally the “ Before ” manifestation of Monk Decapitated for Evil Thoughts , in the portion of MAWS OF HELL called “ Payback ’ s a Mother ” ?
Mr. Frame , out of his seventeenth-century-monk threads , is mating with Gwen Thorsen , one of our rotating team of folks in hooded @ @ @ @ @ @ @ did not even know that Mr. Frame even knew her !
“ Hey , Tom , hi , Gwen !
” I cry , not wishing to violate politeness .
To which both briefly glance up at me all love-faced .
That is another great thing about Break Week : you are always seeing folks in new contexts !
For example , last Break , I saw Rolph Spengler , Flying Spear Launcher Three , quietly drinking tea , writing in his journal .
No wings on , face not painted red , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cloven-hoofed boots .
Actually , he looked so tender in the face I felt the need of asking what he was writing .
“ A letter to my son , ” he said .
“ I did not even know you had a son , Rolph !
” I said .
“ I guess so , if you are writing to your son !
” I said .
“ All I ever saw you as ?
A red-painted , big-winged , cloven-hoofed fellow , flinging down your spears.
” “ And I guess @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a tiny Squatting Ghoul , far below me , ” Rolph said .
“ Whom I kept trying to just barely miss with my spears .
My son is Edgar , CHICAGO GANGSTER HIDEOUT.
” And , just like that , we became friends !
Now , whenever Rolph , on wire , hovers over our quadrant , he will wave down at me with his non-spear hand , at which I will rise from my squat and throw my arms wide , exposing my chest , as if to say , “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Launcher !
Since I am already a Squatting Ghoul , how much worse can my afterlife even get ?
” At which Rolph will fake-pump his spear at me , as if to say , “ Ha ha , talk to you next Break , pal !
” By which I mean : friendship may take time and faith to grow !
Mr. Frame ’ s wife , Ann Frame , used to be on Guillotine-Cart Pull Team Five .
Those guillotines , being heavy , needing to be pulled over some fake @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of poly , still must be bumpy to seem real , Ann ’ s back went out , and she was transferred to VICTORIAN WEEKEND , a big adjustment , since , instead of being scary , she had to adopt a mind-set of mincing and serving .
Now she is Cockney Cook : sweet gig !
All she has to do is , every half hour , blunder into this formal dining hall , interrupting some Royals ( Visitors ) eating in there , then blunder out , knocking over a tea @ @ @ @ @ @ @ origins in a Cockney accent .
But alas : apparently , her new role has caused marital stress , because Mrs. Frame is now constantly practicing her Cockney accent , even while on Break , in the Room .
I try to be a pal by pointing out that Tom himself always takes ample care , prior to the moment of his decapitation , to appear genuinely terrified .
Also , re the lightning-burst-thunderclap spate of total darkness that allows him to switch the headless “ After ” Animatron in for himself on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the DisaHole : does he not always endeavor to do that quickly , so the switch will go unnoticed by our Visitors ?
Maybe , I suggest , he is more like Ann than he wishes to acknowledge !
Isn ’ t his quick hopping analogous to Ann ’ s continually practicing her accent , i.e.
, a form of admirable professionalism ?
“ I guess what I ’ m saying is , I don ’ t practice hopping into the DisaHole when we ’ re on Break , ” he says .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ say , listening and agreeing being a proven path to friendship .
“ That sounds frustrating.
” “ But she just goes on and on , ” he says .
“ Guv ’ n ’ r this , guv ’ n ’ r that .
And why ?
For what ?
” “ Wants to do a good job ?
” I say .
“ For her Royals ?
” “ Of whom there never are any ?
” he says , crossly .
Then there is this rather big silence .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ never are any , ” he says .
“ I know you ’ re not saying that , Tom , ” I say .
“ I should probably just shut up , ” he says .
Jeez , I think , Tom , Mr. Frame , you have really put me in a bad spot !
Rules are rules , friends are friends .
But now rules and friends urge differing courses of action upon me , and which shall I choose ?
Gosh !
I am usually all about Team .
