newyorker--2020-11-02--A Polling Expert on Sun Belt Democrats, Rust Belt Republicans, and the Odds for 2020

The polls currently show the President losing to Joe Biden by eight and a half percentage points nationally .
The Electoral College could still hand Trump a victory , but he remains significantly behind in the crucial Midwestern states that he won four years ago , such as Michigan and Wisconsin , is trailing slightly in Southern states , like North Carolina and Florida and even Georgia , and is tied or barely ahead in places like Ohio , Iowa , and Texas , where Democrats had not been expected to be nearly so competitive .
The state most likely @ @ @ @ @ @ @ where Biden is leading by around five percentage points .
Biden could lose the state and still win the election by winning Florida or even Arizona ; for Trump , the math becomes nearly impossible if he loses Pennsylvania , Florida , North Carolina , Texas , Georgia , or Ohio .
I recently discussed the state of the race with Dave Wasserman , a contributor to NBC News and the U.S. House editor of the Cook Political Report .
During our conversation , which has been edited for length and clarity , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ vote , whether Democrats have raised too much money for their Senate candidates , and why Pennsylvania is the Midwestern state that Democrats should worry about .
A hundred million votes have been cast , but many political analysts are shying away from making bold pronouncements about what the early vote portends .
What do you feel comfortable saying about its significance ?
It aligns with predictions for record-shattering turnout .
I think we could be on track for a hundred and fifty million to a hundred and sixty million votes cast .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ even be the upper limit .
But certainly , far higher than the hundred and thirty-seven million cast in 2016 .
We are seeing steadily huge surges in Sun Belt exurbs .
Texas has led the way by already surpassing its 2016 votes cast , and then some .
And , look , a high-turnout scenario has always held promise for Democrats in the Sun Belt and some promise for Republicans—to a less clear extent—in the Rust Belt .
So , this cycle , I have tried to lean into that change and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ me right now is whether we will see the Sun Belt red wall crumble or crack .
Can you explain why high turnout might help Democrats in the Sun Belt and Republicans in the Rust Belt ?
Historically , the untapped potential in Texas and Georgia has been young and nonwhite votes .
And those new voters don ’ t exactly have a high opinion of Trump , even if they do not identify as Democrats per se .
Whereas in the North—and Nate Cohn laid this out in good detail , more @ @ @ @ @ @ @ potential for higher turnout would be non-college-educated whites .
In 2016 , there were 2.4 million non-college whites in Pennsylvania who were eligible but did not cast ballots .
Trump won the state by 44,292 votes .
In Michigan , there were about 1.6 million non-college whites who did not cast ballots .
And Trump won by about ten thousand .
In Wisconsin , there were about nine hundred thousand non-college whites who did not cast ballots .
And Trump won by about twenty-three thousand .
So there has never been a doubt @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of new non-college white voters in those states .
And none of the serious data junkies out there have ever doubted that Trump ’ s rally crowds include a number of people who didn ’ t vote in 2016 .
The problem for Trump is that he isn ’ t winning a high enough share of non-college whites in these states , particularly women and seniors .
And , on top of that , non-college whites have declined as a share of the eligible electorate by three points since 2016 .
So he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of them to offset their population decline , but he needs to get back to his 2016 margins among that group .
And for every non-college white woman or senior who defects to Biden , Trump needs to bring out two new voters to offset that .
Does the early-turnout data suggest anything about these groups already showing up ?
The early-turnout data can tell us that there is historic interest , and we are headed for a massive turnout scenario .
It can ’ t tell us anything about the final vote @ @ @ @ @ @ @ anyone who claims that they can tell you who is going to win or by how much based on early turnout data is a charlatan .
I am just going to be blunt about it .
Democrats are more concerned about Pennsylvania than about Wisconsin and Michigan , and the polls have been a hair closer there .
What about Pennsylvania , or the candidates , explains that ?
It is not clear to me that Biden will end up doing that much worse in Pennsylvania than he does in Michigan or Wisconsin @ @ @ @ @ @ @ know that .
But the final polls seem to suggest it , and the strongest theory I can muster is , first , that the COVID-19 caseload in Pennsylvania isn ’ t what it is in Wisconsin right now .
But , second of all , Pennsylvania has a higher share of non-college whites who did not vote in 2016 .
So it has always had more growth potential for Trump than Wisconsin , which has traditionally had very robust voter turnout , or Michigan .
Wisconsin is also a state that Obama @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Obama lost the Pennsylvania primary to Clinton in 2008 but won in Wisconsin .
Trump lost the 2016 primary to Cruz in Wisconsin but won in Pennsylvania .
So there might be reasons to think Pennsylvania would be stronger for Trump than Wisconsin or Michigan .
Yeah , that ’ s all true .
Trump potentially has a stronger cultural connection in Pennsylvania than in Michigan or Wisconsin .
Keep in mind that the places where we are seeing Trump underperform include considerable church-going areas , such as Grand Rapids , Michigan @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Pennsylvania that is a big portion of the state , and Trump ’ s die-hard base is located in places like southwestern and northeastern Pennsylvania .
And , to some extent , in the Iron Range of Minnesota , that ’ s true , too .
But it ’ s hard to point to one region of Wisconsin where Trump has that same connection—maybe western and northern Wisconsin , but the Milwaukee suburbs and Green Bay have never been Trump-fanatic zones .
Florida had been considered the most likely Southern Trump state to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of Biden ’ s strength with senior voters .
But my sense of talking to people in both Democratic and Republican politics recently is that North Carolina or Georgia may actually be easier for Biden .
Do you agree , and what have you made of Georgia ’ s growing prominence these past two weeks ?
I wouldn ’ t be surprised by any win-loss combination out of North Carolina-Georgia-Florida-Texas at this point .
The gap is quite small , in my estimation .
I should be clear : I do not put @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he is a strong favorite to win Arizona , but not a clear favorite in the other four Sun Belt targets .
What ’ s fascinating to me is that Trump won Florida by a point .
He won North Carolina by 3.7 .
He won Georgia by 5.1 .
And he won Texas by 9.0 .
But , since 2016 , all four have moved away from Trump , to the point where they are all arguably in the same place .
And it has to do with the demographic characteristics of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ as many white , professional , suburban defectors to Biden in Florida as there are in suburban Atlanta , suburban Charlotte , and certainly suburban Texas .
Florida offers Trump a special lifeline because of the Cuban vote and his improvement since 2016 .
Without that , Biden would be a clear favorite to flip the state .
But what we are seeing in the northern Atlanta suburbs is that Trump has become radioactive there , much as he has in the suburbs of Dallas-Fort Worth , Austin , and San Antonio .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ the other two , because it is still more of a small-town , rural state than Texas .
You can add up Dallas and Houston and San Antonio and Austin and have more than two-thirds of the state ’ s votes .
You can ’ t say the same thing about the North Carolina triangle and Charlotte .
Texas has seen an astonishingly large early vote , even though neither campaign has thrown a lot of money into it .
Do you think the Biden campaign , which was able to raise and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the final weeks , erred in not going all in there ?

