newyorker--2020-05-18--“In Quarantine, I Reflect on the Death of Ophelia,” by Elisa Gonzalez

I wake early and angry , I eat oatmeal with thyme honey , I call my sister , I call my mother , I call my other sisters , my brothers , I worry about my feverish lover , I worry about my siblings , jobless now .
I send an ill-advised e-mail , I don ’ t send an ill-advised tweet .
I ’ m alone so I ’ m lonely .
That ’ s what my sister says .
Time to stay indoors , the doctor says , all the doctors say , but the open window betrays @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to solitude .
Shut up , shut up !
the window slams .
Time to embrace the virtues of boredom , the price of happiness again , after .
The window shows men digging a place for survivors of the future , the rich ones .
It will be a condo tower , glass walls for better envy .
They ’ ve built the frames , I see , around the holes where doors will someday go .
Capitalism !
So full of holes and hope .
If I try to remember what @ @ @ @ @ @ @ period of kudzu growth that felt like stasis in the white-glazed room where days upon days my father shut me— if I try , I see the ceiling , that water stain trailing down like brown Pre-Raphaelite curls , hair of a drowning girl among reeds , which later I recognized in a painting of a pale drowning Ophelia .
I love alone , I tell my sister .
She says , You just want to .
I agree I want the past .
For a magnolia to bloom on a crowded street @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I still love the world , though it drowns and dies like that girl , avoidably .
A professor once asked , pleased we wouldn ’ t know , Who is really responsible for the death of Ophelia ?
The answer , he said , ought to feel like we have arrived together at a skyscraper ’ s peak , where the inhuman view reveals in windows and in streets the small , sick or potentially sick bodies—each one a new array of questions .
The only possible epiphany is that the ending @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Together .
I liked the word in the professor ’ s mouth .
But if I am alone , and if I am lonely , and if I am not alone in loneliness , and if the everyone together suffers , and if this everyone suffers and dies by the unguided motion of matter , and if also by the motion of craven , murderous men , and if also by the motion of money , and if of course you were always going to die , Ophelia , and if even so @ @ @ @ @ @ @ are the questions I should ask ?
All I have is sleeplessness and rage , and that ’ s no answer , it ’ s not even a thought , though it might not end till my body does , perhaps not even then , as I can imagine it going on past my ending , and really— what more suitable ghost could I leave behind ?
Since I do love the world .
• Twenty-four hours at the epicenter of the pandemic : nearly fifty New Yorker writers and photographers fanned out @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on April 15th .
• Seattle leaders let scientists take the lead in responding to the coronavirus .
New York leaders did not .
• Can survivors help cure the disease and rescue the economy ?
• What the coronavirus has revealed about American medicine .
• Can we trace the spread of COVID-19 and protect privacy at the same time ?
• The coronavirus is likely to spread for more than a year before a vaccine is widely available .
• How to practice social distancing , from responding to a sick @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ordering food .
• The long crusade of Dr. Anthony Fauci , the infectious-disease expert pinned between Donald Trump and the American people .
• What to read , watch , cook , and listen to under quarantine .

Audio: Read by the author.
I wake early and angry, I eat oatmeal with thyme honey,
I call my sister, I call my mother, I call my other sisters, my brothers,
I worry about my feverish lover, I worry about my siblings, jobless now.
I send an ill-advised e-mail, I don’t send an ill-advised tweet.
I’m alone so I’m lonely. That’s what my sister says.
Time to stay indoors, the doctor says, all the doctors say,
but the open window betrays that not everyone’s voice dies to solitude.
Shut up, shut up! the window slams.
Time to embrace the virtues of boredom, the price of happiness again, after.
The window shows men digging a place for survivors of the future, the rich ones.
It will be a condo tower, glass walls for better envy.
They’ve built the frames, I see, around the holes where doors will someday go.
Capitalism! So full of holes and hope.
If I try to remember what it was like, childhood, a period of kudzu
growth that felt like stasis in the white-glazed room where days upon days my father shut me—
if I try, I see the ceiling, that water stain trailing down
like brown Pre-Raphaelite curls, hair of a drowning girl among reeds,
which later I recognized in a painting of a pale drowning Ophelia.
I love alone, I tell my sister. She says, You just want to.
I agree I want the past.
For a magnolia to bloom on a crowded street, all safe in beauty, for I
still love the world, though it drowns
and dies like that girl, avoidably.
A professor once asked, pleased we wouldn’t know,
Who is really responsible for the death of Ophelia?
The answer, he said, ought to feel like we have arrived together
at a skyscraper’s peak, where the inhuman
view reveals in windows and in streets
the small, sick or potentially sick bodies—each one a new array of questions.
The only possible epiphany is that the ending of a thought is never such.
Together. I liked the word in the professor’s mouth.
But if I am alone, and if I am lonely, and if I am not alone in loneliness, and if the everyone
together suffers, and if this everyone suffers and dies by the unguided motion of matter, and if
also by the motion of craven, murderous men, and if also by the motion of money, and if of course
you were always going to die, Ophelia, and if even so your death remains unforgivable,
then what are the questions I should ask? All I have is sleeplessness and rage,
and that’s no answer, it’s not even a thought, though it might not end till my body does,
perhaps not even then, as I can imagine it going on past my ending, and really—
what more suitable ghost could I leave behind? Since I do love the world.
A Guide to the Coronavirus


Everyday Parenting Tips

We ’ ve all been there .
The teeth are brushed , the p.j.
’ s are on , and the blankie is in place .
You ’ re tiptoeing out of the nursery , when suddenly you hear , “ Mommy , Mommy , there ’ s a monster under my bed !
” You sigh .
Looks like that new episode of “ The Bachelorette ” is going to have to wait .
: ( Lucky for you , our experts are up to the challenge !
Is it normal for my child to be afraid of monsters @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s evidence of a healthy imagination .
How do I convince my child there ’ s no such thing as monsters ?
Be patient .
By five , your child should understand that the monsters she ’ s afraid of are not real .
What if the monsters she ’ s afraid of are real ?
Unfortunately , this is becoming more common in the aftermath of the Great Monster Uprising that occurred earlier this year .
Ever since the creatures descended from the Dark Place , their presence on Earth has @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lives .
If your child is afraid of an actual , real-life monster , such as Gorgog the Annihilator or Ctharga the Eater of Souls , explain to her that , although those monsters are obviously real , the likelihood of them attacking her is only moderate .
Should I restrict my child ’ s media access ?
Most parents agree it ’ s wise to shield kids from scary content .
But experts warn that it may be futile to try to stop them from seeing monsters altogether .
After all , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Times every day , usually striking a menacing pose .
Short answer : try your best .
What if my child is having nightmares ?
Again , this is normal .
The exception is if your child has been “ marked ” by a monster who is using her dreams to try to form a covenant with her .
Ask your child for details about her nightmare .
Did the monster address her by her Christian name ?
Was she asked to “ sign his book ” ?
If the answer is no @ @ @ @ @ @ @ dream , probably .
Should I let my child use a night-light ?
A night-light might seem helpful , but experts warn they can do more harm than good .
Even a small light can disrupt a child ’ s circadian rhythms and serve as a bull ’ s-eye for the Gauntwings , who can not hear or smell , and hunt their prey using only their hyperdeveloped sense of sight .
The only way to evade the Gauntwings is to live in total darkness .
My child is also afraid of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ am going to assume you mean the Drain of Ga , and , yes , it ’ s normal for her to be afraid of it .
After all , it ’ s a giant , swirling portal in the sky that looks like a screaming mouth .
It ’ s fifty times bigger than the sun .
Nobody knows where it came from or what ’ s going on with it .
It ’ s terrifying .
When my child gets upset about monsters , my husband makes jokes to try to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the problem worse ?
Your husband is probably a monster .
Drug him at dinner , and , when he ’ s unconscious , strip his body naked .
If he ’ s been “ husked , ” he will have the Mark of Corthar on his chest ( see link ) .
If he has the mark , cut off his head .
How long will this phase last ?
Experts agree that the Age of Monsters is just getting started .
There is no end in sight .
This is the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ m feeling overwhelmed ?
Don ’ t beat yourself up about it .
In this modern , haunted world , it ’ s normal to occasionally feel stressed .
Try to carve out some “ me ” time .
Maybe it ’ s a glass of wine in the bath while your daughter watches educational cartoons .
Maybe it ’ s a full bottle of gin on the roof while you scream at the monsters to “ just kill me already.
” It ’ s important to manage your anxiety .
Otherwise @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” nervous behavior for your child , which could cause her to experience stress of her own .
Or maybe you should just be straight with her .
What do you mean ?
Maybe , when your child asks if something ’ s wrong , tell her the truth : “ Yes .
Something is very wrong .
Monsters are trying to kill us and the world as we know it is over.
” Are you saying I should just give up ?
You could give up .
Or you could fight .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ m talking about taking those monster bastards down .
Whoa .
Isn ’ t that impossible ?
Maybe .
But isn ’ t it worth a shot ?
Isn ’ t it better than just sitting there , waiting to die ?
I ’ m scared !
I know .
But you ’ re stronger than you think .
You can do this .
How ?
Research the monsters .
Learn their weaknesses .
Stockpile weapons .
Strengthen your body and your mind .
And then what ?
When the moment comes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Tell her that the stakes are high , but you ’ re not giving up .
Tell her that you will do anything you can to protect her , and , even though it ’ s possible you ’ ll fail , you ’ re going to fight for her with everything you ’ ve got .
Tell her , “ If these monsters think that they can fuck with my family without me shooting them first in the fucking face , they need to get their motherfucking heads examined.
” Watch @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she sees you ’ re in no way fucking around .
Listen with pride as she vows to fight the monsters by your side .
Look out the window and stare down the monsters together .
Dare them to fuck with your family .
Dare them to fuck with the people you love .
Take your child by the hand .
Arm her to the teeth .
Tell her you love her .
Open the door .
♦

