newyorker--2020-06-28--Don’t Throw Out Your Kids’ Uneaten Sandwich Crusts

Bread is bread until it goes stale .
Then it is Stale Bread , which obeys its own set of rules .
How to learn the new rules ?
Perhaps you ’ ve already taken Stale Bread 101 , whose basic lesson is that a loaf past its prime doesn ’ t have to be thrown away .
Just barely stale loaves can be wrapped in wet towels , then put in a three-hundred-degree oven to crisp .
( I ’ ve had just as much success quickly running the loaves under a trickling tap , then letting them recover @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ) Once it ’ s past that point , stale bread can be ground into crumbs ; turned into stuffing , bread pudding , or bread soup ; or torn into craggy croutons , tossed with lots of good olive oil and salt , and toasted at four hundred degrees until crisp , golden , and delicious .
These croutons can be put on salad , or they can become the salad , as in a panzanella , which , in my kitchen , involves cucumber or tomato and thinly sliced onion soaked @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of cool , creamy ricotta on top .
A proper education in Stale Bread must survey the many cuisines that rely on bread—those of South Asia ( roti and maani ) , the Middle East ( pita and sangak ) , and Western and parts of Northern Europe ( pane , pan , baguette , boule , bauernbrot ) .
Each region has its own stale-bread recipes .
An Indian or Pakistani cookbook might have seyal roti or seyal maani—staling flatbreads simmered with herbs , aromatics , and dried spices until stewy .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ a salad of crisp vegetables , fresh herbs , sumac , and baked or fried pita .
A Tuscan one will include bread soups like pappa al pomodoro ( tomato and bread ) and ribollita ( beans and bread ) , an Austrian or German one knodel , a savory dumpling made of white bread , eggs , milk , and salt—and perfect for setting to bob in wild-mushroom ragout .
You ’ ll soon be an expert on letting no loaf or slice go to waste .
Then what ?
Then you @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of bread that aren ’ t featured in the intro-level course : the crusts smeared with strawberry jam and peanut butter that your three-year-old insists are inedible , the cream-cheese-topped onion-bagel ends and bits of cinnamon-raisin toast left over from breakfast , the ketchup-dabbed bun that didn ’ t get eaten on burger night .
I recently collected a menagerie of these bready bits , determined to find them a home .
I found myself reading about bread upma , a South Indian breakfast dish so redolent with its tadka of curry leaves @ @ @ @ @ @ @ bits of leftover peanut butter or jelly or cream cheese or ketchup barely register .
Or , if they do , they might improve the final result—a perfect balance of salt , sweetness , savor , acidity , crispness , and chew .
On a Web site called Hebbar ’ s Kitchen , I read advice to toast stale bread for bread upma ; I ’ ve also fried it in ghee or canola oil .
But it ’ s also entirely permissible to skip crisping altogether .
Most bread upma recipes take @ @ @ @ @ @ @ some kind of fat ; temper curry leaves and mustard seeds ; add ginger , freshly chopped chili , and asafetida .
I follow the recipes that ask for tomato and onion , simmered with some water into masala thickness , with the bread tossed in at the end .
To finish , I like to follow the advice on the site Cook with Manali .
Manali adds toasted peanuts to her bread upma , and tops it with a squeeze of lime and sev , a crunchy Indian chickpea-noodle snack .
This @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with fresh cilantro and finely chopped onion , some of the irresistible spice mixture chaat masala , and some crushed Funyuns .
( Wasting Funyuns , after all , is as rash as wasting bread . )
From there , your mind restlessly alights on other things bread-like that routinely get tossed .
For instance , what about the crackers you slathered with goat cheese or cashew butter or nutella , and packed for the picnic but nobody ate ?
Do they have any shot of avoiding an ignominious end ?
Yes !
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ , I stored my leftover cracker sandwiches in a container on the counter ; a mere three weeks later , I nervously opened it .
They smelled fine ; they tasted a little aged but otherwise great .
I poured the contents into a food processor and pulsed them into sandy crumbs , which I then turned into a cracker crust .
I ’ m willing to testify that an old-cracker piecrust is nearly as great as a graham-cracker one—pleasingly salty and with a slight complexity from whatever bits of cheese or dips @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Fill the crust with cream cheese , beaten with eggs and sugar , for a cheesecake—or with lemon curd or chocolate pudding and fresh whipped cream .
If there ’ s any of the resulting cheesecake or pie left over , you may be ready to turn your attention to Pie 101 , a whole other field of study .