On Tuesday, voters will go to the polls and conclude an election that has already seen unprecedented turnout, with approximately a hundred million people casting early ballots. Several states have nearly matched their total turnout numbers from the last Presidential election through early voting alone; Texas and Hawaii have already exceeded their 2016 figures. The people who have participated in early voting are more likely to be Democrats, whereas Republicans are more likely to show up on Election Day, in large part because of President Trump’s unsubstantiated attacks on the legitimacy of mail-in voting.
The polls currently show the President losing to Joe Biden by eight and a half percentage points nationally. The Electoral College could still hand Trump a victory, but he remains significantly behind in the crucial Midwestern states that he won four years ago, such as Michigan and Wisconsin, is trailing slightly in Southern states, like North Carolina and Florida and even Georgia, and is tied or barely ahead in places like Ohio, Iowa, and Texas, where Democrats had not been expected to be nearly so competitive. The state most likely to tip the election is Pennsylvania, where Biden is leading by around five percentage points. Biden could lose the state and still win the election by winning Florida or even Arizona; for Trump, the math becomes nearly impossible if he loses Pennsylvania, Florida, North Carolina, Texas, Georgia, or Ohio.
I recently discussed the state of the race with Dave Wasserman, a contributor to NBC News and the U.S. House editor of the Cook Political Report. During our conversation, which has been edited for length and clarity, we discussed the meaning of the early vote, whether Democrats have raised too much money for their Senate candidates, and why Pennsylvania is the Midwestern state that Democrats should worry about.
A hundred million votes have been cast, but many political analysts are shying away from making bold pronouncements about what the early vote portends. What do you feel comfortable saying about its significance?
It aligns with predictions for record-shattering turnout. I think we could be on track for a hundred and fifty million to a hundred and sixty million votes cast. A hundred and sixty million might not even be the upper limit. But certainly, far higher than the hundred and thirty-seven million cast in 2016. We are seeing steadily huge surges in Sun Belt exurbs. Texas has led the way by already surpassing its 2016 votes cast, and then some. And, look, a high-turnout scenario has always held promise for Democrats in the Sun Belt and some promise for Republicans—to a less clear extent—in the Rust Belt. So, this cycle, I have tried to lean into that change and that realignment. The biggest mystery to me right now is whether we will see the Sun Belt red wall crumble or crack.
Can you explain why high turnout might help Democrats in the Sun Belt and Republicans in the Rust Belt?
Historically, the untapped potential in Texas and Georgia has been young and nonwhite votes. And those new voters don’t exactly have a high opinion of Trump, even if they do not identify as Democrats per se. Whereas in the North—and Nate Cohn laid this out in good detail, more than a year ago—most of the unrealized potential for higher turnout would be non-college-educated whites. In 2016, there were 2.4 million non-college whites in Pennsylvania who were eligible but did not cast ballots. Trump won the state by 44,292 votes. In Michigan, there were about 1.6 million non-college whites who did not cast ballots. And Trump won by about ten thousand. In Wisconsin, there were about nine hundred thousand non-college whites who did not cast ballots. And Trump won by about twenty-three thousand.
So there has never been a doubt that Trump could add hundreds of thousands of new non-college white voters in those states. And none of the serious data junkies out there have ever doubted that Trump’s rally crowds include a number of people who didn’t vote in 2016. The problem for Trump is that he isn’t winning a high enough share of non-college whites in these states, particularly women and seniors. And, on top of that, non-college whites have declined as a share of the eligible electorate by three points since 2016. So he not only needs to bring out more of them to offset their population decline, but he needs to get back to his 2016 margins among that group. And for every non-college white woman or senior who defects to Biden, Trump needs to bring out two new voters to offset that.
Does the early-turnout data suggest anything about these groups already showing up?
The early-turnout data can tell us that there is historic interest, and we are headed for a massive turnout scenario. It can’t tell us anything about the final vote preferences of the final electorate, and anyone who claims that they can tell you who is going to win or by how much based on early turnout data is a charlatan. I am just going to be blunt about it.
Democrats are more concerned about Pennsylvania than about Wisconsin and Michigan, and the polls have been a hair closer there. What about Pennsylvania, or the candidates, explains that?
It is not clear to me that Biden will end up doing that much worse in Pennsylvania than he does in Michigan or Wisconsin or Minnesota. We don’t know that. But the final polls seem to suggest it, and the strongest theory I can muster is, first, that the COVID-19 caseload in Pennsylvania isn’t what it is in Wisconsin right now. But, second of all, Pennsylvania has a higher share of non-college whites who did not vote in 2016. So it has always had more growth potential for Trump than Wisconsin, which has traditionally had very robust voter turnout, or Michigan.
Wisconsin is also a state that Obama won by a bigger margin than Pennsylvania. Obama lost the Pennsylvania primary to Clinton in 2008 but won in Wisconsin. Trump lost the 2016 primary to Cruz in Wisconsin but won in Pennsylvania. So there might be reasons to think Pennsylvania would be stronger for Trump than Wisconsin or Michigan.
Yeah, that’s all true. Trump potentially has a stronger cultural connection in Pennsylvania than in Michigan or Wisconsin. Keep in mind that the places where we are seeing Trump underperform include considerable church-going areas, such as Grand Rapids, Michigan. There is an Appalachian vote in Pennsylvania that is a big portion of the state, and Trump’s die-hard base is located in places like southwestern and northeastern Pennsylvania. And, to some extent, in the Iron Range of Minnesota, that’s true, too. But it’s hard to point to one region of Wisconsin where Trump has that same connection—maybe western and northern Wisconsin, but the Milwaukee suburbs and Green Bay have never been Trump-fanatic zones.
Florida had been considered the most likely Southern Trump state to flip to Biden, in part because of Biden’s strength with senior voters. But my sense of talking to people in both Democratic and Republican politics recently is that North Carolina or Georgia may actually be easier for Biden. Do you agree, and what have you made of Georgia’s growing prominence these past two weeks?


newyorker--2020-11-02--The Ultimate Stress Test of American Democracy Is Upon Us

Let ’ s start with the latest polling .
On Monday morning , the RealClearPolitics poll average showed Joe Biden leading Trump nationally by 6.7 percentage points .
The FiveThirtyEight poll average , which is calculated somewhat differently , showed Biden ahead by 8.4 points .
The battleground-state polls were closer and , in some places , they displayed evidence of late movement in Trump ’ s direction .
Still , FiveThirtyEight ’ s state poll averages showed Biden retaining significant leads in the three places that decided the 2016 election in Trump ’ s favor : Michigan , by @ @ @ @ @ @ @ points ; and Wisconsin , by 8.2 points .
Biden was also running slightly ahead of Trump in four Sun Belt states that the President carried in 2016 : Arizona , Florida , Georgia , and North Carolina .
On the basis of the polls , a Biden victory is by far the most likely result .
If he wins any of the closely contested Sun Belt states , he will be in an extremely strong position in the Electoral College .
Alternatively , he could lose all of those states and still @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Michigan , Pennsylvania , and Wisconsin .
Trump , by contrast , has to hold all of the closely contested red states and also pick up another state where he is further back , with Pennsylvania being the obvious target .
That ’ s a very big ask .
Given the closeness of the contests in some battleground states , however , the range of conceivable results is still disconcertingly wide .
It ranges from a historic blue wave , which would give the Democrats control of the Presidency and both houses of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Before you panic , it is worth noting a number of factors that greatly reduce the probability of history repeating itself .
For Trump to win this time , he would need a much bigger polling error than the one four years ago .
Back then , the final RealClearPolitics poll average showed Hillary Clinton leading Trump by 3.2 percentage points nationwide , and her actual margin in the popular vote was 2.1 points .
The big error in 2016 came in the state polling .
Going into the election , the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 3.6 points in Michigan , 2.1 points in Pennsylvania , and 6.5 points in Wisconsin .
Trump carried all three states , of course , albeit by very narrow margins .
Biden ’ s current lead in the polls isn ’ t just bigger than Clinton ’ s was going into the 2016 election ; it is more stable .
If you look at a chart of the national head-to-head matchup going back to March , when Biden effectively wrapped up the Democratic nomination , the numbers haven ’ t changed much .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ the first televised debate , at the end of September , the gap in Biden ’ s favor widened by a few points .
During the past couple weeks , the gap has narrowed a bit , bringing it back roughly to where it was before the first debate .
Still , the main impression is of a stable race .
A second challenge facing the Trump campaign is that there aren ’ t nearly as many undecided voters as there were in 2016 .
After that election , when a panel of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ went wrong with their surveys , they concluded that one of the biggest factors was a late and largely undetected swing to Trump among undecided voters .
“ About 13 percent of voters in Wisconsin , Florida and Pennsylvania decided on their presidential vote choice in the final week , according to the best available data , ” a 2017 report from the American Association for Public Opinion Research said .
“ These voters broke for Trump by near 30 points in Wisconsin and by 17 points in Florida and Pennsylvania.
” This @ @ @ @ @ @ @ have already made up their minds about the election .
Recent polls indicate that the number of undecided voters is less than half of what it was in 2016 .
A clutch of last-minute polls released , on Sunday , by the polling team from the New York Times and Siena College showed that in Arizona , Pennsylvania , and Florida just five to six per cent of respondents were undecided or refused to express a preference .
In Wisconsin , the figure was just four per cent .
Other polling organizations have @ @ @ @ @ @ @ accurate , then there isn ’ t a lot of room for late swings .
Another big difference from four years ago is that by Monday , according to figures tallied by the U.S .
Elections Project , more than ninety-six million Americans had already voted , either in person or by mail .
In some battleground states , the early-voting figures were stunning .
About 2.3 million people had voted early in Arizona , compared with a final total of 2.6 million ballots cast in 2016 .
In Florida , about 8.9 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with a 2016 total vote of 9.4 million .
In North Carolina , 4.5 million had voted early , compared with a total vote of 4.7 million four years ago .
Numbers like these are testimony to the eagerness of the American people to exercise their democratic right to vote , and much of this enthusiasm is surely due to the identity of the man in the White House .
After the surge in early voting , many analysts are predicting an unprecedented over-all turnout .
High turnout helped the Democrats in the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ do so again this year .
With the polls indicating that most of the people who have already voted are Democrats , Trump will need a huge turnout of his supporters on Tuesday , including those that have registered recently .
He will also need to rally more support among two demographic groups with which he appears to have lost a good deal of support : seniors and white women without college degrees .
The shift away from Trump among older voters—the group most vulnerable to COVID-19—is particularly striking , and it has @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the new Times/Siena College survey of Florida , Biden is leading Trump , forty-eight per cent to forty-six per cent , among voters aged sixty-five and older .
This lead of two points is too small to be statistically significant , but it contrasts starkly with the findings of the network exit poll in 2016 , which indicated that Trump defeated Clinton by seventeen points among Florida seniors .
The same trend is visible in other states and other polls .
In Pennsylvania in 2016 , Trump beat Clinton by ten points among @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to the network exit polls .
In a new Monmouth University survey , which was released on Monday , he is trailing Biden by a point among Pennsylvania seniors .
How can we sum up this polling data ?
The final Fox News national poll , which was released on Saturday , showed Biden leading Trump by eight points among likely voters .
“ Biden has the advantage among key groups , especially seniors , suburbanites , and independents , ” the Republican pollster Daron Shaw , who worked with a Democratic colleague @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ Trump needs a few more points out of these groups to win re-election .
But the main impediment is the stubborn stability of the race ; it hasn ’ t changed much all year despite pandemics , economic collapses , and massive social unrest.
” The Trump campaign insists that things are going the President ’ s way , of course .
“ This is déjà vu all over again , ” the Trump pollster John McLaughlin said , on the “ Cats Roundtable ” radio program over the weekend .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ in Florida and other states , McLaughlin went on , “ Four years ago , when they told us we couldn ’ t win , we proved them .
.
.
wrong.
” On Saturday , many Trump supporters seized on a new poll from Iowa , another battleground state , which showed Trump moving into a seven-point lead over Biden , after being tied with him in the same poll a month ago .
The survey was carried out for the Des Moines Register by the respected pollster Ann Selzer , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ground among Independents and women .
“ The president is holding demographic groups that he won in Iowa four years ago , ” Selzer told the Register , “ and that would give someone a certain level of comfort with their standing .
”