We’ve all been there. The teeth are brushed, the p.j.’s are on, and the blankie is in place. You’re tiptoeing out of the nursery, when suddenly you hear, “Mommy, Mommy, there’s a monster under my bed!” You sigh. Looks like that new episode of “The Bachelorette” is going to have to wait. :( Lucky for you, our experts are up to the challenge!
Is it normal for my child to be afraid of monsters? Yes. If anything, it’s evidence of a healthy imagination.
How do I convince my child there’s no such thing as monsters? Be patient. By five, your child should understand that the monsters she’s afraid of are not real.
What if the monsters she’s afraid of are real? Unfortunately, this is becoming more common in the aftermath of the Great Monster Uprising that occurred earlier this year. Ever since the creatures descended from the Dark Place, their presence on Earth has become an unavoidable aspect of our daily lives. If your child is afraid of an actual, real-life monster, such as Gorgog the Annihilator or Ctharga the Eater of Souls, explain to her that, although those monsters are obviously real, the likelihood of them attacking her is only moderate.
Should I restrict my child’s media access? Most parents agree it’s wise to shield kids from scary content. But experts warn that it may be futile to try to stop them from seeing monsters altogether. After all, they are on page 1 of the Times every day, usually striking a menacing pose. Short answer: try your best.
What if my child is having nightmares? Again, this is normal. The exception is if your child has been “marked” by a monster who is using her dreams to try to form a covenant with her. Ask your child for details about her nightmare. Did the monster address her by her Christian name? Was she asked to “sign his book”? If the answer is no, reassure her it was only a dream, probably.
Should I let my child use a night-light? A night-light might seem helpful, but experts warn they can do more harm than good. Even a small light can disrupt a child’s circadian rhythms and serve as a bull’s-eye for the Gauntwings, who cannot hear or smell, and hunt their prey using only their hyperdeveloped sense of sight. The only way to evade the Gauntwings is to live in total darkness.
My child is also afraid of the drain. Is that normal? I am going to assume you mean the Drain of Ga, and, yes, it’s normal for her to be afraid of it. After all, it’s a giant, swirling portal in the sky that looks like a screaming mouth. It’s fifty times bigger than the sun. Nobody knows where it came from or what’s going on with it. It’s terrifying.
When my child gets upset about monsters, my husband makes jokes to try to cheer her up. Is he making the problem worse? Your husband is probably a monster. Drug him at dinner, and, when he’s unconscious, strip his body naked. If he’s been “husked,” he will have the Mark of Corthar on his chest (see link). If he has the mark, cut off his head.
How long will this phase last? Experts agree that the Age of Monsters is just getting started. There is no end in sight. This is the “new normal.”
What if I’m feeling overwhelmed? Don’t beat yourself up about it. In this modern, haunted world, it’s normal to occasionally feel stressed. Try to carve out some “me” time. Maybe it’s a glass of wine in the bath while your daughter watches educational cartoons. Maybe it’s a full bottle of gin on the roof while you scream at the monsters to “just kill me already.” It’s important to manage your anxiety. Otherwise, you might end up “modelling” nervous behavior for your child, which could cause her to experience stress of her own. Or maybe you should just be straight with her.
What do you mean? Maybe, when your child asks if something’s wrong, tell her the truth: “Yes. Something is very wrong. Monsters are trying to kill us and the world as we know it is over.”
Are you saying I should just give up? You could give up. Or you could fight.
What are you talking about? I’m talking about taking those monster bastards down.
Whoa. Isn’t that impossible? Maybe. But isn’t it worth a shot? Isn’t it better than just sitting there, waiting to die?
I can’t! You can.
I’m scared! I know. But you’re stronger than you think. You can do this.
How? Research the monsters. Learn their weaknesses. Stockpile weapons. Strengthen your body and your mind.
And then what? When the moment comes, look your child in the eye. Tell her that the stakes are high, but you’re not giving up. Tell her that you will do anything you can to protect her, and, even though it’s possible you’ll fail, you’re going to fight for her with everything you’ve got. Tell her, “If these monsters think that they can fuck with my family without me shooting them first in the fucking face, they need to get their motherfucking heads examined.” Watch the strength return to your child as she sees you’re in no way fucking around. Listen with pride as she vows to fight the monsters by your side. Look out the window and stare down the monsters together. Dare them to fuck with your family. Dare them to fuck with the people you love. Take your child by the hand. Arm her to the teeth. Tell her you love her. Open the door. ♦


newyorker--2020-05-18--The Twilight of the Iranian Revolution

The Twilight of the Iranian Revolution

One night last December , the chief resident physician at a hospital in the Iranian city of Gorgan was asked to consult on a baffling case : a patient was racked with a mysterious virus , which was advancing rapidly through his body .
The doctor , who asked to be identified only as Azad , for fear of retribution by authorities , performed a CT scan and a series of chest X-rays , but the virus overwhelmed the patient before he could decide on a treatment .
After reading reports from China , Azad determined that the cause of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ d never seen anything like it before , ” he told me .
More patients started coming in , first a few at a time , then in droves , many of them dying .
When Azad and his colleagues alerted hospital officials that they were treating cases of the coronavirus , they were told to keep quiet .
“ We were given special instructions not to release any statistics on infection and death rates , ” a second doctor told me .
The medical staff was ordered not to wear masks @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was to prevent fear in the society , even if it meant high casualties among the medical staff , ” Azad said .
As the weeks went on , and the epidemic exploded in China , the Iranian media remained nearly silent .
Two reporters who work at a news outlet in Tehran told me that they could see accounts of the virus on social media , but their editors made it clear they should not pursue them ; nationwide parliamentary elections were scheduled for February 21st , and news about the virus @ @ @ @ @ @ @ what stories can get you in trouble , ” one reporter told me .
“ It was understood that anything that helped to lower turnout would be helping the counter-revolutionaries , and no one wanted to be accused of supporting foreign-based opposition groups.
” Officials were also worried about relations with China—one of the few countries that has continued to buy Iranian oil since the imposition of American-backed sanctions .
For weeks after the outbreak was reported in Wuhan , Iran ’ s Mahan Air continued direct flights there .
Mahan is controlled @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the powerful security force that increasingly acts as a shadow government in Iran .
Two days before the election , on February 19th , the Iranian government finally announced that two citizens had died of the coronavirus .
In the Tehran newsroom , bitter laughter broke out .
“ We reported deaths before we even reported any infections , ” the reporter told me .
“ But that ’ s life in the Islamic Republic.
” By then , hundreds of sick patients were crowding the hospital in Gorgan .
So many bodies @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a backhoe to dig graves .
“ It was worse than treating soldiers on a battlefield , ” the second doctor said .
Soon , Iran became a global center of the coronavirus , with nearly seventy thousand reported cases and four thousand deaths .
But the government maintained tight control over information ; according to a leaked official document , the Revolutionary Guard ordered hospitals to hand over death tallies before releasing them to the public .
“ We were burying three to four to five times as many people as the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Azad said .
“ We could have dealt with this—we could have quarantined earlier , we could have taken precautions like the ones the Chinese did in Wuhan—if we had not been kept in the dark.
” On February 24th , Iraj Harirchi , the deputy health minister , appeared at a press conference and denied covering up the scale of infections .
He looked pale and flustered , and he repeatedly wiped sweat from his brow .
The next day , he , too , tested positive .
In mid-March , the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ dug mass graves .
A few weeks later , inmates rioted at prisons across the country , terrified that they were trapped with the virus , and guards opened fire , killing at least thirty-five .
As the pandemic devastated an economy already weakened by sanctions , Iran asked the International Monetary Fund for an emergency loan of five billion dollars .
It was the first time in nearly sixty years that the government had appealed to the I.M.F.
, which it has historically described as a tool of U.S. hegemony .
With @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the Supreme Leader of Iran ’ s theocratic system , suggested that the United States and its allies had deployed a biological weapon .
“ Americans are being accused of creating this virus , ” he said , during a speech in March .
“ There are enemies who are demons , and there are enemies who are humans , and they help one another .
The intelligence services of many countries coöperate with one another against us.
” Even as Khamenei spoke , the virus was spreading to the highest levels of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ by elderly men .
At least fifty clerics and political figures were infected , and at least twenty died .
The Supreme Leader was said to be closed off from most human contact , but his inner circle was still susceptible ; two vice-presidents and three of his closest advisers fell ill .
The virus , which seemed able to reach anyone , sharpened a sense of crisis among ordinary Iranians .
Khamenei , who has led the country since 1989 , is eighty years old and a prostate-cancer survivor , rumored to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ become of the country when he dies ?
In February , I paid a clandestine visit to the home of a reformist leader in Tehran , who spent several years in prison but remains connected with like-minded officials in the regime .
Concerned that he might be at risk by talking to me , I took a circuitous route to his apartment ; midway through the trip , I got out of my taxi , walked to the next block , and hailed another .
My host told me that the country has @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the theocratic system—installed after the Iranian Revolution , in 1979—has collapsed .
Soon after Khamenei took power , he promised Iranians that the revolution would “ lead the country on the path of material growth and progress.
” Instead , Iran ’ s ruling clerics have left the country economically hobbled and largely cut off from the rest of the world .
The sanctions imposed by the United States in 2018 , after President Trump abrogated the nuclear agreement between the two countries , have aggravated those failures and intensified the corruption @ @ @ @ @ @ @ would say eighty-five per cent of the population hates the current system , ” my host said .
“ But the system is incapable of reforming itself.
” Speculation about Khamenei ’ s longevity is rampant in the senior levels of government and the military .
“ The struggle to succeed him has already begun , ” my host said .
But Khamenei has spent decades placing loyalists throughout the country ’ s major institutions , building a system that serves and protects him .
“ Khamenei is like the sun , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” he told me .
“ This is my worry : What happens when you take the sun out of the solar system ?
Chaos.
” Before the revolution remade Iran , Khamenei was a young cleric in the city of Mashhad .
He had grown up modestly , the son of a cleric ; a slender man , he had a long , thin face adorned by large round glasses that gave him an owlish demeanor .
He was a devotee of Persian poetry and literature , and also came to admire @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Hugo , whose “ Les Misérables ” he described as “ a miracle .
.
.
a book of sociology , a book of history , a book of criticism , a divine book , a book of love and feeling.
” Khamenei was influenced by the radical Islamist thinkers of his time , particularly Sayyid Qutb , who extolled the use of violence against enemies of the religion .
But , at family gatherings , he kept his harsher ideas to himself .
“ He hugs people , he kisses the children @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ” a relative who grew up with Khamenei told me .
“ When he wears the political dress , that ’ s when he becomes bad .
That ’ s when he becomes aggressive.
” As Khamenei was forming his views , the country was in tumult .
In 1953 , an American-backed coup had displaced Mohammad Mossadegh , the democratically elected Prime Minister .
He was replaced by Mohammad Reza Pahlavi , the Shah of Iran , who dominated the country , with help from the U.S. and from a ruthless @ @ @ @ @ @ @ years that followed , an exiled ayatollah named Ruhollah Khomeini raised an increasingly fervid opposition , built around the idea that a state led by clerics , answerable only to God and set against Western notions of modernity , could lift up the country after decades of humiliation .