Bread is bread until it goes stale. Then it is Stale Bread, which obeys its own set of rules. How to learn the new rules? Perhaps you’ve already taken Stale Bread 101, whose basic lesson is that a loaf past its prime doesn’t have to be thrown away. Just barely stale loaves can be wrapped in wet towels, then put in a three-hundred-degree oven to crisp. (I’ve had just as much success quickly running the loaves under a trickling tap, then letting them recover in an oven on medium heat.) Once it’s past that point, stale bread can be ground into crumbs; turned into stuffing, bread pudding, or bread soup; or torn into craggy croutons, tossed with lots of good olive oil and salt, and toasted at four hundred degrees until crisp, golden, and delicious. These croutons can be put on salad, or they can become the salad, as in a panzanella, which, in my kitchen, involves cucumber or tomato and thinly sliced onion soaked in salt and vinegar, with spoonfuls of cool, creamy ricotta on top.
A proper education in Stale Bread must survey the many cuisines that rely on bread—those of South Asia (roti and maani), the Middle East (pita and sangak), and Western and parts of Northern Europe (pane, pan, baguette, boule, bauernbrot). Each region has its own stale-bread recipes. An Indian or Pakistani cookbook might have seyal roti or seyal maani—staling flatbreads simmered with herbs, aromatics, and dried spices until stewy. A Lebanese book will list fattoush, a salad of crisp vegetables, fresh herbs, sumac, and baked or fried pita. A Tuscan one will include bread soups like pappa al pomodoro (tomato and bread) and ribollita (beans and bread), an Austrian or German one knodel, a savory dumpling made of white bread, eggs, milk, and salt—and perfect for setting to bob in wild-mushroom ragout. You’ll soon be an expert on letting no loaf or slice go to waste.
Then what? Then you’ll grow curious about those bits of bread that aren’t featured in the intro-level course: the crusts smeared with strawberry jam and peanut butter that your three-year-old insists are inedible, the cream-cheese-topped onion-bagel ends and bits of cinnamon-raisin toast left over from breakfast, the ketchup-dabbed bun that didn’t get eaten on burger night. I recently collected a menagerie of these bready bits, determined to find them a home. I found myself reading about bread upma, a South Indian breakfast dish so redolent with its tadka of curry leaves, cumin, and mustard seeds that bits of leftover peanut butter or jelly or cream cheese or ketchup barely register. Or, if they do, they might improve the final result—a perfect balance of salt, sweetness, savor, acidity, crispness, and chew. On a Web site called Hebbar’s Kitchen, I read advice to toast stale bread for bread upma; I’ve also fried it in ghee or canola oil. But it’s also entirely permissible to skip crisping altogether. Most bread upma recipes take a similar route from here: heat some kind of fat; temper curry leaves and mustard seeds; add ginger, freshly chopped chili, and asafetida. I follow the recipes that ask for tomato and onion, simmered with some water into masala thickness, with the bread tossed in at the end. To finish, I like to follow the advice on the site Cook with Manali. Manali adds toasted peanuts to her bread upma, and tops it with a squeeze of lime and sev, a crunchy Indian chickpea-noodle snack. This freewheeling approach inspired me to top mine with fresh cilantro and finely chopped onion, some of the irresistible spice mixture chaat masala, and some crushed Funyuns. (Wasting Funyuns, after all, is as rash as wasting bread.)
From there, your mind restlessly alights on other things bread-like that routinely get tossed. For instance, what about the crackers you slathered with goat cheese or cashew butter or nutella, and packed for the picnic but nobody ate? Do they have any shot of avoiding an ignominious end? Yes! Recently, after unpacking a picnic basket, I stored my leftover cracker sandwiches in a container on the counter; a mere three weeks later, I nervously opened it. They smelled fine; they tasted a little aged but otherwise great. I poured the contents into a food processor and pulsed them into sandy crumbs, which I then turned into a cracker crust. I’m willing to testify that an old-cracker piecrust is nearly as great as a graham-cracker one—pleasingly salty and with a slight complexity from whatever bits of cheese or dips or schmear the crackers had on them. Fill the crust with cream cheese, beaten with eggs and sugar, for a cheesecake—or with lemon curd or chocolate pudding and fresh whipped cream. If there’s any of the resulting cheesecake or pie left over, you may be ready to turn your attention to Pie 101, a whole other field of study.