When @ @ @ @ @ @ @ did I discontinue squatting and stand up straight , which would have felt good ?
No , I squatted on , using a broken-off broom as a brace .
Once , filling in as Screaming Doomed Cleric , though I had strep , I screamed for eight straight hours , even providing all six Optional Dread Whoops .
Yet I continue pacing the free-flowing creek , going back and forth from one wall where the creek ends in a painting of itself flowing off into eternity to the other , until finally Todd @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , except for one too broke to ever quack again , which Todd bears away under one of his arms .
Just then , from near Bowling , I hear both hue and cry .
And rush over to find a group informally gathered around my pal Rolph Spengler , Flying Spear Launcher Three , engaging in some kicking activity , as Rolph continues , despite the kicking , to emit such discredited ideas as : “ We pass our days enacting insane rituals of denial with which I , for one , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ just admit and discuss ?
” And : “ Truth , truth !
Can ’ t we just , for once , speak the goddam— ” Jeez !
No wonder that group around Rolph is kicking him !
Shirley from Monitoring shoots me a look , meaning : Brian , give Rolph there a kick , so I can write down that you were among those who gave Rolph a kick because you were , as we all were , shocked and offended by the boldness and audacity of Rolph ’ s lies @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in sparing the larger community the burden of Rolph ’ s confusion , you , with your foot or feet , did your best to stem the tide of twisted negativity pouring forth from strange , discredited Rolph .
At this point , in fairness , Rolph is no longer saying his lies .
He is just inert .
Shirley ’ s eyes go wide , then glance down at my foot , as if to say , “ Brian , I know you are one of the good guys and I would @ @ @ @ @ @ @ down .
”

Audio available Listen to this story Audio: George Saunders reads.
At noon Layla wheels over Vat of Lunch. For a sec I can be not-scary, leaning against our plastiform wall meant to resemble human entrails.
“Why aren’t the old served first?” crabs Leonard, Squatting Ghoul Two, senior to all.
Last week Leonard’s knee went out. We, his fellow Squatting Ghouls, have since been allowing him to sit upon a plastiform Remorseful Demon, which, at this moment, emits one of its periodic Remorse-groans.
“Grieve on, foul beast,” I say, per Script.
“Foul indeed!” says Tim, Feuding Ghoul Four: great guy, always blurting out such quips as “Brian, you are really on it, in terms of the way you keep casting your eyes fitfully back and forth while squatting!” To which I might reply, “Thanks, Tim, you Feuding Ghouls are also ripping it up, I so admire how, every day, you guys come up with a whole new topic for your Feud!”
Into my paper bowl goes: Lunch. A broth with, plopped down in it, a single gleaming Kit Kat.
Someday I, too, may be old, knees giving out, some group of Squatting Ghouls as yet unborn (or currently mere Li’l Demons, running around in their bright-red diapers) allowing elder me, kaput like Leonard, to sit on, perhaps, this very same plastiform Remorseful Demon, in that dismal future time!
Today, however, all is well: Break Week is nigh.
Next A.M., via Tram, the Break-eligible among us are taken all jolly to the Room: a cavernous space shaped exactly the same as our workhouse, MAWS OF HELL, as well as the eleven other plenteous underground workhouses within our Region. But free of the supplementary Décor that makes each workhouse a unique immersive experience. Free, as well, of Byway Paths, and the small cars on tracks that bear our delighted Visitors through us. The Room is, truth be told, just a great space for a relaxed chill-out! It has Bowling, should you choose; pretend meadow, with real-appearing flowers; free-flowing creek, beside which we may sit, out of which fake fish leap on these sort of wheels, four fish per wheel, smiling, as if to say, “Leaping is what we love!”
Plus we each get a niche into which to put our stuff.