For almost four years now, Donald Trump’s Presidency has subjected American democracy—its institutions, its professed values, and its citizenry—to an unprecedented stress test. Now comes the most fraught examination of all: Can the country peacefully usher out of office an authoritarian-minded leader who has a large and increasingly fanatical base of support, but one which has always been a minority? With one day left in the 2020 campaign, there are reasons for optimism, including a huge surge in early voting, but also some grounds for concern.
Let’s start with the latest polling. On Monday morning, the RealClearPolitics poll average showed Joe Biden leading Trump nationally by 6.7 percentage points. The FiveThirtyEight poll average, which is calculated somewhat differently, showed Biden ahead by 8.4 points. The battleground-state polls were closer and, in some places, they displayed evidence of late movement in Trump’s direction. Still, FiveThirtyEight’s state poll averages showed Biden retaining significant leads in the three places that decided the 2016 election in Trump’s favor: Michigan, by 8.1 points; Pennsylvania, by 5.1 points; and Wisconsin, by 8.2 points. Biden was also running slightly ahead of Trump in four Sun Belt states that the President carried in 2016: Arizona, Florida, Georgia, and North Carolina.
On the basis of the polls, a Biden victory is by far the most likely result. If he wins any of the closely contested Sun Belt states, he will be in an extremely strong position in the Electoral College. Alternatively, he could lose all of those states and still come out on top if he carries Michigan, Pennsylvania, and Wisconsin. Trump, by contrast, has to hold all of the closely contested red states and also pick up another state where he is further back, with Pennsylvania being the obvious target. That’s a very big ask. Given the closeness of the contests in some battleground states, however, the range of conceivable results is still disconcertingly wide. It ranges from a historic blue wave, which would give the Democrats control of the Presidency and both houses of Congress, to a replay of 2016.
Before you panic, it is worth noting a number of factors that greatly reduce the probability of history repeating itself. For Trump to win this time, he would need a much bigger polling error than the one four years ago. Back then, the final RealClearPolitics poll average showed Hillary Clinton leading Trump by 3.2 percentage points nationwide, and her actual margin in the popular vote was 2.1 points. The big error in 2016 came in the state polling. Going into the election, the RealClearPolitics poll average showed Clinton leading by 3.6 points in Michigan, 2.1 points in Pennsylvania, and 6.5 points in Wisconsin. Trump carried all three states, of course, albeit by very narrow margins.
Biden’s current lead in the polls isn’t just bigger than Clinton’s was going into the 2016 election; it is more stable. If you look at a chart of the national head-to-head matchup going back to March, when Biden effectively wrapped up the Democratic nomination, the numbers haven’t changed much. After Trump’s disastrous performance in the first televised debate, at the end of September, the gap in Biden’s favor widened by a few points. During the past couple weeks, the gap has narrowed a bit, bringing it back roughly to where it was before the first debate. Still, the main impression is of a stable race.
A second challenge facing the Trump campaign is that there aren’t nearly as many undecided voters as there were in 2016. After that election, when a panel of pollsters went back and looked at what went wrong with their surveys, they concluded that one of the biggest factors was a late and largely undetected swing to Trump among undecided voters. “About 13 percent of voters in Wisconsin, Florida and Pennsylvania decided on their presidential vote choice in the final week, according to the best available data,” a 2017 report from the American Association for Public Opinion Research said. “These voters broke for Trump by near 30 points in Wisconsin and by 17 points in Florida and Pennsylvania.”
This year, an overwhelming majority of Americans have already made up their minds about the election. Recent polls indicate that the number of undecided voters is less than half of what it was in 2016. A clutch of last-minute polls released, on Sunday, by the polling team from the New York Times and Siena College showed that in Arizona, Pennsylvania, and Florida just five to six per cent of respondents were undecided or refused to express a preference. In Wisconsin, the figure was just four per cent. Other polling organizations have generated similar figures. If they are accurate, then there isn’t a lot of room for late swings.
Another big difference from four years ago is that by Monday, according to figures tallied by the U.S. Elections Project, more than ninety-six million Americans had already voted, either in person or by mail. In some battleground states, the early-voting figures were stunning. About 2.3 million people had voted early in Arizona, compared with a final total of 2.6 million ballots cast in 2016. In Florida, about 8.9 million people had voted early, compared with a 2016 total vote of 9.4 million. In North Carolina, 4.5 million had voted early, compared with a total vote of 4.7 million four years ago. Numbers like these are testimony to the eagerness of the American people to exercise their democratic right to vote, and much of this enthusiasm is surely due to the identity of the man in the White House. After the surge in early voting, many analysts are predicting an unprecedented over-all turnout. High turnout helped the Democrats in the 2018 midterms, and it could well do so again this year. With the polls indicating that most of the people who have already voted are Democrats, Trump will need a huge turnout of his supporters on Tuesday, including those that have registered recently. He will also need to rally more support among two demographic groups with which he appears to have lost a good deal of support: seniors and white women without college degrees. The shift away from Trump among older voters—the group most vulnerable to COVID-19—is particularly striking, and it has persisted into the latest polls.
In the new Times/Siena College survey of Florida, Biden is leading Trump, forty-eight per cent to forty-six per cent, among voters aged sixty-five and older. This lead of two points is too small to be statistically significant, but it contrasts starkly with the findings of the network exit poll in 2016, which indicated that Trump defeated Clinton by seventeen points among Florida seniors. The same trend is visible in other states and other polls. In Pennsylvania in 2016, Trump beat Clinton by ten points among voters aged sixty-five and older, according to the network exit polls. In a new Monmouth University survey, which was released on Monday, he is trailing Biden by a point among Pennsylvania seniors.


newyorker--2020-11-02--Susan Collins Unsure Whether She Will Vote for Herself

WASHINGTON ( The Borowitz Report ) —Plunging her reëlection bid for the United States Senate into uncertainty , Susan Collins @ @ @ @ @ was unsure whether she would vote for herself .
Collins , who had long been @ @ @ @ @ 2020 , said that nagging doubts about her record in the Senate had given her @ @ @ @ @ of my career , I have been troubled and concerned about a whole range of @ @ @ @ @ .
“ The fact that I have been troubled and concerned as much as I @ @ @ @ @ and concerned.
” Collins shed no light on her soul-searching process other than to say @ @ @ @ @ remaining hours until the election wringing her hands .
“ I will make my decision @ @ @ @ @ voting booth on Tuesday , ” she said .
“ Or not .
”

WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report)—Plunging her reëlection bid for the United States Senate into uncertainty, Susan Collins announced on Monday that she was unsure whether she would vote for herself.
Collins, who had long been expected to back herself in 2020, said that nagging doubts about her record in the Senate had given her pause.
“For much of my career, I have been troubled and concerned about a whole range of issues,” she said. “The fact that I have been troubled and concerned as much as I have has left me troubled and concerned.”
Collins shed no light on her soul-searching process other than to say that she would spend the remaining hours until the election wringing her hands.
“I will make my decision when I am in the voting booth on Tuesday,” she said. “Or not.”


newyorker--2020-11-02--Daily Cartoon: Monday, November 2nd

Daily Cartoon: Monday, November 2nd

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newyorker--2020-11-02--Barry Blitt’s “America in Line”

Barry Blitt’s “America in Line”

One does not envy the artist assigned to do a cover for a Presidential election .
Four years ago , Barry Blitt aced the task , producing an image that , in a polarized country , could resonate with most any American .
In The New Yorker ’ s latest issue , he pulls a similar trick , nodding only to what we already know : that many people are eager to vote , and that those who didn ’ t mail their ballots have often been spending hours in line to cast them .
We recently talked to Blitt @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for the results .
What are your plans to get through Election Night—or Election Month , as the case may be ?
I can tell you that two of the most disappointing Election Nights for me—2000 and 2016—were spent at friends ’ election parties .
So , even without a pandemic , I ’ d be spending this one locked in the house .
I may even need to spend all of November in my room .
If Donald Trump is voted out of office , do you think that—as a cartoonist—you may @ @ @ @ @ @ @ not miss him , certainly not as a cartoonist .
I ’ ve drawn him too many times , and spent too much time wringing obvious jokes out of him .
I actually found him sort of amusing before he became President , but he ruined our relationship forever by getting into politics .
Do you have political posters or images or artists that you turn to for inspiration ?
I do like going through really old political cartoons—by Thomas Rowlandson and George Cruikshank , in particular .
Usually , I rifle through @ @ @ @ @ @ @ out an idea , looking for some kind of inspiration about inking and color .
So far , they don ’ t seem to be getting through to me , but I ’ m still hopeful .
Which President or political figure do you think was the best target for artists and cartoonists ?
Oh , every President is a big , fat target .
I don ’ t think Biden has been ripped into enough , owing to the comparative awfulness of his opponent , but if he actually wins he ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ angles .
I ’ d look forward to it .
For more political covers , see below :

One does not envy the artist assigned to do a cover for a Presidential election. Four years ago, Barry Blitt aced the task, producing an image that, in a polarized country, could resonate with most any American. In The New Yorker’s latest issue, he pulls a similar trick, nodding only to what we already know: that many people are eager to vote, and that those who didn’t mail their ballots have often been spending hours in line to cast them. We recently talked to Blitt about how he’s preparing himself for the results.
What are your plans to get through Election Night—or Election Month, as the case may be?
I can tell you that two of the most disappointing Election Nights for me—2000 and 2016—were spent at friends’ election parties. So, even without a pandemic, I’d be spending this one locked in the house. I may even need to spend all of November in my room.
If Donald Trump is voted out of office, do you think that—as a cartoonist—you may end up missing him?
I will not miss him, certainly not as a cartoonist. I’ve drawn him too many times, and spent too much time wringing obvious jokes out of him. I actually found him sort of amusing before he became President, but he ruined our relationship forever by getting into politics.
Do you have political posters or images or artists that you turn to for inspiration?
I do like going through really old political cartoons—by Thomas Rowlandson and George Cruikshank, in particular. Usually, I rifle through their drawings once I’ve worked out an idea, looking for some kind of inspiration about inking and color. So far, they don’t seem to be getting through to me, but I’m still hopeful.
Which President or political figure do you think was the best target for artists and cartoonists?
Oh, every President is a big, fat target. I don’t think Biden has been ripped into enough, owing to the comparative awfulness of his opponent, but if he actually wins he’ll be ripe for attack from many angles. I’d look forward to it.
For more political covers, see below:


newyorker--2020-11-02--Briefly Noted Book Reviews

Briefly Noted Book Reviews

Red Comet , by Heather Clark ( Knopf ) .
Drawing on a wealth of primary sources , this revelatory biography of Sylvia Plath seeks to recover her legacy from myth and misconception .
Clark presents the social , political , and cultural forces that forged Plath ’ s interests , ambitions , and anxieties : pressures of gender and class ; the Holocaust and nuclear warfare ; the conformity of mid-century America .
Plath ’ s struggles with depression and her marriage to Ted Hughes emerge in complex detail , but Clark does not let Plath ’ s suicide @ @ @ @ @ @ @ refreshing rigor for her significance to modern letters .
The result is a new understanding and appreciation of an innovative , uncompromising poetic voice .
Ravenna , by Judith Herrin ( Princeton ) .
In A.D. 402 , as Rome was undergoing the convulsions that caused its demise , the unassuming city of Ravenna became a new imperial residence .
For the next four centuries , as this bold history relates , Ravenna was “ the fulcrum of energies ” that gave rise to a new world : medieval Christendom .
Its rulers @ @ @ @ @ @ @ East , and “ barbarian , ” which shaped Ravenna ’ s laws and civic culture , as well as its art and architecture , including dazzling mosaics and octagonal churches .
Although Ravenna was never entirely its own agent ( it served as Constantinople ’ s entry point to the West ) , its brief flourishing made it , as Herrin elegantly argues , “ the first European city.
” Earthlings , by Sayaka Murata , translated from the Japanese by Ginny Tapley Takemori ( Grove ) .
What does it mean @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ?
Natsuki , the protagonist of this startling novel , doesn ’ t know : from a young age , she ’ s convinced that she has been contacted by aliens who will take her away from a middle-class Japanese life marked by cruelty .
As Natsuki grows up , she continues to feel out of place in society ’ s “ Factory , ” in which her only purpose is to produce children .
After she meets a man equally resistant to the strain of domestic life , the pair embark on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Murata takes a childlike idea and holds onto it with imaginative fervor , brilliantly exposing the callousness and arbitrariness of convention .
Girls Against God , by Jenny Hval , translated from the Norwegian by Marjam Idriss ( Verso ) .
In this experimental novel by a noted singer-songwriter , the narrator , a filmmaker , dwells on her childhood in conservative southern Norway and her adolescence playing in a black-metal band .
Her recollections feed into a film , described at the end of the novel , that distorts and reimagines existing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and witchcraft .
The narrator films two friends to a score of black metal , and the subject of an Edvard Munch painting is re-created “ with ferocious , seething eyes.
” Hval , who is known for using body imagery to express political ideas about art , depicts cultish rituals to subvert what she sees as “ the restrictive framework of our daily lives .
”

Red Comet, by Heather Clark (Knopf). Drawing on a wealth of primary sources, this revelatory biography of Sylvia Plath seeks to recover her legacy from myth and misconception. Clark presents the social, political, and cultural forces that forged Plath’s interests, ambitions, and anxieties: pressures of gender and class; the Holocaust and nuclear warfare; the conformity of mid-century America. Plath’s struggles with depression and her marriage to Ted Hughes emerge in complex detail, but Clark does not let Plath’s suicide define her artistic achievement, arguing with refreshing rigor for her significance to modern letters. The result is a new understanding and appreciation of an innovative, uncompromising poetic voice.
Ravenna, by Judith Herrin (Princeton). In A.D. 402, as Rome was undergoing the convulsions that caused its demise, the unassuming city of Ravenna became a new imperial residence. For the next four centuries, as this bold history relates, Ravenna was “the fulcrum of energies” that gave rise to a new world: medieval Christendom. Its rulers embodied a unique synthesis of West, East, and “barbarian,” which shaped Ravenna’s laws and civic culture, as well as its art and architecture, including dazzling mosaics and octagonal churches. Although Ravenna was never entirely its own agent (it served as Constantinople’s entry point to the West), its brief flourishing made it, as Herrin elegantly argues, “the first European city.”
Earthlings, by Sayaka Murata, translated from the Japanese by Ginny Tapley Takemori (Grove). What does it mean to feel at home in the world? Natsuki, the protagonist of this startling novel, doesn’t know: from a young age, she’s convinced that she has been contacted by aliens who will take her away from a middle-class Japanese life marked by cruelty. As Natsuki grows up, she continues to feel out of place in society’s “Factory,” in which her only purpose is to produce children. After she meets a man equally resistant to the strain of domestic life, the pair embark on an adventure that spirals toward madness. Murata takes a childlike idea and holds onto it with imaginative fervor, brilliantly exposing the callousness and arbitrariness of convention.
Girls Against God, by Jenny Hval, translated from the Norwegian by Marjam Idriss (Verso). In this experimental novel by a noted singer-songwriter, the narrator, a filmmaker, dwells on her childhood in conservative southern Norway and her adolescence playing in a black-metal band. Her recollections feed into a film, described at the end of the novel, that distorts and reimagines existing works of art using blood, guts, and witchcraft. The narrator films two friends to a score of black metal, and the subject of an Edvard Munch painting is re-created “with ferocious, seething eyes.” Hval, who is known for using body imagery to express political ideas about art, depicts cultish rituals to subvert what she sees as “the restrictive framework of our daily lives.”


newyorker--2020-11-02--Joe Biden’s Effort to Make This Election a Moral Referendum