The regime struck back brutally. “It happened very fast,” a Western diplomat in Tehran told me. “The government switched off the phones and the Internet and responded massively—and the whole thing was over in three days. I think the regime was genuinely afraid.” Iranian authorities confirmed that some seven thousand people had been arrested, but they have not disclosed the number of civilians killed. Amnesty International estimated the death toll at three hundred; Reuters, citing unnamed officials close to Khamenei, put the number at fifteen hundred. One dissident politician I spoke to endorsed the higher number, saying that she had been told two hundred people were buried in one area in a single night. “Then there is the second phase by the police, which few people talk about,” she added. “They examine photographs of license plates to identify leaders and speak to informants to identify more. They arrest these people, too.”
In a nearly unprecedented sign of unrest, the demonstrators began to fight back. According to Iranian news accounts, at least six police officers and soldiers were killed, apparently by protesters. Four of them were shot to death, even though civilians are largely forbidden to have guns; others were stabbed. Security forces encountered resistance in such areas as Kurdistan and Khuzestan, which border neighboring countries. A YouTube video, purportedly taken in Khuzestan, shows security forces shooting civilians as they flee into a marsh. “That suggests there is some kind of organized resistance,” Ali Alfoneh, a senior fellow at the Arab Gulf States Institute, in Washington, said. “Ordinary civilians don’t hide in a marsh.”
A few politicians tried to raise an outcry. Parvaneh Salahshouri, a member of parliament, made a speech from the floor of the legislature, in which she denounced the military’s influence on the government’s decisions. “How can I, as a representative of the people, watch the murder of my country’s young?” she said. She told me that she was accosted and harassed for days afterward.
Khamenei attempted to shift the blame, maintaining that the decision to use force had not been his. But he showed no pity toward those killed, saying that the security forces had fired on “hooligans” and dupes of foreign agents. “Such actions are not carried out by ordinary people,” he said of the protests. “They are thugs.” Khamenei warned that he would not stand in the way of the security forces in the future.
President Rouhani did not appear in public for several days. During my visit, though, he held a press conference, and I asked him how many civilians the government had killed. He gave a rambling response before concluding, “You’re going to have to ask the medical examiner’s office.” (Iranian reporters later reached out to the medical examiner in Tehran. The office demurred, saying, “The Ministry of Interior is responsible for announcing these statistics.”)
When I returned to my seat, an Iranian reporter, her face surrounded by a chador, turned to me and spoke loudly enough for much of the room to hear. “I noticed the President didn’t answer your question,” she said, in flawless English. “We hate him.”
Away from direct confrontation with the Islamic Republic, Iranians carry on a parallel existence. It is a crime for women to leave the house without a hijab, but, in the well-off sections of northern Tehran, it is not uncommon to spot women walking down the street with their hair defiantly exposed. So many areas of private life fall under the state’s purview that flouting the law is hard to avoid. In 2014, six Iranian men and women recorded themselves dancing to Pharrell Williams’s song “Happy,” and posted the video on YouTube, with the title “Happy We Are from Tehran.” The authorities arrested them for violating laws that prohibit dancing with the opposite sex. They were sentenced to a year in prison and ninety-one lashes apiece.
At times during my visit, Tehran reminded me of Eastern Europe in the eighties, when ordinary people, constrained by a sclerotic communist system, coped by living as if the state did not exist. One night, I attended a dinner party in a middle-class neighborhood of Tehran. Iranian music drifted from the stereo. Women wore skirts and leather boots, their hair uncovered. Bottles of arrack and wine, homemade but delicious, were arrayed on a table. One of the men told me that illicit parties were so common that he had been making a living as a d.j. Almost every party received a visit from a police officer, who said, usually with a wink, that the music was too loud. “I give him some money, and he goes away,” the man told me. Another man complained about the daily struggle of making his business work in an unpredictable and corrupt system, with chronic shortages of material and unruly inspectors pushing for bribes. “Plan for the next quarter?” he said. “I can’t plan for tomorrow morning.”
In Iran, some of the most intense unrest comes from frustration with the regime’s intrusions into private life. One evening, I met a young woman, who went by Sara, who was involved in a recent protest movement to open soccer games to women. The protests gained prominence in 2018, when thirty-five women—many of them Sara’s friends—gathered outside a match between two Tehran soccer clubs and demanded to be allowed in. They were attempting to do openly what other young women had been doing in secret, by flattening their breasts, painting on mustaches, dressing up in boys’ clothes, and sneaking inside. All thirty-five were arrested.
The Iranian regime has repressed the women’s movement with particular ferocity. In 2017, a woman named Vida Movahed climbed onto a utility box in downtown Tehran, removed her hijab, and waved it around on a stick. More women followed, and became known as the Girls of Revolution Street. The authorities arrested not only them and Movahed but also her lawyer, Nasrin Sotoudeh, who was sentenced to thirty-eight years in prison and a hundred and forty-eight lashes.
Sara was nervous about meeting me in public. “It is really dangerous,” she said. “Me sitting here talking to you might get me in deep trouble.” Still, she was poised and determined, insisting that she be granted her rights. “If you want to know how we live, you have to watch ‘The Handmaid’s Tale,’ ” she said. “This is the real Gilead. Margaret Atwood, she wrote our story before we were born.”
Last year, a twenty-nine-year-old woman named Sahar Khodayari was arrested while trying to sneak into a soccer match and charged with “appearing in public without a hijab.” She set herself on fire and died. Afterward, the authorities finally conceded—a little. Under pressure from FIFA, the international soccer authority, the Iranian government agreed to allow women to attend matches of the national team, as long as it was playing foreign opponents. Sara described the thrill of entering Tehran’s stadium for a match between the Iranian and Cambodian teams. “The soccer field is really green when you see it,” she told me. Even though the women were relegated to a roped-off area behind a goal, “everyone was screaming and crying,” she said. “It was the dream.”
I asked Sara why the authorities were concerned about something as trivial as a soccer match. “They know that if they open the doors to the stadium they should open other doors, too,” she said. “But the women of this country are not going to stop. I am absolutely prepared to go to prison.” All her friends felt the same way about the authorities, she said. “The problem they have with us is that, if women get power, they’re going to take them down. That is the fact. They are going to overthrow the government.”
On April 9th, Khamenei appeared on Iran’s Channel 1 to talk about the coronavirus. Since the outbreak began, Iran has been devastated by the virus, with a hundred and fourteen thousand confirmed cases, nearly seven thousand dead, and no reasonable prospect of containment. Instead of acknowledging the government’s failures, Khamenei declared a triumph. “The Iranian nation had a brilliant performance in this test,” he said. “The people’s coöperation has also created beautiful, fascinating, and astonishing scenes, and they can be seen everywhere.” Iran’s example shone in contrast to that of the West, he said, where crazed residents had emptied store shelves, committed suicide, and “fought with one another over toilet paper.” He added, “The Wild West has been revived. That is what they say.”
“I told you celebrities are often a lot shorter in real life.” Cartoon by Victoria Roberts Copy link to cartoon Copy link to cartoon Shop Shop
From the start of his time in government, Khamenei has proclaimed his loathing of the United States. In 1987, he told the U.N., “The history of our nation is in a black, bitter, and bloody chapter, mixed with varieties of hostility and spite from the American regime.” He seems to take pleasure in recounting America’s sins; during one meeting with government officials, he gave a discourse on “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” as a depiction of “the realities of America and the American government.”
The sense of enmity goes both ways. Ever since the revolution, the U.S. has pressed the Iranian regime over its sponsorship of terror and its nuclear program. But Khamenei has used the confrontation to justify crushing domestic opponents and to explain away economic mismanagement. Rising tensions with the U.S. have nearly always coincided with crackdowns on dissidents and intellectuals, and with the exclusion of reformers from ballots. In 2010, Mohammad Khatami told Karim Sadjadpour, an Iran expert at the Carnegie Endowment, that the Supreme Leader had once confided, “We need the United States as an enemy.”
The Iranians’ ultimate gamesmanship has involved the nuclear accord. For years, Khamenei opposed direct talks with the United States but periodically made concessions, even occasionally agreeing to halt the program altogether; all the while, he led his country closer to a usable weapon. Finally, in 2013, with the country crippled by sanctions, he began signalling that he was open to talks, calling on Iranians to demonstrate “heroic flexibility.” The country’s leaders hoped that a deal would produce a surge in the economy. That prospect collapsed when Trump cancelled the deal and imposed even harsher sanctions.