newyorker--2020-06-29--Directions to the Fabled House of Polls

Directions to the Fabled House of Polls

If ye seek the fabled polling place of olde , then ye have come to the right spot .
But know ye this !
The legendary House of Polls can only be entered by the purest of heart and intention .
Many have sought it , only to lack the spirit to proceed .
Follow these riddles and clues , and ye shall find this lost palace of democracy .
Firstly , solve this riddle to move on to the next phase of thy quest : A picture is worth a thousand words and the right to vote .
Answer @ @ @ @ @ @ @ stop of thy journey .
If ye answered “ photo identification , ” then ye be correct .
Hath not this document ?
Then follow the directions below .
Ye must seeketh out a stronghold of the Department of Motor Vehicles .
What once were many in location , hath now been shuttered , reduced to a scattered few spread far and wide , and for this thy trip may be long and costly .
Therein , ye shall meet the legendary and surly Bureaucrat , but beware—he can only be approached between @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he be not partaking of his midday meal or enjoying his days of rest .
Should ye be able to withstand this test of will , and pay the required coinage , ye shall uncover the first key , the fabled picture-identification card .
But be ye forewarned !
Thousands have been driven to madness in this quest , and the Bureaucrat hath neither time nor patience for thy shite .
Hast ye obtained the key of identity ?
Splendid , now ye may progress to the next phase of thy journey , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ questions three : Dost thou live in a precinct that supported the wicked Lady Hillary of House Clinton ?
If yea be the answer to any of these , then thy journey ends here .
But if not , rejoice !
For onward on thy quest ye go .
Only those who hath thine own carriages shall be permitted to travel the road to the polling place .
The Duke hath ruled that carriage-sharing runs afoul of the King ’ s law .
If ye don ’ t , ye must go by @ @ @ @ @ @ @ which comes only on the first quarter of the hour and only before the sun sets .
Hast ye made it this far ?
Congratulations !
Ye hast arrived at the House of Polls , but thy journey is not over yet—ye must prove that ye is worthy to enter .
Volunteers of the Grand Old Party hath been dispatched to insure that only those who can show proof that they reside in this precinct may set foot inside .
Question them not , for they may be armed .
Ye must wait @ @ @ @ @ @ @ made this pilgrimage , and that line may stretch as far the eye can see , for the few remaining staff of the House of Polls hath little time nor knowledge of the devices of voting , and very few of these devices function .
But fear not—the less fortunate of pilgrims might depart before casting their ballots to return to their toil !
Should ye be able to provide the staff with proof of identity , ye must confirm that ye hath not been purged from the master list .
If that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ grievance with thy local council , but mind ye—the office is closed for the day and can take but only a few phone calls at a time .
So if this be the case , thy quest endeth here .
Rejoice , tired peasant , for if ye get past the withered gatekeeper , then ye may casteth thy ballot for a candidate of thy choosing .
But hear ye this—records of thy ballot are not kept by the local archivist and may not count for reasons decided by the maester of polls @ @ @ @ @ @ @ represent the will of the masses , the winner shall only be decided if he declareth victory in the more populous provinces .
Congratulations , weary voter , ye hast made it this far and hast cast a ballot .
Now hurry ye back to thy toil , as thy master hath only given ye an hour , and two hath already past .