Early last Thursday , after a day spent close to home , in Delaware , Joe Biden flew to Broward County , Florida , to begin the campaign ’ s final swing .
Two hundred and one cars arrived for a rally in a parking lot on the Broward College campus , where police checked attendees ’ invitations and performed a security screen under bright-white tents .
Shortly before the event was to begin , about fifty Donald Trump supporters arrived on foot , waving enormous flags ( “ Trump 2020 : No More Bullshit , ” read one ) @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
At one point , the group held an informal survey to find the largest American flag present , and then turned and pledged allegiance to it .
One man had a megaphone .
( The Trump movement , which sometimes refers to itself as a silent majority , is more obviously a loud minority . )
“ How many of you think Joe Biden wears that mask anywhere but in front of the cameras ?
” he asked .
“ The mask isn ’ t for the élite class .
The mask @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you been on the campus of Broward right then , you would have taken in the bombast and the huge flags and guessed that the rally was for the President .
Manuel Oliver , a Venezuelan-American whose son Joaquin was killed in the Parkland school shooting , introduced Biden by remembering meeting him after the massacre .
“ He told us to find purpose in life , ” Oliver said .
“ That was probably the best advice that I could get from a leader.
” Biden , who wore aviators and a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sounded confident about the last days of the race .
Most of his sentences ended with an exclamation point : “ If Florida goes blue , it ’ s over !
” One impediment to that has been Biden ’ s limited support among Latino voters in South Florida , many of whom are Cuban or Venezuelan .
For them , Biden inserted a new appeal into his stump speech : “ President Trump can ’ t advance democracy and human rights for the Cuban people or the Venezuelan people , for that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ many autocrats around the world—starting with Vladimir Putin and Kim Jong Un of North Korea.
” When I left a short time later , the Trump contingent was still there .
“ Pedophile !
” one woman called after me , presumably thinking that I had been attending as a Biden supporter .
“ China-lover !
” After the event , Biden made an unannounced stop at an outdoor campaign center in Fort Lauderdale , and then headed to the airport , where a plane waited to take him to Tampa .
Four @ @ @ @ @ @ @ try to conjure a majority , two hundred and one cars at a time .
President Trump has been grumbling that Biden has scarcely campaigned , which is true ; the flip side of that is that Biden is a seventy-seven-year-old man at the end of an arduous year , and at the events he has held he has looked fresh and has rarely flagged .
There just haven ’ t been many people .
Since Biden started in-person campaigning again , at the end of August , the indoor events have generally @ @ @ @ @ @ @ dozen , sitting in white chairs placed in circles of white tape on the floor , good visuals for TV but a sterile scene .
The outdoor events lately have been “ drive-in , ” as at Broward College : a couple of hundred people parking in front of the stage and honking in response to exciting statements .
Are the honks laughs , applause , something else ?
Biden ’ s figured it out by now , but it still unsettles some prominent surrogates , who find themselves doing something that only @ @ @ @ @ @ @ political points over the sounds of traffic .
“ You got that horn honking good !
” Barack Obama said , during a drive-in rally in Miami .
Rules set by the Biden campaign , in deference to the pandemic , have most reporters stay outside the events , waiting , while a few designated poolers enter and observe for the group .
There is little mingling .
Biden himself—arriving , leaving , waving , most often exceptionally well wrapped in tailored blue suits and oversized black masks—has seemed more elusive than usual @ @ @ @ @ @ @ report from a Georgia airport by Politico ’ s Christopher Cadelago read , “ Biden paused for a moment , looking toward the press , but seemed to decide against coming over and instead walked onto the plane.
” The health of a normal Presidential candidacy has all kinds of spikes and dips , so that its fortunes roughly reflect the readings of a monitor on a heart patient : strong , erratic , flatlining .
This campaign has had one major event , the pandemic , which redefined two well-known candidates and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Republican strategist who runs the group Republican Voters Against Trump , has been conducting focus groups across swing states with women who voted for Trump in 2016 , with a focus on central Pennsylvania .
Longwell said that , when she asked these voters last year how they thought the country was doing , she got responses that were ambivalent and a bit abstract .
“ They were much more , like , ‘ Well , it ’ s not good that we ’ re so divided , ’ and they would use @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and , ‘ Trump is a jerk , but things are going fine , he doesn ’ t get enough credit for the good things , ’ ” Longwell said .
“ That ’ s not the way they talk anymore.
” Once the pandemic began , Longwell said , the voters ’ view of the situation darkened : instead of “ powder keg , ” the Pennsylvania women used the term “ shitshow.
” Perhaps more meaningfully , they no longer talked about the news as an abstraction .
“ They talk @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said .
“ They talk about losing a parent while the pandemic was on , and not being able to see them .
They talk about being in remission from cancer and feeling scared to go to the store because people don ’ t wear masks .
They talk about not being able to see their grandchildren , or , if they have younger kids , about the kids not being able to see their grandparents .
There are people talking about health problems that had to be put on hold .
There @ @ @ @ @ @ @ personal pain .
Their small business has been shut down .
Somebody in their family has been furloughed .
They ’ re scared and anxious about the future.
” Longwell believed that these experiences had shaped the way that the women talked about Biden , who before the pandemic they might have described merely as a moderate .
Now they saw him as “ a person who is basically the perfect distillation of someone who is kind and empathetic at a moment when people feel very broken and don ’ t want the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s a line in one of his ads where he says , ‘ I ’ m not going to get everything right.
’ That was something everybody pointed to , like , ‘ God , it ’ d be so nice if somebody just said they didn ’ t know everything all the time.
’ ” That distillation , of a moderate Democrat into a more intimate figure , a grief-counsellor-in-chief , has been the most important work of the Biden campaign .
Political consultants often talk in terms of corporate brands @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of work for them .
“ Trump is like Nike , ” a leading Republican consultant told me not long ago .
He meant an impressive , attention-grabbing , but distant figure .
“ Joe is Home Depot—he ’ s the friendly guy in the orange apron.
” Throughout his campaign , Biden has mostly talked about Trump .
But , when he does talk about himself , he emphasizes his personal story and its effect on his politics : about the death of his first wife and infant daughter in a car @ @ @ @ @ @ @ his son Beau from brain cancer , in 2015 , and about his own feeling that suffering is widespread and that politics begins in empathy .
Just before the first Presidential debate , at a speech in Manitowoc , Wisconsin ( indoors , white chairs in white circles on the floor ) , Biden drew the contrast with Trump by describing the President at his rallies .
“ He safely keeps his distance , ” Biden said .
“ He ’ s willing to let everybody else in the crowd risk their life @ @ @ @ @ @ @ been far more observant of pandemic restrictions , but he has also always worked to close the distance between himself and others .
Too much for some : early in his campaign , seven women reported that Biden had made them uncomfortable while kissing them , hugging them , or touching their heads , backs , thighs , or shoulders .
But , with many Americans dying alone , Biden , as a tactile politician , can also lay claim to empathy and warmth .
One political consultant pointed out to me how @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s ads , and , indeed , in a recent sixty-second ad ( narrated by Brad Pitt and broadcast during the World Series ) I counted sixteen times at which Biden was shown touching someone ( hands , shoulders , full-on hugs ) , as men , women , and children reached out for him .
The last major speech of Biden ’ s Presidential campaign—the last note he struck that was mostly about him , and not just about Trump—came last Tuesday in Warm Springs , Georgia , where Franklin D. Roosevelt @ @ @ @ @ @ @ built his Little White House .
Biden ’ s historical touchstone has long been not Roosevelt but Kennedy , an Irish-Catholic Democrat like Biden .
( The kid from Scranton celebrates Thanksgiving with his family each year on Nantucket—not Hyannisport exactly , but just a ferry ride away . )
As Eric Rauchway , a distinguished professor of history at the University of California at Davis and a leading Roosevelt scholar , noted , it was intriguing to see Biden , a moderate , return to Roosevelt and the New Deal , which @ @ @ @ @ @ @ too radical for the Party to dwell on .
“ It probably tells you something about how the Democratic Party ’ s changing , ” Rauchway said .
It made sense , too , that Biden would seek an association with Roosevelt , because of the unifying campaign he has tried to run .
“ The New Deal is literally the only time in American history where you have the kind of unifying expression of patriotism that isn ’ t martial , ” Rauchway said .
“ Everything else is about war.
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ interested in F.D.R.
’ s political story than in the intimate one—of suffering and resilience , and particularly of the polio-rehabilitation facility that Roosevelt established there , in 1927 .
Daniel Holland , a psychologist who specializes in disability rights , has described it as a place where “ people with disabilities were not identified as ‘ medical patients ’ to be ‘ treated ’ but as residents and leaders of a community in which they represented the status quo and in which they could pursue normal lives.
” In his campaign speech @ @ @ @ @ @ @ came looking for a cure , but it was the lessons he learned here that he used to lift a nation .
Humility , empathy , courage , optimism .
This place represented a way forward .
A way of restoration , of resilience , of healing.
” There is something willful about the late phase of the Biden campaign : the insistence that “ we know Joe , ” as many of his surrogates have put it ; that what we want is unity ; that the phrase “ better angels ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ moral life but on our political one .
As Rauchway pointed out , the deeper truth is that American politics , at least in peacetime , has been less often defined by unity than by division .
The conservative strategist Stuart Stevens , once the Romney campaign ’ s guiding hand and now a dedicated opponent of Trump and of the Republican Party , told me just before the event in Warm Springs that he thought the Biden campaign had been expertly run .
“ Look , Biden ’ s run for President @ @ @ @ @ @ @ been very good at it , ” Stevens said .
“ I think what ’ s happening here is what ’ s happened before , which is that someone who hasn ’ t been good in a different moment is good in this moment.
” This moment is about suffering , and Biden is a steady figure with experience of grief .
Biden ’ s campaign has provided some fleeting moments of unity ( against the pandemic , against Trump ) in an era of division .
Can that last through the election @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said , “ If this is a referendum on the soul of America , he wins.
” Read More About the 2020 Election • The fall and rise of Kamala Harris .
• When a sitting President threatens to delay a sacrosanct American ritual like an election , you should listen .
• To understand the path Donald Trump has taken to the 2020 election , look at what he has provided the executive class .
• What happens if Trump fights the election results ?
• The refusal by Mitch McConnell to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ever .
• Sign up for our election newsletter for insight and analysis from our reporters and columnists .