newyorker--2020-05-18--How “Normal People” Makes Us Fall in Love

Recently , a woman named Mary called into the popular Irish radio show “ Liveline ” with a complaint about “ Normal People , ” the television adaptation of Sally Rooney ’ s 2018 novel by the same name , now airing on Hulu and BBC 3 .
“ I imagine it was like something you ’ d expect to see in a porno movie , certainly not for family viewing , ” Mary told the host .
“ But anyways , that ’ s my opinion.
” Soon after , the tabloid newspaper the Sun claimed , somewhat breathlessly @ @ @ @ @ @ @ forty-one minutes of sex scenes , making it “ the BBC ’ s raunchiest drama ever.
” In Ireland ’ s parliament , the tourism minister explained that a promotional video made to encourage fans to visit County Sligo , where much of the show ’ s filming took place , was “ selective ” in its use of clips from the episodes .
It ’ s true : the video features majestic shots of Ben Bulben , a flat-topped rock formation which dominates the landscape , but no nakedness .
None of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , which follows the on-again , off-again love story of two teen-agers in the small fictional town of Carricklea , in the west of Ireland .
Paul Mescal , a twenty-four-year-old Irish actor , plays the handsome and insecure Connell Waldron , a popular sports star with budding anxiety issues .
Connell falls for Marianne Sheridan , played with painful sensitivity by the twenty-one-year-old English actress Daisy Edgar-Jones .
Marianne is an intelligent loner from a wealthy family , who lives in the mansion that Connell ’ s mother cleans , and this @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hum of tension beneath their daily interactions .
Their similarities—they ’ re both bookish ( they discuss “ The Communist Manifesto ” and “ The Golden Notebook ” in the novel ) , curious about the wider world , and intensely private—are undermined by an inability to communicate at critical moments , leading to heartbreaking misunderstandings .
At school , Connell won ’ t acknowledge Marianne , though they are sleeping together nearly every night , for fear of losing his friends .
He ’ s sick with guilt over the situation , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ or his mother , played by the stellar Sarah Greene .
Marianne , whose own family is guarding a dark secret , vows not to tell anyone about their arrangement ( “ Like I ’ d talk to anyone at school , ” she says ) .
Things implode when Connell asks someone else to the school dance , crushing Marianne , who withdraws from school , showing up only to ace her exams .
Later , when they both move to Dublin to attend Trinity College , it is Marianne who is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cosmopolitan admirers , and Connell who finds himself lonely .
They are drawn together again by an unbeatable first-love chemistry ( “ It ’ s not like this with other people , ” Marianne says ) , replicated onscreen with startling emotional intensity .
Over twelve half-hour episodes—any longer , and the viewer would surely combust—Marianne and Connell come together , and fall apart , and come together again .
The other day , Mescal and Edgar-Jones came together , virtually , for tea , on Zoom .
Edgar-Jones was calling from a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ apartment , where she ’ s been living with her boyfriend and two roommates .
Mescal , who moved to the city two days before the lockdown began , was in Hackney , in East London , alone , “ which is weird , ” he said .
( His roommates were making noises about coming back , he added . )
They were both wearing T-shirts—black for Mescal , white with an embroidered daisy for Edgar-Jones , who wore chunky gold earrings and had her hair up in a bun—and seemed delighted @ @ @ @ @ @ @ did you get that T-shirt ?
It ’ s lovely , ” Mescal said , peering into the screen .
In the show , Marianne and Connell are constantly making tea for each other when they can ’ t find the right words—which happens often .
When Connell shows up at Marianne ’ s dinner party with a bloody nose : tea .
When Marianne suddenly starts crying while they are watching a film in bed : tea .
“ They have this way of communicating with each other that ’ s really @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is so beautiful , ” Edgar-Jones said .
“ They ’ re obviously both highly intelligent , and they can speak about big , big subjects , ” she added , but , “ on the simplest , simplest things they just seem to miss each other.
” One miscommunication halfway through the season , in which Connell , who has lost his summer job , can ’ t work up the courage to ask Marianne if he can live with her , was so painful that I had to watch it through @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Rooney often describes an incident first from Connell ’ s perspective , and then from Marianne ’ s , or vice versa .
The show occasionally attempts this dual narrative as well , and in Episode 7 , we first see Connell ’ s devastated face as Marianne appears cold and refuses to ask him to stay .
Then we get the scene again from Marianne ’ s perspective , in which she believes Connell is breaking up with her .
It was at this point in the series that I had to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ agree with what Daisy ’ s saying , ” Mescal said .
“ I think a lot of the time you see relationships onscreen , it ’ s just taken for granted that they ’ re good communicators , whereas in this show , the opposite has been done.
” Connell says “ I love you ” to Marianne often , Mescal pointed out , but he does it in a “ really panicked way , ” out of a fear he ’ s not saying enough .
While filming , Mescal said @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , at certain points , do they find it difficult to say things to the other person ?
” “ I think that ’ s where a lot of the drama comes out , ” he said .
The series was directed by Lenny Abrahamson and Hettie Macdonald , and adapted by Alice Birch , Mark O ’ Rowe , and Rooney herself , which might explain why it hews so faithfully to the novel .
Rooney has sometimes likened writing sex scenes to writing dialogue , in the sense that every beat @ @ @ @ @ @ @ onscreen , where every fumbling and tentative caress seems heavy with meaning .
These scenes were achieved with the help of Ita O ’ Brien , an intimacy coördinator who also worked on Netflix ’ s “ Sex Education.
” O ’ Brien helped the actors to discuss things frankly , and to avoid euphemisms .
“ She would say , ‘ We ’ ll just discuss exactly what the emotional beats are here , ’ ” Edgar-Jones said .
“ The whole point of those scenes is never to have just a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ They ’ re always carrying on some form of narrative.
” O ’ Brien also helped with the physical logistics , Mescal added .
Sometimes , to get a scene right , Mescal would need to hold himself in a kind of plank above Edgar-Jones for minutes on end , his arms locked out , sweat dripping from his nose .
( “ That was really great , ” Edgar-Jones joked . )
“ There was this wonderful thing where she would use her hands , ” Mescal said , of O ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ demonstrate .
“ She ’ d be like , ‘ So , Paul , I need you to give more thrust !
’ ” Edgar-Jones made the same motion with her hands , and they both burst into laughter .
Some of the show ’ s most intimate moments , however , involve no physical contact .
In one episode , Connell struggles with depression and Marianne tries to help him from a distance .
( She ’ s been studying abroad in Sweden . )
In one scene , she watches him @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is there for him when he wakes up in the morning .
It ’ s a moment that resonates with the loneliness brought on by the pandemic , as many of us stare at our loved ones through screens .
“ Think of the poor people who ’ ve fallen in love just before lockdown started , ” Mescal said .
“ As much as that ’ s trivial , that would actually drive me nuts .
It ’ s a really sad thing not to be allowed to express the things we @ @ @ @ @ @ @ physical touch , or even just being in physical proximity to other people .
”