In the Room, we may mingle with individuals from our sister workhouses, such as BENEATH OUR MOTHER THE SEA or WILD DAY OUT WEST. May we mate there? Sure. We may. Many do. Should you observe someone mating and wish to be polite? Lurch off suddenly, as if you have left something back in your niche. Sometimes (tight quarters in the Room!) you may need to step or hop over a mating pair. The polite thing: step or hop over, saying nada. Should you personally know one or both, and feel saying nada might violate politeness, well, say something encouraging, such as “Go, go, go!” or “Looking good, James and Melissa, all best wishes!”
Today, hopping over two such folks, I think, Hey, isn’t that Mr. Tom Frame, normally the “Before” manifestation of Monk Decapitated for Evil Thoughts, in the portion of MAWS OF HELL called “Payback’s a Mother”? Mr. Frame, out of his seventeenth-century-monk threads, is mating with Gwen Thorsen, one of our rotating team of folks in hooded robes playing Death, and here I did not even know that Mr. Frame even knew her!
“Hey, Tom, hi, Gwen!” I cry, not wishing to violate politeness.
To which both briefly glance up at me all love-faced.
That is another great thing about Break Week: you are always seeing folks in new contexts!
For example, last Break, I saw Rolph Spengler, Flying Spear Launcher Three, quietly drinking tea, writing in his journal. No wings on, face not painted red, no wire elevating him aloft, no cloven-hoofed boots. Actually, he looked so tender in the face I felt the need of asking what he was writing.
“A letter to my son,” he said.
“I did not even know you had a son, Rolph!” I said.
“Well,” he said.
“I guess so, if you are writing to your son!” I said. “All I ever saw you as? A red-painted, big-winged, cloven-hoofed fellow, flinging down your spears.”
“And I guess all I ever saw you as was a tiny Squatting Ghoul, far below me,” Rolph said. “Whom I kept trying to just barely miss with my spears. My son is Edgar, CHICAGO GANGSTER HIDEOUT.”
And, just like that, we became friends!
Now, whenever Rolph, on wire, hovers over our quadrant, he will wave down at me with his non-spear hand, at which I will rise from my squat and throw my arms wide, exposing my chest, as if to say, “Spear me, then, Flying Spear Launcher! Since I am already a Squatting Ghoul, how much worse can my afterlife even get?” At which Rolph will fake-pump his spear at me, as if to say, “Ha ha, talk to you next Break, pal!”
By which I mean: friendship may take time and faith to grow!
(Please note: whenever Rolph and I engage in our fun ritual, no Visitors are present. As if! As if Rolph and I would risk providing our Visitors a subpar experience in that way. No, we engage in this warm friendship exchange only when no Visitors are near. Which is so rarely the case. Normally we are just swamped!)
Moments after hopping over Gwen and Mr. Frame, I find Mr. Frame sitting across from me at Lunch, in Dining, explaining why he, a married man, was just now mating with Gwen.
Mr. Frame’s wife, Ann Frame, used to be on Guillotine-Cart Pull Team Five. Those guillotines, being heavy, needing to be pulled over some fake rough terrain, which, though made of poly, still must be bumpy to seem real, Ann’s back went out, and she was transferred to VICTORIAN WEEKEND, a big adjustment, since, instead of being scary, she had to adopt a mind-set of mincing and serving. Now she is Cockney Cook: sweet gig! All she has to do is, every half hour, blunder into this formal dining hall, interrupting some Royals (Visitors) eating in there, then blunder out, knocking over a tea cart while apologizing for her humble class origins in a Cockney accent. But alas: apparently, her new role has caused marital stress, because Mrs. Frame is now constantly practicing her Cockney accent, even while on Break, in the Room.
I try to be a pal by pointing out that Tom himself always takes ample care, prior to the moment of his decapitation, to appear genuinely terrified. Also, re the lightning-burst-thunderclap spate of total darkness that allows him to switch the headless “After” Animatron in for himself on the chopping block before he hops down the DisaHole: does he not always endeavor to do that quickly, so the switch will go unnoticed by our Visitors? Maybe, I suggest, he is more like Ann than he wishes to acknowledge! Isn’t his quick hopping analogous to Ann’s continually practicing her accent, i.e., a form of admirable professionalism?