Early last Thursday, after a day spent close to home, in Delaware, Joe Biden flew to Broward County, Florida, to begin the campaign’s final swing. Two hundred and one cars arrived for a rally in a parking lot on the Broward College campus, where police checked attendees’ invitations and performed a security screen under bright-white tents. Shortly before the event was to begin, about fifty Donald Trump supporters arrived on foot, waving enormous flags (“Trump 2020: No More Bullshit,” read one) and signs asking where Hunter Biden was. At one point, the group held an informal survey to find the largest American flag present, and then turned and pledged allegiance to it. One man had a megaphone. (The Trump movement, which sometimes refers to itself as a silent majority, is more obviously a loud minority.) “How many of you think Joe Biden wears that mask anywhere but in front of the cameras?” he asked. “The mask isn’t for the élite class. The mask is for people like you.” Had you been on the campus of Broward right then, you would have taken in the bombast and the huge flags and guessed that the rally was for the President.
Manuel Oliver, a Venezuelan-American whose son Joaquin was killed in the Parkland school shooting, introduced Biden by remembering meeting him after the massacre. “He told us to find purpose in life,” Oliver said. “That was probably the best advice that I could get from a leader.” Biden, who wore aviators and a blue shirt open at the neck, sounded confident about the last days of the race. Most of his sentences ended with an exclamation point: “If Florida goes blue, it’s over!” One impediment to that has been Biden’s limited support among Latino voters in South Florida, many of whom are Cuban or Venezuelan. For them, Biden inserted a new appeal into his stump speech: “President Trump can’t advance democracy and human rights for the Cuban people or the Venezuelan people, for that matter, when he has embraced so many autocrats around the world—starting with Vladimir Putin and Kim Jong Un of North Korea.” When I left a short time later, the Trump contingent was still there. “Pedophile!” one woman called after me, presumably thinking that I had been attending as a Biden supporter. “China-lover!” After the event, Biden made an unannounced stop at an outdoor campaign center in Fort Lauderdale, and then headed to the airport, where a plane waited to take him to Tampa. Four days of campaign events left, to try to conjure a majority, two hundred and one cars at a time.
President Trump has been grumbling that Biden has scarcely campaigned, which is true; the flip side of that is that Biden is a seventy-seven-year-old man at the end of an arduous year, and at the events he has held he has looked fresh and has rarely flagged. There just haven’t been many people. Since Biden started in-person campaigning again, at the end of August, the indoor events have generally been staged for audiences of a few dozen, sitting in white chairs placed in circles of white tape on the floor, good visuals for TV but a sterile scene. The outdoor events lately have been “drive-in,” as at Broward College: a couple of hundred people parking in front of the stage and honking in response to exciting statements. Are the honks laughs, applause, something else? Biden’s figured it out by now, but it still unsettles some prominent surrogates, who find themselves doing something that only crazy people normally do: making complicated political points over the sounds of traffic. “You got that horn honking good!” Barack Obama said, during a drive-in rally in Miami. Rules set by the Biden campaign, in deference to the pandemic, have most reporters stay outside the events, waiting, while a few designated poolers enter and observe for the group. There is little mingling. Biden himself—arriving, leaving, waving, most often exceptionally well wrapped in tailored blue suits and oversized black masks—has seemed more elusive than usual. On October 27th, a pool report from a Georgia airport by Politico’s Christopher Cadelago read, “Biden paused for a moment, looking toward the press, but seemed to decide against coming over and instead walked onto the plane.”
The health of a normal Presidential candidacy has all kinds of spikes and dips, so that its fortunes roughly reflect the readings of a monitor on a heart patient: strong, erratic, flatlining. This campaign has had one major event, the pandemic, which redefined two well-known candidates and their pitches. Sarah Longwell, a Republican strategist who runs the group Republican Voters Against Trump, has been conducting focus groups across swing states with women who voted for Trump in 2016, with a focus on central Pennsylvania. Longwell said that, when she asked these voters last year how they thought the country was doing, she got responses that were ambivalent and a bit abstract. “They were much more, like, ‘Well, it’s not good that we’re so divided,’ and they would use the term ‘powder keg,’ and, ‘Trump is a jerk, but things are going fine, he doesn’t get enough credit for the good things,’ ” Longwell said. “That’s not the way they talk anymore.”
Once the pandemic began, Longwell said, the voters’ view of the situation darkened: instead of “powder keg,” the Pennsylvania women used the term “shitshow.” Perhaps more meaningfully, they no longer talked about the news as an abstraction. “They talk about their personal pain,” Longwell said. “They talk about losing a parent while the pandemic was on, and not being able to see them. They talk about being in remission from cancer and feeling scared to go to the store because people don’t wear masks. They talk about not being able to see their grandchildren, or, if they have younger kids, about the kids not being able to see their grandparents. There are people talking about health problems that had to be put on hold. There’s just a tremendous amount of personal pain. Their small business has been shut down. Somebody in their family has been furloughed. They’re scared and anxious about the future.” Longwell believed that these experiences had shaped the way that the women talked about Biden, who before the pandemic they might have described merely as a moderate. Now they saw him as “a person who is basically the perfect distillation of someone who is kind and empathetic at a moment when people feel very broken and don’t want the chaos.” Longwell said, “There’s a line in one of his ads where he says, ‘I’m not going to get everything right.’ That was something everybody pointed to, like, ‘God, it’d be so nice if somebody just said they didn’t know everything all the time.’ ”
That distillation, of a moderate Democrat into a more intimate figure, a grief-counsellor-in-chief, has been the most important work of the Biden campaign. Political consultants often talk in terms of corporate brands, perhaps because they do a lot of work for them. “Trump is like Nike,” a leading Republican consultant told me not long ago. He meant an impressive, attention-grabbing, but distant figure. “Joe is Home Depot—he’s the friendly guy in the orange apron.”
Throughout his campaign, Biden has mostly talked about Trump. But, when he does talk about himself, he emphasizes his personal story and its effect on his politics: about the death of his first wife and infant daughter in a car accident, in 1972, and of his son Beau from brain cancer, in 2015, and about his own feeling that suffering is widespread and that politics begins in empathy. Just before the first Presidential debate, at a speech in Manitowoc, Wisconsin (indoors, white chairs in white circles on the floor), Biden drew the contrast with Trump by describing the President at his rallies. “He safely keeps his distance,” Biden said. “He’s willing to let everybody else in the crowd risk their life, but not him.” Biden has been far more observant of pandemic restrictions, but he has also always worked to close the distance between himself and others. Too much for some: early in his campaign, seven women reported that Biden had made them uncomfortable while kissing them, hugging them, or touching their heads, backs, thighs, or shoulders. But, with many Americans dying alone, Biden, as a tactile politician, can also lay claim to empathy and warmth. One political consultant pointed out to me how much hugging there is in Biden’s ads, and, indeed, in a recent sixty-second ad (narrated by Brad Pitt and broadcast during the World Series) I counted sixteen times at which Biden was shown touching someone (hands, shoulders, full-on hugs), as men, women, and children reached out for him.
The last major speech of Biden’s Presidential campaign—the last note he struck that was mostly about him, and not just about Trump—came last Tuesday in Warm Springs, Georgia, where Franklin D. Roosevelt went to recuperate from polio and later built his Little White House. Biden’s historical touchstone has long been not Roosevelt but Kennedy, an Irish-Catholic Democrat like Biden. (The kid from Scranton celebrates Thanksgiving with his family each year on Nantucket—not Hyannisport exactly, but just a ferry ride away.) As Eric Rauchway, a distinguished professor of history at the University of California at Davis and a leading Roosevelt scholar, noted, it was intriguing to see Biden, a moderate, return to Roosevelt and the New Deal, which had for a long time been considered too radical for the Party to dwell on. “It probably tells you something about how the Democratic Party’s changing,” Rauchway said. It made sense, too, that Biden would seek an association with Roosevelt, because of the unifying campaign he has tried to run. “The New Deal is literally the only time in American history where you have the kind of unifying expression of patriotism that isn’t martial,” Rauchway said. “Everything else is about war.”
But in Warm Springs Biden seemed less interested in F.D.R.’s political story than in the intimate one—of suffering and resilience, and particularly of the polio-rehabilitation facility that Roosevelt established there, in 1927. Daniel Holland, a psychologist who specializes in disability rights, has described it as a place where “people with disabilities were not identified as ‘medical patients’ to be ‘treated’ but as residents and leaders of a community in which they represented the status quo and in which they could pursue normal lives.” In his campaign speech, Biden said, “F.D.R. came looking for a cure, but it was the lessons he learned here that he used to lift a nation. Humility, empathy, courage, optimism. This place represented a way forward. A way of restoration, of resilience, of healing.”
There is something willful about the late phase of the Biden campaign: the insistence that “we know Joe,” as many of his surrogates have put it; that what we want is unity; that the phrase “better angels” has some purchase not just on our moral life but on our political one. As Rauchway pointed out, the deeper truth is that American politics, at least in peacetime, has been less often defined by unity than by division. The conservative strategist Stuart Stevens, once the Romney campaign’s guiding hand and now a dedicated opponent of Trump and of the Republican Party, told me just before the event in Warm Springs that he thought the Biden campaign had been expertly run. “Look, Biden’s run for President twice before and he hasn’t been very good at it,” Stevens said. “I think what’s happening here is what’s happened before, which is that someone who hasn’t been good in a different moment is good in this moment.” This moment is about suffering, and Biden is a steady figure with experience of grief. Biden’s campaign has provided some fleeting moments of unity (against the pandemic, against Trump) in an era of division. Can that last through the election? Can it last beyond? Stevens said, “If this is a referendum on the soul of America, he wins.”
Read More About the 2020 Election


newyorker--2020-11-02--Reënacting the Trial of a Black Woman Convicted of Voter Fraud

Just about four years ago , on Election Day , 2016 , a woman named Crystal Mason went to her local polling place , in Rendon , Texas , to vote .
She couldn ’ t find her name on the rolls , and so , with the help of a volunteer poll worker , she filled out a provisional ballot .
That ’ s a sequence too common for drama ; many of us will experience it this election .
But Mason had recently returned home after more than two years in prison , having been convicted of tax @ @ @ @ @ @ @ didn ’ t believe that she was ineligible to vote .
A few months later , she was arrested , and faced the prospect of five more years in prison , for fraudulent voting .
“ Why Would I Dare : The Trial of Crystal Mason , ” a reading directed by Tyler Thomas , presented by the Commissary , Rattlestick Playwrights Theatre , and New Neighborhood , is a straightforward virtual reënactment of the trial to convict Mason .
The show is sparsely designed .
Mason ’ s lawyer ( Shane McRae @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Kendall ) wear bland , workaday suits as they ask their questions over Zoom .
Crystal Dickinson , who plays Mason , sits answering in a comfortable-looking living room , with a child behind her , dawdling on the couch—a subtle but powerful reminder of the trial ’ s high stakes .
Mason ’ s story is rife—like much else that parades under the parasol of democracy—with absurd and sordid inversions : here ’ s a woman clambering back up the ladder of respectability , a menace to no one , whose apparent @ @ @ @ @ @ @ participate in her society ’ s betterment .
Entire waves of history , decade after decade of struggle , ardently aimed at the high dignity yet humble mechanism of the vote , fail to figure in her favor : she ended up on the wrong side of the law , lost years of life with her family , and now her so-called freedom is a grim hall of mirrors .
Right is wrong .
Ordinary duty is death .
The trial , especially once the prosecutor takes over the questioning , boffo in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ humiliations .
A couple of Mason ’ s neighbors testified against her , claiming to have seen her scrutinize the provisional ballot ’ s fine print—along with its warning to felons—before defiantly trying to vote .
“ It ’ s safe to say that you can definitely read and write ?
” the prosecutor asks , feigning sweetness .
Dickinson plays Mason ’ s bureaucratic panic well .
She often speaks too quickly or too vaguely when trying to recall her actions at the polling place .
The lawyers and the falsely kind @ @ @ @ @ @ @ try to slow her down ; after all , the court reporter can ’ t transcribe what she can ’ t hear clearly .
What these well-off functionaries don ’ t quite understand is that Mason knows that choreographed procedures like this one—trials , hearings , arraignments , applications , check-ins , inspections , appointments—are potentially fatal .
Nobody seems sufficiently stricken by how stupid this all is .
The professionals bend the court ’ s strictures , so harsh on Mason , under the soft pressures of genteel manners .
For them @ @ @ @ @ @ @ : let ’ s just find those pesky instructions and take a look at the rules .
The normal business of objections , sustainments , and approaches to the bench here seems like an upper-class dance , sinisterly comic and unlearnable by the likes of Mason , who grows increasingly befuddled .
“ Why would I dare ?
” is her plaintive refrain .
Why would she risk more time away from her family—she ’ s already missed so much of her children ’ s childhood—just to cast a Presidential vote , in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , who is eventually convicted , stands in for anyone for whom the organs of society have presented themselves as a succession of formidable obstacles .
Here , on display , in courts and prisons , is the unpretty gunk of liberal democracy .
Crystal Mason—who is still facing the time earned by her attempt to vote and works as a voting-rights advocate—could plausibly sing my favorite stanza : Hughes ’ s mastery of American sentimentalizing rhetoric and his irony regarding the country ’ s actual workings sit in stark equipoise .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and stealth , and lies , ” so flagrantly on display today , served as a great , gray background against which Hughes could scrawl in bright contrasting color his chiding reminders of the country ’ s ideals .
In his plays , though , Hughes often dangled before his audience the opportunity to hum along more earnestly to America ’ s major-key tune .
He specialized in “ gospel plays , ” boisterous , schmaltzy pageants like “ Black Nativity , ” a Blacked-up retelling of the birth of Christ , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ story of women preachers that landed on Broadway in 1963 .
Those musical plays were belated announcements of Black music ’ s arrival on the mainstream stage .
In a lesser-known pageant-play , “ The Ballot and Me : The Negro ’ s Part in Suffrage , ” Hughes tells a parallel story : the long trudge toward true voting access for Black Americans .
The play , completed in 1956 , in time for the Presidential contest between Dwight D. Eisenhower and Adlai Stevenson , is a series of monologues and speeches @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the acquisition of the vote , among them Reconstruction-era Black congressional representatives , Sojourner Truth , and Frederick Douglass .
They deliver snippets of real speeches as well as imagined banter , strung together by a narrator , directly to the audience .
“ Negro Americans—you , me—are a part of this democracy , ” the narrator says , “ and our vote counts .
From the national to the local level , your vote counts.
” “ I see no chance of bettering the condition of the freedman until he shall cease @ @ @ @ @ @ @ become a citizen , ” Frederick Douglass thunders .
Sojourner Truth sardonically reminds the men that the path to suffrage for Black women was rockier still : “ I believed everybody should vote , black and white , men and women !
And I said so.
” The effect of the speeches , knit together , is to raise activist pleadings to the level of art ; the voices cohere into a frank and only slightly cheesy unity .
At the end comes a chant : “ Vote !
Vote !
Vote !
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ theatre , given its association with Athens , first bloomed under democracy .
My own initial impressions of democracy were a kind of spectacle , directed by my mother .
She would sweep open the curtains that hid New York ’ s old voting machines and let me in on the secret of her ballot .
I ’ d pull the little levers next to the names of the candidates she pointed out , and together we ’ d pull the big , loud lever , cranking out her citizen ’ s voice @ @ @ @ @ @ @ important things you could do , she would say .
Someone—many someones—had won that right for me .
I wonder what kind of exhortation Hughes would make of a story like Crystal Mason ’ s .
He might have turned to verse again , and observed the stubborn recurrence of trouble—and the necessity , again , for struggle :