Recently, a woman named Mary called into the popular Irish radio show “Liveline” with a complaint about “Normal People,” the television adaptation of Sally Rooney’s 2018 novel by the same name, now airing on Hulu and BBC 3. “I imagine it was like something you’d expect to see in a porno movie, certainly not for family viewing,” Mary told the host. “But anyways, that’s my opinion.” Soon after, the tabloid newspaper the Sun claimed, somewhat breathlessly, that “Normal People” included forty-one minutes of sex scenes, making it “the BBC’s raunchiest drama ever.” In Ireland’s parliament, the tourism minister explained that a promotional video made to encourage fans to visit County Sligo, where much of the show’s filming took place, was “selective” in its use of clips from the episodes. It’s true: the video features majestic shots of Ben Bulben, a flat-topped rock formation which dominates the landscape, but no nakedness.
None of this has bothered fans of the show, which follows the on-again, off-again love story of two teen-agers in the small fictional town of Carricklea, in the west of Ireland. Paul Mescal, a twenty-four-year-old Irish actor, plays the handsome and insecure Connell Waldron, a popular sports star with budding anxiety issues. Connell falls for Marianne Sheridan, played with painful sensitivity by the twenty-one-year-old English actress Daisy Edgar-Jones. Marianne is an intelligent loner from a wealthy family, who lives in the mansion that Connell’s mother cleans, and this difference in their social stations creates a hum of tension beneath their daily interactions. Their similarities—they’re both bookish (they discuss “The Communist Manifesto” and “The Golden Notebook” in the novel), curious about the wider world, and intensely private—are undermined by an inability to communicate at critical moments, leading to heartbreaking misunderstandings.
At school, Connell won’t acknowledge Marianne, though they are sleeping together nearly every night, for fear of losing his friends. He’s sick with guilt over the situation, clamming up when confronted by his friends or his mother, played by the stellar Sarah Greene. Marianne, whose own family is guarding a dark secret, vows not to tell anyone about their arrangement (“Like I’d talk to anyone at school,” she says). Things implode when Connell asks someone else to the school dance, crushing Marianne, who withdraws from school, showing up only to ace her exams. Later, when they both move to Dublin to attend Trinity College, it is Marianne who is suddenly popular, surrounded by artsy, cosmopolitan admirers, and Connell who finds himself lonely. They are drawn together again by an unbeatable first-love chemistry (“It’s not like this with other people,” Marianne says), replicated onscreen with startling emotional intensity. Over twelve half-hour episodes—any longer, and the viewer would surely combust—Marianne and Connell come together, and fall apart, and come together again.
The other day, Mescal and Edgar-Jones came together, virtually, for tea, on Zoom. Edgar-Jones was calling from a patch of sunlight in her North London apartment, where she’s been living with her boyfriend and two roommates. Mescal, who moved to the city two days before the lockdown began, was in Hackney, in East London, alone, “which is weird,” he said. (His roommates were making noises about coming back, he added.) They were both wearing T-shirts—black for Mescal, white with an embroidered daisy for Edgar-Jones, who wore chunky gold earrings and had her hair up in a bun—and seemed delighted to see each other.
“Where did you get that T-shirt? It’s lovely,” Mescal said, peering into the screen.
“Thank you!” Edgar-Jones replied, beaming. “It says ‘Daisy’ on it.”
In the show, Marianne and Connell are constantly making tea for each other when they can’t find the right words—which happens often. When Connell shows up at Marianne’s dinner party with a bloody nose: tea. When Marianne suddenly starts crying while they are watching a film in bed: tea. “They have this way of communicating with each other that’s really honest and raw, which I think is so beautiful,” Edgar-Jones said. “They’re obviously both highly intelligent, and they can speak about big, big subjects,” she added, but, “on the simplest, simplest things they just seem to miss each other.”
One miscommunication halfway through the season, in which Connell, who has lost his summer job, can’t work up the courage to ask Marianne if he can live with her, was so painful that I had to watch it through my fingers. In the novel, Rooney often describes an incident first from Connell’s perspective, and then from Marianne’s, or vice versa. The show occasionally attempts this dual narrative as well, and in Episode 7, we first see Connell’s devastated face as Marianne appears cold and refuses to ask him to stay. Then we get the scene again from Marianne’s perspective, in which she believes Connell is breaking up with her. It was at this point in the series that I had to make myself tea.
“I totally agree with what Daisy’s saying,” Mescal said. “I think a lot of the time you see relationships onscreen, it’s just taken for granted that they’re good communicators, whereas in this show, the opposite has been done.” Connell says “I love you” to Marianne often, Mescal pointed out, but he does it in a “really panicked way,” out of a fear he’s not saying enough. While filming, Mescal said he would ask himself, “Why, at certain points, do they find it difficult to say things to the other person?” “I think that’s where a lot of the drama comes out,” he said.
The series was directed by Lenny Abrahamson and Hettie Macdonald, and adapted by Alice Birch, Mark O’Rowe, and Rooney herself, which might explain why it hews so faithfully to the novel. Rooney has sometimes likened writing sex scenes to writing dialogue, in the sense that every beat counts. The same care is evident onscreen, where every fumbling and tentative caress seems heavy with meaning. These scenes were achieved with the help of Ita O’Brien, an intimacy coördinator who also worked on Netflix’s “Sex Education.” O’Brien helped the actors to discuss things frankly, and to avoid euphemisms. “She would say, ‘We’ll just discuss exactly what the emotional beats are here,’ ” Edgar-Jones said. “The whole point of those scenes is never to have just a moment for the sake of it. They’re always carrying on some form of narrative.”
O’Brien also helped with the physical logistics, Mescal added. Sometimes, to get a scene right, Mescal would need to hold himself in a kind of plank above Edgar-Jones for minutes on end, his arms locked out, sweat dripping from his nose. (“That was really great,” Edgar-Jones joked.) “There was this wonderful thing where she would use her hands,” Mescal said, of O’Brien, holding up his hands to demonstrate. “She’d be like, ‘So, Paul, I need you to give more thrust!’ ” Edgar-Jones made the same motion with her hands, and they both burst into laughter.
Some of the show’s most intimate moments, however, involve no physical contact. In one episode, Connell struggles with depression and Marianne tries to help him from a distance. (She’s been studying abroad in Sweden.) In one scene, she watches him fall asleep through her laptop, and is there for him when he wakes up in the morning. It’s a moment that resonates with the loneliness brought on by the pandemic, as many of us stare at our loved ones through screens. “Think of the poor people who’ve fallen in love just before lockdown started,” Mescal said. “As much as that’s trivial, that would actually drive me nuts. It’s a really sad thing not to be allowed to express the things we want to express, in terms of physical touch, or even just being in physical proximity to other people.”
It’s a situation Marianne and Connell find themselves facing at the end of the series, when—and there are spoilers ahead—Connell, a talented writer, gets into an M.F.A. program in New York. Marianne wants him to go, but he has reservations. (“I’d miss you too much,” he tells her.) The ending is ambiguous: Will they be able to make it work? “There’s an optimism in that you know that they have this real connection, and therefore you feel that they will come back to each other,” Edgar-Jones said.


newyorker--2020-05-18--Concerts in the Void

Concerts in the Void

Classical musicians , like their counterparts in the rest of the performing arts , have been trying to find a second life online during the pandemic shutdown .
Pianists have streamed recitals from their homes ; orchestras have used the Zoom app to create virtual ensembles ; small groups have assembled in empty halls .
Any discussion of this activity , encouraging as it is , must take into account that it unfolds against a backdrop of misery .
The livelihood of thousands of musicians has been shattered overnight .
People have been lost ; grief runs deep .
There @ @ @ @ @ @ @ classical music “ thriving ” on the Internet .
No one is thriving .
No one is making money .
No one is free from fear .
With that in mind , I ’ ve been glued to my computer in recent weeks , consuming live-streamed events around the world .
As a critic , I am desperate to maintain contact with what musicians are doing , thinking , and feeling .
The sound is often tinny , the stage patter awkward , the home décor distracting .
One could instead sample archived @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and other organizations have placed online .
For me , though , the live or freshly recorded happenings matter more .
They document , with the oblique power that the arts possess , an extraordinary human phase in history .
Their mere existence is bracing , and at times they achieve startling power .
One such moment arrived about forty minutes into the Metropolitan Opera ’ s “ At-Home Gala , ” a four-hour all-star program that took place on April 25th .
After an affecting appearance by Renée Fleming , the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ players at home , holding their instruments .
In the rectangle at the center was Yannick Nézet-Séguin , the Met ’ s music director , conducting into the void .
He led a prerecorded performance of the Intermezzo from “ Cavalleria Rusticana ” —some of the saddest , most wistful music ever written in a major key .
Later , the orchestra was joined by members of the Met chorus for “ Va , pensiero , ” the great anthem from “ Nabucco ” in which exiled Israelites salute “ my homeland , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ two performances had a dizzying effect , not only because they sounded splendid— “ Va , pensiero , ” especially , exuded the warmth of a collective act—but because they were done in a spirit of generosity that the Met may not have earned .
At the end of March , the entire staff of performing musicians was furloughed : since then , they have been receiving health benefits but no salary .
The Met faces existential financial challenges , to be sure , yet so do most other cultural organizations , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ According to the singer Zach Finkelstein , who has been reporting on the crisis at his blog , Middleclass Artist , a number of singers felt blindsided by the curt announcement of force-majeure cancellations .
The gala included thirty-three live vocal performances , from locales across Europe and America .
The opportunity to gaze inside singers ’ homes stirred wry commentary on social media .
René Pape ’ s James Bond-ish pad provoked nervous titters ; Elza van den Heever ’ s towering bookshelves elicited admiration .
A few singers won extra points @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Günther Groissböck , after draining a stein of beer , sang and played “ Wie schön ist doch die Musik , ” from “ Die Schweigsame Frau ” ; Erin Morley displayed dazzling musicianship in “ Chacun le sait , ” from “ La Fille du Régiment.
” Cohabiting singers had the chance to perform duets .
Ailyn Pérez and Soloman Howard ’ s rendition of “ A brani , a brani , o perfido , ” from “ Luisa Miller , ” grew sufficiently sultry that a parental advisory seemed in order @ @ @ @ @ @ @ performances were more sweet than gripping , but a few would have been impressive under any circumstances .
Lisette Oropesa gave an immaculate , glittering rendition of “ En vain j ’ espère , ” from “ Robert le Diable ” ; Jamie Barton was grand and glowering in “ O don fatale , ” from “ Don Carlo.
” Afterward , Barton exclaimed , “ Ooh , it ’ s fun to get to sing again !
” She had , in fact , already returned to the stage , virtually , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Wagner video masterfully edited by the bass-baritone Ryan McKinny .
Barton and McKinny , accompanied on piano by Kathleen Kelly , sang and acted out an updated version of the Fricka-Wotan scene from “ Das Rheingold , ” incorporating FaceTime , impatient texts from Fasolt and Fafner , and a Zillow listing for Valhalla .
It was at once absurd and compelling , like the best modern Wagner productions .
On May 3rd , the Bang on a Can composers ’ collective , which has been holding annual new-music marathons since 1987 , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with the Met gala , audio quality varied from the acceptable to the atrocious , and there were a few outright snafus : we saw Meredith Monk for several minutes before we heard her , live from her Tribeca apartment .
The habitats of American composers and new-music specialists are generally less palatial than those of opera stars .
The undoubted highlight was a glimpse of a legendary three-toed box turtle , named Neutron , which has been living with Monk since the late nineteen-seventies .
Every Bang on a Can marathon has @ @ @ @ @ @ @ one was no exception .
There were pieces long on ambience and short on ideas ; there were sketches in need of an editor .
I sat up in my desk chair for Anna Clyne ’ s “ Rapture , ” a jaggedly minimalistic work for clarinet and electronics ; for Adam Cuthbért ’ s “ Synthetic Flora , ” an eerie dreamscape for trumpet and electronics ; and for an angular meditation by the composer-guitarist Mary Halvorson .
The master percussionist Steven Schick , performing in a temporary home studio that doubles @ @ @ @ @ @ @ riveting account of Vinko Globokar ’ s 1973 score “ Toucher , ” which requires the performer to recite lines from Brecht ’ s “ Life of Galileo ” while playing .
Bang on a Can will present a second marathon on June 14th , with seven commissions on tap .
Aficionados of improvisation and the avant-garde can gravitate toward the Quarantine Concerts , a daily online production by the Experimental Sound Studio , in Chicago .
The other night , the violist Melanie Dyer , the violinist Gwen Laster , and the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ improvisation called “ Love in the Form of Sacred Outrage.
” Music lovers of all stripes can embrace the work of the composer-bassist Florent Ghys , who has attained viral fame with videos attributed to the Cats & Friends Choir .
Ghys ’ s pandemic ritual is to scour YouTube for vocalizing cats , sheep , and cows ; organize their utterances by pitch ; and edit them into approximations of familiar pieces , including Satie ’ s “ Gymnopédies , ” Pergolesi ’ s “ Stabat Mater , ” and Bach ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ Coronadämmerung , ” silliness veers toward the sublime .
Satie , for one , might have approved of being translated into meows and moos .
How long classical music will be marooned in the ether remains unclear .
Chatter from larger organizations suggests that full-scale performances may not resume until sometime in 2021 .
The primary challenge of online music-making will be to persuade audiences to pay for it ; in order for that to happen , events must rise above the feel-good , we ’ re-still-here level and achieve real substance @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the medium .
A sense of what ’ s possible comes from the Oslo Philharmonic , which has been producing rich-sounding , visually atmospheric live streams in a series it calls “ Mellomspill , ” or “ Interlude.
” In one memorable episode , the young Norwegian soprano Lise Davidsen , in refulgent voice , sang songs of Alban Berg , in arrangements by the late Dutch conductor Reinbert de Leeuw .
Afterward came Wagner ’ s “ Siegfried Idyll , ” in its original version for thirteen players , as Cosima @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 1869 .
This , too , is warm music tinged by sadness , and the wrenching loveliness of the playing had me in tears by the end .
It seemed to emanate from some other world ; that it came from the present felt like a flicker of hope .
♦ • Twenty-four hours at the epicenter of the pandemic : nearly fifty New Yorker writers and photographers fanned out to document life in New York City on April 15th .
• Seattle leaders let scientists take the lead in responding to the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
• Can survivors help cure the disease and rescue the economy ?
• What the coronavirus has revealed about American medicine .
• Can we trace the spread of COVID-19 and protect privacy at the same time ?
• The coronavirus is likely to spread for more than a year before a vaccine is widely available .
• How to practice social distancing , from responding to a sick housemate to the pros and cons of ordering food .
• The long crusade of Dr. Anthony Fauci , the infectious-disease expert pinned @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
• What to read , watch , cook , and listen to under quarantine .