“I guess what I’m saying is, I don’t practice hopping into the DisaHole when we’re on Break,” he says.
“I get that,” I say, listening and agreeing being a proven path to friendship. “That sounds frustrating.”
“But she just goes on and on,” he says. “Guv’n’r this, guv’n’r that. And why? For what?”
“Wants to do a good job?” I say. “For her Royals?”
“Of whom there never are any?” he says, crossly.
Then there is this rather big silence.
“Not that I’m saying there never are any,” he says.
“I know you’re not saying that, Tom,” I say.
“I should probably just shut up,” he says.
“I now declare a thumb war.” Cartoon by Charlie Hankin Copy link to cartoon Copy link to cartoon Shop Shop
“Probably,” I say.


newyorker--2020-11-02--“Flatline,” by Margaret Atwood

“Flatline,” by Margaret Atwood

Things wear out .
Also fingers .
Gnarling sets in .
Your hands crouch in their mittens .
Forget chopsticks @ @ @ @ @ have their own agendas .
They scorn your taste in shoes and ignore your trails @ @ @ @ @ are superfluous : What are they for , those alien pink flaps ?
Skull fungus @ @ @ @ @ your accomplice , is now your trap .
The sunrise makes you wince : too @ @ @ @ @ After a lifetime of tangling , of knotted snares and lacework , of purple headspace @ @ @ @ @ rubble , you crave the end of mazes and pray for a white shore , @ @ @ @ @ ; not , so much , bliss but a flat line you steer for .
@ @ @ @ @ , no reefs , no deeps , no throat rattle of gravel .
It sounds @ @ @

Audio: Read by the author.
Things wear out. Also fingers.
Gnarling sets in.
Your hands crouch in their mittens.
Forget chopsticks, and buttons.
Feet have their own agendas.
They scorn your taste in shoes
and ignore your trails, your maps.
Ears are superfluous:
What are they for,
those alien pink flaps?
Skull fungus.
The body, once your accomplice,
is now your trap.
The sunrise makes you wince:
too bright, too flamingo.
After a lifetime of tangling,
of knotted snares and lacework,
of purple headspace tornados
with their heartrace and rubble,
you crave the end of mazes
and pray for a white shore,
an ocean with its horizon;
not, so much, bliss
but a flat line you steer for.
No more hiss and slosh,
no reefs, no deeps,
no throat rattle of gravel.
It sounds like this:


newyorker--2020-11-02--A Florida Demographic That Could Swing the Election

Fast-forward to 2020 , on a Sunday afternoon in Newtown , where Biden/Harris signs dotted the porches of small cinder-block houses .
Five men sat on a bench , their casual demeanor betraying no awareness that they are viewed as a key variable in the election , and are a demographic that Trump is courting , with claims that he ’ s making the criminal-justice system more equitable .
The men on the bench all served time in prison .
One of them , heavyset , with an armful of tattoos , did twenty-nine years .
He had voted early @ @ @ @ @ @ @ had not voted for Trump : “ The way he talked to people , the way he talked to the news representatives , when he talks to Blacks .
.
.
” His buddies nodded .
“ But , if he loses , it won ’ t be because Biden was better , but because they don ’ t like Trump.
” Convicted felons in Florida who have completed their sentences can vote , under the state ’ s Amendment 4 , but only after five to seven years and the payment of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ poll of Florida voters found that thirteen per cent of Black respondents planned to vote for Trump .
( In 2016 , Trump won only eight per cent of the Black vote in Florida , according to an exit poll conducted by NBC . )
The President ’ s gains among Black voters can likely be attributed specifically to Black men .
In September , a Nationscape survey of likely voters found that , although at least eighty-seven per cent of Black women planned to vote for Biden , only seventy-six per cent @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
( According to Gallup , Trump ’ s approval rating among Black men is also eight points higher than it is among Black women . )
Jim Messina , who ran President Obama ’ s reëlection campaign , told this magazine , last week , “ If Biden can win Florida early on Election Night , it ’ s over.