If ye seek the fabled polling place of olde, then ye have come to the right spot. But know ye this! The legendary House of Polls can only be entered by the purest of heart and intention. Many have sought it, only to lack the spirit to proceed. Follow these riddles and clues, and ye shall find this lost palace of democracy.
Be ye ready?
Firstly, solve this riddle to move on to the next phase of thy quest: A picture is worth a thousand words and the right to vote. Answer this and ye may unlock the first stop of thy journey.
If ye answered “photo identification,” then ye be correct. Hath not this document? Then follow the directions below.
Ye must seeketh out a stronghold of the Department of Motor Vehicles. What once were many in location, hath now been shuttered, reduced to a scattered few spread far and wide, and for this thy trip may be long and costly. Therein, ye shall meet the legendary and surly Bureaucrat, but beware—he can only be approached between the ninth and seventeenth hours, provided he be not partaking of his midday meal or enjoying his days of rest. Should ye be able to withstand this test of will, and pay the required coinage, ye shall uncover the first key, the fabled picture-identification card. But be ye forewarned! Thousands have been driven to madness in this quest, and the Bureaucrat hath neither time nor patience for thy shite.
Hast ye obtained the key of identity? Splendid, now ye may progress to the next phase of thy journey, but only if ye can answer these questions three:
Hast thou run afoul of the local magistrate?
Hast thou failed to pay thine debts in due time?
Dost thou live in a precinct that supported the wicked Lady Hillary of House Clinton?
If yea be the answer to any of these, then thy journey ends here. But if not, rejoice! For onward on thy quest ye go.
Only those who hath thine own carriages shall be permitted to travel the road to the polling place. The Duke hath ruled that carriage-sharing runs afoul of the King’s law. If ye don’t, ye must go by foot or taketh the public carriage, which comes only on the first quarter of the hour and only before the sun sets.
Hast ye made it this far? Congratulations! Ye hast arrived at the House of Polls, but thy journey is not over yet—ye must prove that ye is worthy to enter.
Volunteers of the Grand Old Party hath been dispatched to insure that only those who can show proof that they reside in this precinct may set foot inside. Question them not, for they may be armed.
Ye must wait in line with the others who hath made this pilgrimage, and that line may stretch as far the eye can see, for the few remaining staff of the House of Polls hath little time nor knowledge of the devices of voting, and very few of these devices function. But fear not—the less fortunate of pilgrims might depart before casting their ballots to return to their toil!
Should ye be able to provide the staff with proof of identity, ye must confirm that ye hath not been purged from the master list. If that hath passed, ye may file a grievance with thy local council, but mind ye—the office is closed for the day and can take but only a few phone calls at a time. So if this be the case, thy quest endeth here.
Rejoice, tired peasant, for if ye get past the withered gatekeeper, then ye may casteth thy ballot for a candidate of thy choosing.
But hear ye this—records of thy ballot are not kept by the local archivist and may not count for reasons decided by the maester of polls. Accordingly, whilst thy vote may represent the will of the masses, the winner shall only be decided if he declareth victory in the more populous provinces.
Congratulations, weary voter, ye hast made it this far and hast cast a ballot. Now hurry ye back to thy toil, as thy master hath only given ye an hour, and two hath already past.