Classical musicians, like their counterparts in the rest of the performing arts, have been trying to find a second life online during the pandemic shutdown. Pianists have streamed recitals from their homes; orchestras have used the Zoom app to create virtual ensembles; small groups have assembled in empty halls. Any discussion of this activity, encouraging as it is, must take into account that it unfolds against a backdrop of misery. The livelihood of thousands of musicians has been shattered overnight. People have been lost; grief runs deep. There should be no talk—I have seen some—of classical music “thriving” on the Internet. No one is thriving. No one is making money. No one is free from fear.
With that in mind, I’ve been glued to my computer in recent weeks, consuming live-streamed events around the world. As a critic, I am desperate to maintain contact with what musicians are doing, thinking, and feeling. The sound is often tinny, the stage patter awkward, the home décor distracting. One could instead sample archived professional-quality videos that opera houses, orchestras, and other organizations have placed online. For me, though, the live or freshly recorded happenings matter more. They document, with the oblique power that the arts possess, an extraordinary human phase in history. Their mere existence is bracing, and at times they achieve startling power.
One such moment arrived about forty minutes into the Metropolitan Opera’s “At-Home Gala,” a four-hour all-star program that took place on April 25th. After an affecting appearance by Renée Fleming, the screen filled with images of Met Orchestra players at home, holding their instruments. In the rectangle at the center was Yannick Nézet-Séguin, the Met’s music director, conducting into the void. He led a prerecorded performance of the Intermezzo from “Cavalleria Rusticana”—some of the saddest, most wistful music ever written in a major key. Later, the orchestra was joined by members of the Met chorus for “Va, pensiero,” the great anthem from “Nabucco” in which exiled Israelites salute “my homeland, so lovely and so lost.”
Those two performances had a dizzying effect, not only because they sounded splendid—“Va, pensiero,” especially, exuded the warmth of a collective act—but because they were done in a spirit of generosity that the Met may not have earned. At the end of March, the entire staff of performing musicians was furloughed: since then, they have been receiving health benefits but no salary. The Met faces existential financial challenges, to be sure, yet so do most other cultural organizations, and few have taken such drastic measures. According to the singer Zach Finkelstein, who has been reporting on the crisis at his blog, Middleclass Artist, a number of singers felt blindsided by the curt announcement of force-majeure cancellations.
The gala included thirty-three live vocal performances, from locales across Europe and America. The opportunity to gaze inside singers’ homes stirred wry commentary on social media. René Pape’s James Bond-ish pad provoked nervous titters; Elza van den Heever’s towering bookshelves elicited admiration. A few singers won extra points for accompanying themselves at the piano. Günther Groissböck, after draining a stein of beer, sang and played “Wie schön ist doch die Musik,” from “Die Schweigsame Frau”; Erin Morley displayed dazzling musicianship in “Chacun le sait,” from “La Fille du Régiment.” Cohabiting singers had the chance to perform duets. Ailyn Pérez and Soloman Howard’s rendition of “A brani, a brani, o perfido,” from “Luisa Miller,” grew sufficiently sultry that a parental advisory seemed in order.
For the most part, the performances were more sweet than gripping, but a few would have been impressive under any circumstances. Lisette Oropesa gave an immaculate, glittering rendition of “En vain j’espère,” from “Robert le Diable”; Jamie Barton was grand and glowering in “O don fatale,” from “Don Carlo.” Afterward, Barton exclaimed, “Ooh, it’s fun to get to sing again!” She had, in fact, already returned to the stage, virtually, in “Coronadämmerung,” a staggering Wagner video masterfully edited by the bass-baritone Ryan McKinny. Barton and McKinny, accompanied on piano by Kathleen Kelly, sang and acted out an updated version of the Fricka-Wotan scene from “Das Rheingold,” incorporating FaceTime, impatient texts from Fasolt and Fafner, and a Zillow listing for Valhalla. It was at once absurd and compelling, like the best modern Wagner productions.
On May 3rd, the Bang on a Can composers’ collective, which has been holding annual new-music marathons since 1987, offered a six-hour online substitute. As with the Met gala, audio quality varied from the acceptable to the atrocious, and there were a few outright snafus: we saw Meredith Monk for several minutes before we heard her, live from her Tribeca apartment. The habitats of American composers and new-music specialists are generally less palatial than those of opera stars. The undoubted highlight was a glimpse of a legendary three-toed box turtle, named Neutron, which has been living with Monk since the late nineteen-seventies.
Every Bang on a Can marathon has its peaks and lulls, and this one was no exception. There were pieces long on ambience and short on ideas; there were sketches in need of an editor. I sat up in my desk chair for Anna Clyne’s “Rapture,” a jaggedly minimalistic work for clarinet and electronics; for Adam Cuthbért’s “Synthetic Flora,” an eerie dreamscape for trumpet and electronics; and for an angular meditation by the composer-guitarist Mary Halvorson. The master percussionist Steven Schick, performing in a temporary home studio that doubles as a laundry room, gave a riveting account of Vinko Globokar’s 1973 score “Toucher,” which requires the performer to recite lines from Brecht’s “Life of Galileo” while playing. Bang on a Can will present a second marathon on June 14th, with seven commissions on tap.
Aficionados of improvisation and the avant-garde can gravitate toward the Quarantine Concerts, a daily online production by the Experimental Sound Studio, in Chicago. The other night, the violist Melanie Dyer, the violinist Gwen Laster, and the bassist Ken Filiano performed a grittily expressive improvisation called “Love in the Form of Sacred Outrage.” Music lovers of all stripes can embrace the work of the composer-bassist Florent Ghys, who has attained viral fame with videos attributed to the Cats & Friends Choir. Ghys’s pandemic ritual is to scour YouTube for vocalizing cats, sheep, and cows; organize their utterances by pitch; and edit them into approximations of familiar pieces, including Satie’s “Gymnopédies,” Pergolesi’s “Stabat Mater,” and Bach’s First Cello Suite. As with “Coronadämmerung,” silliness veers toward the sublime. Satie, for one, might have approved of being translated into meows and moos.
How long classical music will be marooned in the ether remains unclear. Chatter from larger organizations suggests that full-scale performances may not resume until sometime in 2021. The primary challenge of online music-making will be to persuade audiences to pay for it; in order for that to happen, events must rise above the feel-good, we’re-still-here level and achieve real substance, not to mention a comfortable grasp of the medium.
A sense of what’s possible comes from the Oslo Philharmonic, which has been producing rich-sounding, visually atmospheric live streams in a series it calls “Mellomspill,” or “Interlude.” In one memorable episode, the young Norwegian soprano Lise Davidsen, in refulgent voice, sang songs of Alban Berg, in arrangements by the late Dutch conductor Reinbert de Leeuw. Afterward came Wagner’s “Siegfried Idyll,” in its original version for thirteen players, as Cosima Wagner heard it on her birthday in 1869. This, too, is warm music tinged by sadness, and the wrenching loveliness of the playing had me in tears by the end. It seemed to emanate from some other world; that it came from the present felt like a flicker of hope. ♦
A Guide to the Coronavirus


newyorker--2020-05-18--Slide Show: New Yorker Cartoons May 25, 2020

“ Please call me back , Diane—I ’ m standing here at the meat counter and I don ’ t @ @ @ @ @ we usually get and this man is just staring at me and this is all @ @ @ @

“Please call me back, Diane—I’m standing here at the meat counter and I don’t know what kind of steak we usually get and this man is just staring at me and this is all your fault.”
Cartoon by Zachary Kanin


Cartoon Caption Contest

Each week , we provide a cartoon in need of a caption .
You , the reader , submit your @ @ @ @ @ three finalists , and you vote for your favorite .
Anyone age thirteen or older @ @ @ @ @ To read the complete rules , click here .