” A few blocks away , a dreadlocked man in his thirties was tidying up a sidewalk café that he owns .
He hasn ’ t been out of prison long enough @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he said he wouldn ’ t vote even if he could .
He has views , though .
“ I like Donald Trump , ” he said .
“ He is now pushing people with power out .
Like Jeffrey Epstein.
” He didn ’ t elaborate on how he believed Epstein had been brought to justice .
He thinks that Trump is being unfairly criticized about his taxes .
“ He paid some money , something like seven hundred and fifty dollars , ” he said .
“ He was a businessman @ @ @ @ @ @ @ business , you learn about what not to do.
” He went on , “ I mean , the Amazon guy didn ’ t pay nothing , and he made billions.
” Several doors down , another man was working on some electrical wiring at a landmark house .
He also has not been out of prison long enough to be able to vote , but he said that , if he could , he wouldn ’ t choose Trump .
About the Democratic candidates , he said , “ They should be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Over at the Salvation Army Center for Worship , a man named John Battle was taking a break from a service .
Inside , several dozen other people , mostly former addicts and men who had been incarcerated , sat close together , without masks .
Brought up in orphanages , Battle was a football star in high school , but in his twenties he ended up on the streets , and then in prison .
Now forty-six , he has been out for only a few months , so he can ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ friends , he said , “ a lot like Donald Trump because he is straightforward .
They believe the other guy is about raising taxes and taking away Social Security , and a lot of them are on it , and a lot get disability.
” As for the way the government treats Black people , he said , “ They are always putting a ‘ pause ’ on things .
Even with the stimulus .
I got out on May 7th and filed for it , and I was told because I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ get it yet .
And white guys I know filed in June and July and immediately got their checks .
And when I called I was told , ‘ There is nothing we can do.
’ ” Edward James III is a thirty-year-old community organizer and teacher at the Visible Men Academy , a school near Sarasota for Black and Hispanic boys , many with fathers who are incarcerated .
He is unhappy that so few of the Black men he talks to are supporting Biden .
“ I do understand where people @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lives had not changed under President Obama , ” he said .
“ If you ’ ve been caught in a cycle of generational poverty and you ’ ve never really been anywhere .
You ’ re still poor .
You ’ re still having run-ins with the police .
You ’ re still seeing violence .
You ’ re still seeing death .
You ’ re still seeing drugs , right ?
” He went on , “ If your everyday life is focussed on : How do I keep my lights @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to my brother in prison ?
How do I make sure my daughter is not sexually assaulted by the man down the street ?
You ’ re not thinking about things at the federal level .
I get where they ’ re coming from , but it ’ s very misguided.
” Trump , he continued , is “ preying on Black people the same way he preys on poor , uneducated white people .
He preys on their racism and tries to get them to vote against their own interests .
Now @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Black men say they ’ re voting for President Trump , but I will say there ’ s not that much excitement for Biden.
” For some , he said , “ I think he ’ s just flat-out uninspiring .
A lot of people put their trust and dreams in Obama , and their lives have not changed.
” He got a dreamy look in his eyes .
“ But still—Barack Obama !
Once you ’ ve had filet mignon , everything else is like chopped liver.
” ♦

Toward the end of the 2016 Presidential campaign, a political canvasser working in the predominantly Black community of Newtown, in Sarasota, Florida, engaged a young man in conversation. “Why should I register to vote?” the man said. “Ain’t nothing happened for me in the past eight years.” Barack Obama’s two terms were followed by a historic decline in voter turnout among Black people, and Donald Trump carried Florida by 112,911 votes.
Fast-forward to 2020, on a Sunday afternoon in Newtown, where Biden/Harris signs dotted the porches of small cinder-block houses. Five men sat on a bench, their casual demeanor betraying no awareness that they are viewed as a key variable in the election, and are a demographic that Trump is courting, with claims that he’s making the criminal-justice system more equitable.