Just about four years ago, on Election Day, 2016, a woman named Crystal Mason went to her local polling place, in Rendon, Texas, to vote. She couldn’t find her name on the rolls, and so, with the help of a volunteer poll worker, she filled out a provisional ballot. That’s a sequence too common for drama; many of us will experience it this election. But Mason had recently returned home after more than two years in prison, having been convicted of tax fraud, a nonviolent felony. She didn’t believe that she was ineligible to vote. A few months later, she was arrested, and faced the prospect of five more years in prison, for fraudulent voting.
“Why Would I Dare: The Trial of Crystal Mason,” a reading directed by Tyler Thomas, presented by the Commissary, Rattlestick Playwrights Theatre, and New Neighborhood, is a straightforward virtual reënactment of the trial to convict Mason. The show is sparsely designed. Mason’s lawyer (Shane McRae) and the prosecutor (Peter Mark Kendall) wear bland, workaday suits as they ask their questions over Zoom. Crystal Dickinson, who plays Mason, sits answering in a comfortable-looking living room, with a child behind her, dawdling on the couch—a subtle but powerful reminder of the trial’s high stakes.
Mason’s story is rife—like much else that parades under the parasol of democracy—with absurd and sordid inversions: here’s a woman clambering back up the ladder of respectability, a menace to no one, whose apparent fault is not knowing when not to participate in her society’s betterment. Entire waves of history, decade after decade of struggle, ardently aimed at the high dignity yet humble mechanism of the vote, fail to figure in her favor: she ended up on the wrong side of the law, lost years of life with her family, and now her so-called freedom is a grim hall of mirrors. Right is wrong. Ordinary duty is death. The trial, especially once the prosecutor takes over the questioning, boffo in his belligerence, is a series of humiliations. A couple of Mason’s neighbors testified against her, claiming to have seen her scrutinize the provisional ballot’s fine print—along with its warning to felons—before defiantly trying to vote. “It’s safe to say that you can definitely read and write?” the prosecutor asks, feigning sweetness.
Dickinson plays Mason’s bureaucratic panic well. She often speaks too quickly or too vaguely when trying to recall her actions at the polling place. The lawyers and the falsely kind judge (a convincing Peter Gerety) try to slow her down; after all, the court reporter can’t transcribe what she can’t hear clearly. What these well-off functionaries don’t quite understand is that Mason knows that choreographed procedures like this one—trials, hearings, arraignments, applications, check-ins, inspections, appointments—are potentially fatal. Nobody seems sufficiently stricken by how stupid this all is.
The professionals bend the court’s strictures, so harsh on Mason, under the soft pressures of genteel manners. For them, court is a kind of play: let’s just find those pesky instructions and take a look at the rules. The normal business of objections, sustainments, and approaches to the bench here seems like an upper-class dance, sinisterly comic and unlearnable by the likes of Mason, who grows increasingly befuddled. “Why would I dare?” is her plaintive refrain. Why would she risk more time away from her family—she’s already missed so much of her children’s childhood—just to cast a Presidential vote, in Texas, of all places?
Mason, who is eventually convicted, stands in for anyone for whom the organs of society have presented themselves as a succession of formidable obstacles. Here, on display, in courts and prisons, is the unpretty gunk of liberal democracy.
Watching “Why Would I Dare” reminded me of Langston Hughes, our playwright of Black cultural celebration and slow civic advancement. One of the many ironies of his hugely variegated body of work is the difference in attitude and affect between his poems and his plays. In every grade of elementary school, I was asked to memorize some part of Hughes’s disappointed anthem from 1936, “Let America Be America Again”:
Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free. (America never was America to me.)
Crystal Mason—who is still facing the time earned by her attempt to vote and works as a voting-rights advocate—could plausibly sing my favorite stanza:
The free? Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.
Hughes’s mastery of American sentimentalizing rhetoric and his irony regarding the country’s actual workings sit in stark equipoise. “The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,” so flagrantly on display today, served as a great, gray background against which Hughes could scrawl in bright contrasting color his chiding reminders of the country’s ideals. In his plays, though, Hughes often dangled before his audience the opportunity to hum along more earnestly to America’s major-key tune. He specialized in “gospel plays,” boisterous, schmaltzy pageants like “Black Nativity,” a Blacked-up retelling of the birth of Christ, and “Tambourines to Glory,” the story of women preachers that landed on Broadway in 1963.
Those musical plays were belated announcements of Black music’s arrival on the mainstream stage. In a lesser-known pageant-play, “The Ballot and Me: The Negro’s Part in Suffrage,” Hughes tells a parallel story: the long trudge toward true voting access for Black Americans. The play, completed in 1956, in time for the Presidential contest between Dwight D. Eisenhower and Adlai Stevenson, is a series of monologues and speeches, given by actors portraying protagonists in the acquisition of the vote, among them Reconstruction-era Black congressional representatives, Sojourner Truth, and Frederick Douglass. They deliver snippets of real speeches as well as imagined banter, strung together by a narrator, directly to the audience. “Negro Americans—you, me—are a part of this democracy,” the narrator says, “and our vote counts. From the national to the local level, your vote counts.”
“I see no chance of bettering the condition of the freedman until he shall cease to be merely a freedman and shall become a citizen,” Frederick Douglass thunders. Sojourner Truth sardonically reminds the men that the path to suffrage for Black women was rockier still: “I believed everybody should vote, black and white, men and women! And I said so.” The effect of the speeches, knit together, is to raise activist pleadings to the level of art; the voices cohere into a frank and only slightly cheesy unity. At the end comes a chant: “Vote! Vote! Vote!”
It’s often said that theatre, given its association with Athens, first bloomed under democracy. My own initial impressions of democracy were a kind of spectacle, directed by my mother. She would sweep open the curtains that hid New York’s old voting machines and let me in on the secret of her ballot. I’d pull the little levers next to the names of the candidates she pointed out, and together we’d pull the big, loud lever, cranking out her citizen’s voice. This was one of the most important things you could do, she would say. Someone—many someones—had won that right for me.
I wonder what kind of exhortation Hughes would make of a story like Crystal Mason’s. He might have turned to verse again, and observed the stubborn recurrence of trouble—and the necessity, again, for struggle:


newyorker--2020-11-02--George Saunders on Surprising Himself

George Saunders on Surprising Himself

Right .
It ’ s funny—since you accepted this story , I ’ ve been kind of worried about this Q .
& A .
Because it ’ s a weird story , for sure , and I don ’ t really know what it means or what it ’ s a metaphor for .
While writing it , I was mostly just trying to get it to corner more tightly—to produce more precise effects , be funnier , more convincing , etc.—and trusting that , if I did that , it would mean something , and that that “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ whatever I could have planned .
What I ’ m trying to do these days , in the story form , is surprise myself—get out beyond my conscious mind and what I already believe and perform a sort of rowdy , joyful blurt .
At this point , with the story finished and published , I might be able to look back and think about what it means , but that doesn ’ t matter that much to me .
Something like that .
More and more , I see the wisdom of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ should not mean / But be.
” The real value of a work of art isn ’ t in what it stands for or in the meaning it spits out at the end but in what happens to the reader along the way—that dance between the reader ’ s expectation and the next thing that happens .
So my main goal is to try to get the reader to finish the story—no easy feat—by making each little motion of the narrative compelling .
For the past couple of years , I ’ ve @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Russian short story , for which I chose seven stories ( by Chekhov , Turgenev , Gogol , and Tolstoy ) and read ( and reread ) them and wrote essays in response—kind of a technical look at the short-story form .
And those stories , which we think of as these tremendous moral-ethical documents , work , really , in the MacLeish model—they mean , yes , but they often mean several things at once , sometimes even contradictory things .
Anyway , in the end , after all that revising , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
.
.
something .
I know , from all the hours I ’ ve spent , that it couldn ’ t be other than what it is .
And I think ( as in that old “ S.N.L.
” sketch ) , What the hell is that ?
But .
.
.
in a good way .
In the story , a man spends his life working in the Hell-themed section of an underground amusement park , playing “ Squatting Ghoul Eight.
” How did this scenario come to you ?
At @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I went down to Los Angeles and recorded the audiobook for my 1996 story collection “ CivilWarLand in Bad Decline ” and had a really good time .
I ’ d come to think of it as an old book that I ’ d moved past , but , as I was reading it , that mode really came alive again for me—I saw the advantages that the voice and mind-set of that book offered .
And remembered how much fun it was to write .
So I just felt like .
.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ this story a few months later , in May , in the same way that I ’ d started the stories in “ CivilWarLand , ” basically by doing a kind of “ typing improv ” —just goofing around , for fun , with as little controlling agenda as possible .
The basic idea—underground theme parks , a Squatting Ghoul , etc.—came out of that .
The residents of this theme park—with its clichéd versions of the Wild West , Victorian life , Prohibition-era Chicago , and so on—enact what is essentially a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you choose the themes for the workhouses ?
Once I hit on the idea of a set of interconnected but differently themed caves , that meant I had to ( or “ got to ” ) populate those places .
Say the main character is about to encounter somebody from one of those parks .
Who should it be ?
At a moment like that , I ’ m not really thinking about what that choice “ means ” but just trying to make sure that what I say next is vivid—striking enough @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , in that split second during which the reader is trying to decide whether to forge ahead , she goes , “ Huh , O.K.
, ” and accepts that little fragment of fictive reality and keeps reading .
And that ’ s about language , mostly—the same joke can be good or bad depending on how crisply it ’ s communicated .
And then those small choices accrue into a system of meaning , but it ’ s a system that ’ s more complex and mysterious and weird than if I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ what the place was meant to represent from the outset .
That story would be sort of overdetermined—laced with that initial , reductive concept .
This way is more like .
.
.
you do a bunch of things at speed , for fun , then look up and see what you ’ ve made .
And hopefully it surprises you and—really important for me at this stage in my artistic life—it produces some moral-ethical tonalities you haven ’ t produced before .
Brian , your hero , ties himself in knots trying @ @ @ @ @ @ @ deaths of others in order to save his own life .
Do you think of him as a moral character ?
An everyman doing his best in an impossible situation ?
For me , “ making a character ” is really just the process of tuning the sentences that refer to , or are spoken by , the person , over and over .
A certain line might just , you know , offend me , as I ’ m rereading—it plucks me out of my belief in the story .
So that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ when that line goes , the character changes .
Or a sentence , adjusted for sound , causes some new aspect of the fictive world to spring into existence , which gives the character something new to react to—and then he changes ( or comes more into focus ) .
So .
.
.
I ’ m trying to make him appear , with some definitiveness , more than I ’ m trying to construct him or decide who he is .
I don ’ t know who he is until .
.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ , because of that set of sentences in which he appears .
Often it happens that , during that process , I might notice something about a character .
Here , it was “ Aw , Brian seems lonely .
He keeps reaching out to people and getting himself in trouble that way.
” So then the move is to go , “ O.K.
, he ’ s lonely .
Let ’ s not forget that.
” Meanwhile , on some deeper level , my subconscious had already noticed that ( via all @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to present an escalation—in this case , Amy .
Was the story inspired , in some way , by the lockdown of the past few months ?
Well , the weird thing is , as mentioned above , I started it about a year before the pandemic began .
One of the big questions , even back then , was why Brian and pals were down there , in the bowels of the earth , wearing costumes and so on .
I ’ d considered a pandemic as a possible reason but was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , that ’ s pretty far-fetched.
” Then March came , and that notion suddenly seemed viable .
You asked earlier about what the story meant , or was a metaphor for .
And I think what you were really asking about was what we might call a story ’ s “ ultimate rationale.
” I think a story has to be wild and fun and have interesting things going on inside it and all that , but then there ’ s a second phase of evaluation , where we ’ re wondering @ @ @ @ @ @ @ what was this really all about ?
Why bother ?
” And , especially with a story like this one—a speculative story , built around a comedic , over-the-top premise—I think the reader is always asking , somewhere in the back of her mind , “ But what does this have to do with me ?
With now ?
With my real life ?
” As I ’ m writing , I ’ m continually asking the same thing—trying to get the story to swerve in a direction that takes it away from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ being a wacky relevant invention .
( And that imperative might be even more pressing when the real world seems to be falling apart . )
In the end , by my own internal standard , I felt I ’ d gotten there in two places , approximately .
First , Brian ’ s feelings toward the end of the story are roughly equal to my feelings about the world right now : “ Sometimes in life the foundation upon which one stands will give a tilt , and everything that one has @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sliding about , and suddenly all things will seem strange and new.
” Now , is that a good thing or a bad thing ?
I find I ’ ve reached the same conclusion as Brian ( aided , I ’ d say , by the process of writing this story ) : it depends .
It depends on what we do next in the face of this new understanding of ourselves .

Photograph by Nils Jorgensen / Shutterstock
It’s difficult not to read “Ghoul,” your story in this week’s issue, as a metaphor, though it’s hard to pinpoint for what, exactly. Life? Our current political situation? Stalinism? Any other regime in which truthtelling is punishable by death? Or is it a dystopic vision of the future that may await us post-apocalypse? Or can the story be read as a representation of the actual Hell—spending eternity in an underground space with no exit?
Right. It’s funny—since you accepted this story, I’ve been kind of worried about this Q. & A. Because it’s a weird story, for sure, and I don’t really know what it means or what it’s a metaphor for.
While writing it, I was mostly just trying to get it to corner more tightly—to produce more precise effects, be funnier, more convincing, etc.—and trusting that, if I did that, it would mean something, and that that “something” would be more interesting than whatever I could have planned. What I’m trying to do these days, in the story form, is surprise myself—get out beyond my conscious mind and what I already believe and perform a sort of rowdy, joyful blurt. At this point, with the story finished and published, I might be able to look back and think about what it means, but that doesn’t matter that much to me.
Something like that.
More and more, I see the wisdom of Archibald MacLeish’s “A poem should not mean / But be.” The real value of a work of art isn’t in what it stands for or in the meaning it spits out at the end but in what happens to the reader along the way—that dance between the reader’s expectation and the next thing that happens. So my main goal is to try to get the reader to finish the story—no easy feat—by making each little motion of the narrative compelling.
For the past couple of years, I’ve been working on a book about the Russian short story, for which I chose seven stories (by Chekhov, Turgenev, Gogol, and Tolstoy) and read (and reread) them and wrote essays in response—kind of a technical look at the short-story form. And those stories, which we think of as these tremendous moral-ethical documents, work, really, in the MacLeish model—they mean, yes, but they often mean several things at once, sometimes even contradictory things.
Anyway, in the end, after all that revising, I look up and there’s . . . something. I know, from all the hours I’ve spent, that it couldn’t be other than what it is. And I think (as in that old “S.N.L.” sketch), What the hell is that? But . . . in a good way.
In the story, a man spends his life working in the Hell-themed section of an underground amusement park, playing “Squatting Ghoul Eight.” How did this scenario come to you?
At the end of January, 2019, I went down to Los Angeles and recorded the audiobook for my 1996 story collection “CivilWarLand in Bad Decline” and had a really good time. I’d come to think of it as an old book that I’d moved past, but, as I was reading it, that mode really came alive again for me—I saw the advantages that the voice and mind-set of that book offered. And remembered how much fun it was to write. So I just felt like . . . trying that again. I started this story a few months later, in May, in the same way that I’d started the stories in “CivilWarLand,” basically by doing a kind of “typing improv”—just goofing around, for fun, with as little controlling agenda as possible. The basic idea—underground theme parks, a Squatting Ghoul, etc.—came out of that.
The residents of this theme park—with its clichéd versions of the Wild West, Victorian life, Prohibition-era Chicago, and so on—enact what is essentially a parody of our culture. How did you choose the themes for the workhouses?
Once I hit on the idea of a set of interconnected but differently themed caves, that meant I had to (or “got to”) populate those places. Say the main character is about to encounter somebody from one of those parks. Who should it be? At a moment like that, I’m not really thinking about what that choice “means” but just trying to make sure that what I say next is vivid—striking enough or particular enough or funny enough that, in that split second during which the reader is trying to decide whether to forge ahead, she goes, “Huh, O.K.,” and accepts that little fragment of fictive reality and keeps reading. And that’s about language, mostly—the same joke can be good or bad depending on how crisply it’s communicated.
And then those small choices accrue into a system of meaning, but it’s a system that’s more complex and mysterious and weird than if I’d had some overarching notion of what the place was meant to represent from the outset. That story would be sort of overdetermined—laced with that initial, reductive concept.
This way is more like . . . you do a bunch of things at speed, for fun, then look up and see what you’ve made. And hopefully it surprises you and—really important for me at this stage in my artistic life—it produces some moral-ethical tonalities you haven’t produced before.
Brian, your hero, ties himself in knots trying to find justifications for having caused the deaths of others in order to save his own life. Do you think of him as a moral character? An everyman doing his best in an impossible situation?
For me, “making a character” is really just the process of tuning the sentences that refer to, or are spoken by, the person, over and over. A certain line might just, you know, offend me, as I’m rereading—it plucks me out of my belief in the story. So that line has to go. And, when that line goes, the character changes. Or a sentence, adjusted for sound, causes some new aspect of the fictive world to spring into existence, which gives the character something new to react to—and then he changes (or comes more into focus). So . . . I’m trying to make him appear, with some definitiveness, more than I’m trying to construct him or decide who he is. I don’t know who he is until . . . he is. And he is, because of that set of sentences in which he appears.
Often it happens that, during that process, I might notice something about a character. Here, it was “Aw, Brian seems lonely. He keeps reaching out to people and getting himself in trouble that way.” So then the move is to go, “O.K., he’s lonely. Let’s not forget that.” Meanwhile, on some deeper level, my subconscious had already noticed that (via all that editing) and had been conspiring to present an escalation—in this case, Amy.