Each week, we provide a cartoon in need of a caption. You, the reader, submit your caption here, we choose three finalists, and you vote for your favorite. Anyone age thirteen or older can enter or vote. To read the complete rules, click here.
John Klossner Copy link to cartoon Copy link to cartoon Shop Shop


newyorker--2020-05-17--Curtis Sittenfeld’s “Rodham” Offers the Catharsis of Uncomplicated Regret

A few years before Notorious R.B.G .
or the “ F is for Feminist ” children ’ s book , we had Secretary of State Hillary Clinton : a girlboss meme with her own Tumblr page , a totem in sunglasses apprising her BlackBerry .
( A headline in the Washington Post declared that “ Hillary Clinton is finally hip , thanks to a meme.
” ) When I lived with a group of eight women in college , one of my roommates printed Clinton ’ s smiling face on pinnies for all of us , as if we were @ @ @ @ @ @ @ our mascot .
Whenever Clinton ran for President , though , it became harder to see her so simply .
One might have longed for a candidate with fewer dimensions , for a world where it was somehow possible to excise the most disturbing chapters—the support of Bill Clinton ’ s crime and welfare-reform bills , the vote to invade Iraq , the unwavering defense of a husband accused of rape and sexual harassment—from the story of her career , leaving the lifelong advocate for women and children , the first feminist standard-bearer @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Presidential nominee .
One person who indulged in this counterfactual was , apparently , the writer Curtis Sittenfeld .
In her new novel , “ Rodham , ” she imagines a Hillary who has managed to avoid most of the controversy that clings to her real-life counterpart .
To start with , the fictional model breaks up with Bill after law school instead of marrying him .
From that rupture with reality , in 1975 , Sittenfeld steers her heroine to an alternate-universe 2016 election , one she enters unencumbered by all the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ decades in politics .
The book implicitly blames Bill for most of that .
“ If I was no longer his girlfriend , and never his wife , I was not responsible for his behavior , not even by extension , ” the fictional Hillary reflects as she drives away from Arkansas after the pivotal breakup .
“ This absolution was my reward for losing him.
” “ Rodham ” yields to the fantasy that we could reshuffle the deck of the recent past and deal again .
Sittenfeld rearranges real moments alongside @ @ @ @ @ @ @ including an infamous speech , reappear in the novel in altered contexts .
Though this limits the transportive properties of Sittenfeld ’ s fiction , it also produces an illuminating historical artifact .
Like a piece of flotsam that holds clues to why the ship wrecked , the warped events of “ Rodham ” are the right shape to contain an emotional truth : the novel ’ s version of Hillary is more or less the one that many supporters wished they were voting for .
When she inhabited a lightly fictionalized Laura @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” published in 2008 , Sittenfeld ’ s primary interest was the inner life of her subject , who slowly comes to see how her marriage has consumed the person she otherwise might have been .
Readers who open “ Rodham ” hoping to glimpse the real Clinton ’ s private self may find the inside of Hillary ’ s head sparsely furnished .
Her decisive , disciplined nature shines its light into the corners where most mortals stash their inner conflicts .
She lives according to what she calls “ the Rule @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of a course of action but could think of two reasons for it , I ’ d do it.
” As Laura Miller points out at Slate , “ Rodham ” is a close cousin of fan fiction , a genre that offers new endings to stories that thwarted their readers ’ desires .
The impulse is to give an audience what it will least object to , which is not always conducive to compelling portraiture .
Inevitably , the first third of “ Rodham , ” which hews to the loose outline @ @ @ @ @ @ @ than what will follow .
Early chapters covering the courtship of the fictional Bill and Hillary serve to establish that she has inviolable principles , while he has none .
The beginning of the end of their love affair comes when she stops him from using bribe money , possibly costing him a seat in Congress .
“ This is the best decision you ’ ve ever made , ” a friend tells Hillary when she leaves Arkansas , heartbroken .
“ Now your life belongs to you again.
” The pace picks @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 1991 .
Hillary is an unmarried law professor at Northwestern University ; after the Anita Hill hearings , she is approached about running for the U.S. Senate .
Hillary hesitates , especially when she realizes that she won ’ t be the only woman in the race : Carol Moseley Braun—who , in reality , became the first black woman to serve in the Senate when she was elected , in 1992—is also hoping to seize the feminist momentum in the air .
It ’ s in these deliberations , as she tries @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the desire to serve , that Sittenfeld ’ s Hillary feels most fully human .
Here , the novel shuns the worst temptation of fan fiction—to place the audience always at ease—and shows a white woman benefitting from racism in an act of willful blindness that she never lives down .
While Hillary wins her seat , Bill falters without her , and drops out of the 1992 primary .
The list of ways their breakup changes history thus includes an altered succession of Presidents .
John McCain becomes Commander-in-Chief instead of George @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of Iraq never occurs .
Conveniently , this rescues Sittenfeld ’ s Hillary from casting an unpardonable vote for an indefensible war .
By the time she runs for President , in 2016 , the fictional Hillary is not exactly a saint .
But , unlike the real version , nor is she a vilified proxy for the very idea of a woman in politics .
Described “ as a hard worker , a pragmatic centrist , and a Midwestern bore , ” her closest real-life analogue might be Amy Klobuchar .
Recent @ @ @ @ @ @ @ such a person could mount a competitive bid for the Presidency , and the final chapters of “ Rodham ” are its least convincing .
But this less controversial Hillary does leave Sittenfeld free to settle certain debates .
Did people hate the real candidate for being a woman or for being a Clinton ?
In the novel , there is only one answer when men at the rallies of a political rival take to chanting , “ Shut her up !
” “ I confess that even as I found the phenomenon @ @ @ @ @ @ @ vindicated , ” Hillary thinks .
“ Generally speaking , complaints about sexism were perceived as sour grapes .
Proof was elusive , situations subject to interpretation .
Yet was this not the starkest proof ?
” What can we learn from imagining a Hillary whose life sustains only a single interpretation ?
Reading “ Rodham , ” I sometimes missed the rich text of the real Clinton .
Her many contradictions may be maddening , but they also reflect the impossible position that she endured as , for years or decades , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Sittenfeld manages to squeeze in the real Clinton ’ s infamous dig at stay-at-home mothers ( “ I suppose I could have stayed home and baked cookies ” ) , but it doesn ’ t have the same complicated zing in the mouth of a judicious senator as it did from a woman who dared to think that America ’ s most visible helpmeet might have a right to a professional life of her own .
Still , by stripping away our misgivings , Sittenfeld makes room for the catharsis of uncomplicated @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a girls ’ school , the fictional Hillary can feel “ how close we were to the barrier that was often referred to as a glass ceiling but that I instinctively pictured as a large grassy field that , through some combination of fate and ambition , I was the likeliest person to get across first.
” She continues :