The men on the bench all served time in prison. One of them, heavyset, with an armful of tattoos, did twenty-nine years. He had voted early, and would say only that he had not voted for Trump: “The way he talked to people, the way he talked to the news representatives, when he talks to Blacks . . .” His buddies nodded. “But, if he loses, it won’t be because Biden was better, but because they don’t like Trump.”
Convicted felons in Florida who have completed their sentences can vote, under the state’s Amendment 4, but only after five to seven years and the payment of all back fines.
A recent Hill-Harris poll of Florida voters found that thirteen per cent of Black respondents planned to vote for Trump. (In 2016, Trump won only eight per cent of the Black vote in Florida, according to an exit poll conducted by NBC.) The President’s gains among Black voters can likely be attributed specifically to Black men. In September, a Nationscape survey of likely voters found that, although at least eighty-seven per cent of Black women planned to vote for Biden, only seventy-six per cent of Black men planned to do so. (According to Gallup, Trump’s approval rating among Black men is also eight points higher than it is among Black women.) Jim Messina, who ran President Obama’s reëlection campaign, told this magazine, last week, “If Biden can win Florida early on Election Night, it’s over.”
A few blocks away, a dreadlocked man in his thirties was tidying up a sidewalk café that he owns. He hasn’t been out of prison long enough to be able to vote, but he said he wouldn’t vote even if he could. He has views, though. “I like Donald Trump,” he said. “He is now pushing people with power out. Like Jeffrey Epstein.” He didn’t elaborate on how he believed Epstein had been brought to justice. He thinks that Trump is being unfairly criticized about his taxes. “He paid some money, something like seven hundred and fifty dollars,” he said. “He was a businessman, and, when you learn about business, you learn about what not to do.” He went on, “I mean, the Amazon guy didn’t pay nothing, and he made billions.”
Several doors down, another man was working on some electrical wiring at a landmark house. He also has not been out of prison long enough to be able to vote, but he said that, if he could, he wouldn’t choose Trump. About the Democratic candidates, he said, “They should be reversed. Harris on the top.”
Over at the Salvation Army Center for Worship, a man named John Battle was taking a break from a service. Inside, several dozen other people, mostly former addicts and men who had been incarcerated, sat close together, without masks. Brought up in orphanages, Battle was a football star in high school, but in his twenties he ended up on the streets, and then in prison. Now forty-six, he has been out for only a few months, so he can’t vote, either. Among his friends, he said, “a lot like Donald Trump because he is straightforward. They believe the other guy is about raising taxes and taking away Social Security, and a lot of them are on it, and a lot get disability.”
As for the way the government treats Black people, he said, “They are always putting a ‘pause’ on things. Even with the stimulus. I got out on May 7th and filed for it, and I was told because I was in prison I can’t get it yet. And white guys I know filed in June and July and immediately got their checks. And when I called I was told, ‘There is nothing we can do.’ ”
Edward James III is a thirty-year-old community organizer and teacher at the Visible Men Academy, a school near Sarasota for Black and Hispanic boys, many with fathers who are incarcerated. He is unhappy that so few of the Black men he talks to are supporting Biden. “I do understand where people are coming from when they say their lives had not changed under President Obama,” he said. “If you’ve been caught in a cycle of generational poverty and you’ve never really been anywhere. You’re still poor. You’re still having run-ins with the police. You’re still seeing violence. You’re still seeing death. You’re still seeing drugs, right?” He went on, “If your everyday life is focussed on: How do I keep my lights on? How do I send money to my brother in prison? How do I make sure my daughter is not sexually assaulted by the man down the street? You’re not thinking about things at the federal level. I get where they’re coming from, but it’s very misguided.”
Trump, he continued, is “preying on Black people the same way he preys on poor, uneducated white people. He preys on their racism and tries to get them to vote against their own interests. Now, I haven’t heard many Black men say they’re voting for President Trump, but I will say there’s not that much excitement for Biden.” For some, he said, “I think he’s just flat-out uninspiring. A lot of people put their trust and dreams in Obama, and their lives have not changed.” He got a dreamy look in his eyes. “But still—Barack Obama! Once you’ve had filet mignon, everything else is like chopped liver.” ♦