The novel imagines a Hillary Clinton who manages to avoid most of the controversy that clings to her real-life counterpart. Photograph by John M. Hurley / Boston Globe / Getty
A few years before Notorious R.B.G. or the “F is for Feminist” children’s book, we had Secretary of State Hillary Clinton: a girlboss meme with her own Tumblr page, a totem in sunglasses apprising her BlackBerry. (A headline in the Washington Post declared that “Hillary Clinton is finally hip, thanks to a meme.”) When I lived with a group of eight women in college, one of my roommates printed Clinton’s smiling face on pinnies for all of us, as if we were a sports team, and she was our mascot.
Whenever Clinton ran for President, though, it became harder to see her so simply. One might have longed for a candidate with fewer dimensions, for a world where it was somehow possible to excise the most disturbing chapters—the support of Bill Clinton’s crime and welfare-reform bills, the vote to invade Iraq, the unwavering defense of a husband accused of rape and sexual harassment—from the story of her career, leaving the lifelong advocate for women and children, the first feminist standard-bearer to become a major party’s Presidential nominee.
One person who indulged in this counterfactual was, apparently, the writer Curtis Sittenfeld. In her new novel, “Rodham,” she imagines a Hillary who has managed to avoid most of the controversy that clings to her real-life counterpart. To start with, the fictional model breaks up with Bill after law school instead of marrying him. From that rupture with reality, in 1975, Sittenfeld steers her heroine to an alternate-universe 2016 election, one she enters unencumbered by all the baggage that the Clintons accrued over four decades in politics. The book implicitly blames Bill for most of that. “If I was no longer his girlfriend, and never his wife, I was not responsible for his behavior, not even by extension,” the fictional Hillary reflects as she drives away from Arkansas after the pivotal breakup. “This absolution was my reward for losing him.”
“Rodham” yields to the fantasy that we could reshuffle the deck of the recent past and deal again. Sittenfeld rearranges real moments alongside invented ones; events from 2016, including an infamous speech, reappear in the novel in altered contexts. Though this limits the transportive properties of Sittenfeld’s fiction, it also produces an illuminating historical artifact. Like a piece of flotsam that holds clues to why the ship wrecked, the warped events of “Rodham” are the right shape to contain an emotional truth: the novel’s version of Hillary is more or less the one that many supporters wished they were voting for.
When she inhabited a lightly fictionalized Laura Bush, in “American Wife,” published in 2008, Sittenfeld’s primary interest was the inner life of her subject, who slowly comes to see how her marriage has consumed the person she otherwise might have been. Readers who open “Rodham” hoping to glimpse the real Clinton’s private self may find the inside of Hillary’s head sparsely furnished. Her decisive, disciplined nature shines its light into the corners where most mortals stash their inner conflicts. She lives according to what she calls “the Rule of Two: If I was unsure of a course of action but could think of two reasons for it, I’d do it.” As Laura Miller points out at Slate, “Rodham” is a close cousin of fan fiction, a genre that offers new endings to stories that thwarted their readers’ desires. The impulse is to give an audience what it will least object to, which is not always conducive to compelling portraiture.
Inevitably, the first third of “Rodham,” which hews to the loose outline of actual history, progresses more slowly than what will follow. Early chapters covering the courtship of the fictional Bill and Hillary serve to establish that she has inviolable principles, while he has none. The beginning of the end of their love affair comes when she stops him from using bribe money, possibly costing him a seat in Congress. “This is the best decision you’ve ever made,” a friend tells Hillary when she leaves Arkansas, heartbroken. “Now your life belongs to you again.”
The pace picks up when the novel reopens, in 1991. Hillary is an unmarried law professor at Northwestern University; after the Anita Hill hearings, she is approached about running for the U.S. Senate. Hillary hesitates, especially when she realizes that she won’t be the only woman in the race: Carol Moseley Braun—who, in reality, became the first black woman to serve in the Senate when she was elected, in 1992—is also hoping to seize the feminist momentum in the air. It’s in these deliberations, as she tries to disentangle the will to power from the desire to serve, that Sittenfeld’s Hillary feels most fully human. Here, the novel shuns the worst temptation of fan fiction—to place the audience always at ease—and shows a white woman benefitting from racism in an act of willful blindness that she never lives down.
While Hillary wins her seat, Bill falters without her, and drops out of the 1992 primary. The list of ways their breakup changes history thus includes an altered succession of Presidents. John McCain becomes Commander-in-Chief instead of George W. Bush, and the U.S. invasion of Iraq never occurs. Conveniently, this rescues Sittenfeld’s Hillary from casting an unpardonable vote for an indefensible war. By the time she runs for President, in 2016, the fictional Hillary is not exactly a saint. But, unlike the real version, nor is she a vilified proxy for the very idea of a woman in politics. Described “as a hard worker, a pragmatic centrist, and a Midwestern bore,” her closest real-life analogue might be Amy Klobuchar. Recent history contradicts Sittenfeld’s premise that such a person could mount a competitive bid for the Presidency, and the final chapters of “Rodham” are its least convincing.
But this less controversial Hillary does leave Sittenfeld free to settle certain debates. Did people hate the real candidate for being a woman or for being a Clinton? In the novel, there is only one answer when men at the rallies of a political rival take to chanting, “Shut her up!” “I confess that even as I found the phenomenon disturbing, a part of me felt vindicated,” Hillary thinks. “Generally speaking, complaints about sexism were perceived as sour grapes. Proof was elusive, situations subject to interpretation. Yet was this not the starkest proof?”
What can we learn from imagining a Hillary whose life sustains only a single interpretation? Reading “Rodham,” I sometimes missed the rich text of the real Clinton. Her many contradictions may be maddening, but they also reflect the impossible position that she endured as, for years or decades, the most prominent woman in American politics. Sittenfeld manages to squeeze in the real Clinton’s infamous dig at stay-at-home mothers (“I suppose I could have stayed home and baked cookies”), but it doesn’t have the same complicated zing in the mouth of a judicious senator as it did from a woman who dared to think that America’s most visible helpmeet might have a right to a professional life of her own.
Still, by stripping away our misgivings, Sittenfeld makes room for the catharsis of uncomplicated regret. Giving her stump speech at a girls’ school, the fictional Hillary can feel “how close we were to the barrier that was often referred to as a glass ceiling but that I instinctively pictured as a large grassy field that, through some combination of fate and ambition, I was the likeliest person to get across first.” She continues:
As much as I wanted to be president, I wanted a woman to be president—I wanted this because women and girls were half the population and we deserved, as a basic human right and a means of ensuring justice, to be equally represented in our government. Yet it was hard to explain because no man had ever run for president for this reason. . . . Yes, I was me, Hillary, but I also was a vessel and a proxy.
The work of “Rodham” is to smooth away the incongruities between the person and the vessel for other people’s hopes. But part of the dilemma of Hillary Clinton is the failure of imagination that made it so hard for anyone to mount a challenge to her in 2016; her path to the Presidency felt less like ascension and more like inevitability, until, of course, it wasn’t. Early in the novel, Sittenfeld incorporates the masterly speech that the real Rodham delivered at her Wellesley graduation, in which she called on America’s leaders “to practice politics as the art of making what appears to be impossible possible.” To heed her advice, we must teach ourselves to imagine other women reaching the White House, both in fiction and in life.


newyorker--2020-05-19--Dr. Clifton’s Fantastical Miracle Elixir Return Policy

Madams and good Sirs of all ages , thank you for procuring Dr. Clifton ’ s Fantastical Miracle Elixir !
For fast-acting hair growth , look no further .
We appreciate your farthings .
However , to those seeking recompense , allow us to explicate the manner by which you may procure it .
We do not accept bottles that have been opened by way of cork .
In such instances , we suspect that you have imbibed the tonic , as evidenced by your rosy scalp and lack of neck maladies .
The “ satisfaction guarantee ” refers to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sterling .
In the event that his avarice fades , he will let you know .
If you are less than well pleased with the elixir ’ s ability to regrow locks , it is no doubt because of your skepticism .
True faith is about not questioning why you ’ ve been given no receipt .
In the land of hair , the lemming is king .
Also , some chaps look better with a crown of fresh blisters !
Just saying .
Elixir bottles can be exchanged for wellness liniments of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is valid only for townsfolk with proof of dropsy , mumps , polio , lumbago , colitis , bursitis , bites of the wolf most vile , and other afflictions covered under the purview of Clifton ’ s marvellous medical menagerie .
You may be denied a refund if Dr. Clifton does not like the cut of your jib .
And he so rarely likes jib cuts .
To impugn the doctor ’ s good name would be of great offense , for his elixir is the latest sensation sweeping the nation !
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ from the dark recesses of the Orient !
The hirsute laborers toiling on the transcontinental railroad swear by its power to fuzz your noodle .
Just one dab and you ’ ll see !
If your elixir has compatibility issues with the parasites being used to treat your gout , contact your local leech wrangler .
Perchance he ’ s the swindler , not we !
Fair warning : should you reclaim your funds from the till by force , Dr. Clifton will beat you about the head and neck with great vigor @ @ @ @ @ @ @ humbled .
Though stout of frame , he has killed many a bear in the wilds of Appalachia .
And you , my good man , are not a bear .
Though you could be , with purchase of Dr. Clifton ’ s Glorious Grizzly-fication Tinctures !
Available now for the low , low price of whatever you have .
Should your vial be received with blemish , well , the Fates have spoken .
Who are we to question the will of God ?
Only a heretic could so do , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ But Dr. Clifton would never wish to see harm come to a loyal patron such as yourself !
Though , to be clear , he has friends with great lust for violence .
When the label peels off , revealing one beneath that reads “ Pee , ” the purchaser may qualify for a fresh batch of waste from Clifton ’ s apprentice .
Though it can be an ordeal getting Percival to produce .
His timid bladder is most unreliable .
The good doctor must take his leave now , for the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in need of his highly credible concoction .
Word has it their pockets are bursting with coin !

Madams and good Sirs of all ages, thank you for procuring Dr. Clifton’s Fantastical Miracle Elixir! For fast-acting hair growth, look no further. We appreciate your farthings. However, to those seeking recompense, allow us to explicate the manner by which you may procure it.
We do not accept bottles that have been opened by way of cork. In such instances, we suspect that you have imbibed the tonic, as evidenced by your rosy scalp and lack of neck maladies.
The “satisfaction guarantee” refers to Clifton’s contentment at pocketing your sterling. In the event that his avarice fades, he will let you know.
If you are less than well pleased with the elixir’s ability to regrow locks, it is no doubt because of your skepticism. True faith is about not questioning why you’ve been given no receipt. In the land of hair, the lemming is king.
Also, some chaps look better with a crown of fresh blisters! Just saying.
Elixir bottles can be exchanged for wellness liniments of equal or lesser value. This offer is valid only for townsfolk with proof of dropsy, mumps, polio, lumbago, colitis, bursitis, bites of the wolf most vile, and other afflictions covered under the purview of Clifton’s marvellous medical menagerie.
You may be denied a refund if Dr. Clifton does not like the cut of your jib. And he so rarely likes jib cuts.
To impugn the doctor’s good name would be of great offense, for his elixir is the latest sensation sweeping the nation! Its propensity for scalp stimulation springs forth from the dark recesses of the Orient! The hirsute laborers toiling on the transcontinental railroad swear by its power to fuzz your noodle. Just one dab and you’ll see!
If your elixir has compatibility issues with the parasites being used to treat your gout, contact your local leech wrangler. Perchance he’s the swindler, not we!
Fair warning: should you reclaim your funds from the till by force, Dr. Clifton will beat you about the head and neck with great vigor. You will be left bloody and humbled. Though stout of frame, he has killed many a bear in the wilds of Appalachia. And you, my good man, are not a bear. Though you could be, with purchase of Dr. Clifton’s Glorious Grizzly-fication Tinctures! Available now for the low, low price of whatever you have.
Should your vial be received with blemish, well, the Fates have spoken. Who are we to question the will of God? Only a heretic could so do, and they can be burned for apostasy. But Dr. Clifton would never wish to see harm come to a loyal patron such as yourself! Though, to be clear, he has friends with great lust for violence.
When the label peels off, revealing one beneath that reads “Pee,” the purchaser may qualify for a fresh batch of waste from Clifton’s apprentice. Though it can be an ordeal getting Percival to produce. His timid bladder is most unreliable.
The good doctor must take his leave now, for the smooth-headed rabble the next town over are in need of his highly credible concoction. Word has it their pockets are bursting with coin!