newyorker--2020-06-29--Hari Kunzru on Privacy, Surveillance, and Paranoia

In your story in this week ’ s issue , “ A Transparent Woman , ” a young woman is unwillingly recruited as a Stasi informer in East Berlin in the early eighties .
What inspired this idea ?
A few years ago , I spent six months living in Berlin , and , during that time , I became very interested in the Stasi surveillance of the cultural scene in the nineteen-eighties .
At first I was interested in the artists and intellectuals , but I came to realize that what had happened to the teen-age punks was just @ @ @ @ @ @ @ these kids had no real political sensibility , at least initially .
They just wanted to make a noise and have fun .
In some cases , they were radicalized by their contact with the secret police .
I interviewed one former punk who had been detained on an almost daily basis .
He told me that he used to look up references made by his interrogators—to anarchism , for example—so as to be able to make better arguments when he was next questioned .
In this way , the Stasi helped train @ @ @ @ @ @ @ follow the story through Monika ’ s thoughts and observations , but the narrative is written in the third person .
What made you not want to tell it in the first person ?
The story is very intimate .
It ’ s about the destruction of an innocent person , of her sense of self , her personhood .
Of course , the natural thing would be to tell it in the first person , but it felt important to indicate that this wasn ’ t just a subjective impression , that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
The distance of the third person gives weight to her experiences .
You give a lot of details about life in East Berlin in this time period .
How concerned were you with making the story historically accurate ?
I try very hard to be as accurate as possible .
I feel uneasy writing about people and settings that are distant from my own life unless I ’ ve worked hard to understand the forces at play .
It ’ s not just a question of describing things accurately—knowing what a street @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for sale in a shop .
Those things are important to me , but only as a means to an end .
Through research , I come to understand how it might feel to be in a particular place , at a particular time , in circumstances that are not mine .
That ’ s the core of fiction , and the real object of research .
“ A Transparent Woman ” is adapted from a chapter of your forthcoming novel , “ Red Pill.
” It ’ s a more or less @ @ @ @ @ @ @ which Monika tells her story to the narrator of the book , who is an American writer in 2016 .
Why did you include this narrative in the book , and how does it fit into the larger story you ’ re telling ?
It ’ s there as a sort of wedge , to open up the main narrative of the book into something beyond itself .
I like to do this in my fiction , to use the past as a way to illuminate the present .
I can walk around @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in a park without thinking about history once ( though , admittedly , it ’ s harder to do that in Berlin than in some other places ) , but the past is always present as a kind of outside , a hinterland .
Sometimes I catch glimpses of it , and in those moments I have a clear sense of myself , as if at a distance .
Those glimpses feel very profound , the sense that one ’ s own life is the product of longer time-scales , larger systems .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ my fiction .
Perhaps some readers will experience this “ story within a story ” as a distraction , or criticize it as a rupture in the formal unity of the book , but , even though it ’ s only indirectly related to the travails of my narrator , it feels absolutely central to what I ’ m trying to do , and the book would be incomplete without it .
What drew you , in general , to the subject of surveillance and the ( often justified ) paranoia it engenders @ @ @ @ @ @ @ narrator is a writer who has a rather complacent idea of selfhood , and of what it means to be a writer .
He thinks of himself as someone with a profound subjectivity , and he thinks of his work as primarily exploring that subjectivity , uncovering all the nuances of his own experience .
He ’ s trying to write a rather ponderous book about the German Romantic poets and their experience of selfhood .
Certain things happen to him , and he begins to doubt this picture .
When he looks @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ?
Is he a rich , deeply felt self , or is he just a jumble of impressions ?
Is he autonomous , or is he shaped and controlled by outside forces ?
Does he have privacy , or are his mental and emotional insides “ leaking out ” ?
Is he constantly betraying himself ?
I ’ m interested in ideas about authenticity , and about how we behave if we feel we ’ re being watched .
Privacy , in the traditional sense , is almost impossible to insure now .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ , under surveillance .
What does this do to our sense of ourselves ?
Is it possible to resist something so profound and pervasive ?
And , if our old ideas about human selfhood fade into history , what happens to the ideas of human dignity and human rights that traditionally go with them ?
Do you think there are lessons that contemporary America could or should learn from East German history ?
During the Cold War , ideals of freedom and autonomy were sold to Americans in explicit opposition to Stalinist tyranny @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , supposedly , a final victory for freedom .
But Americans have learned that , even without the Communist Party or the Stasi , freedom can still slip away .
In some ways , the Homeland Security apparatus put in place during the War on Terror is a far more pervasive form of surveillance and control than anything we saw in East Germany .
And now we all carry tracking devices in our pockets .
The other lesson lies in the way East Germany vanished .
Almost overnight , with the fall of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ institutions ceased to exist .
We should remember that empires fall , and no state , however powerful , is guaranteed permanence .

Photograph by Sutton Hibbert / Shutterstock
In your story in this week’s issue, “A Transparent Woman,” a young woman is unwillingly recruited as a Stasi informer in East Berlin in the early eighties. What inspired this idea?
A few years ago, I spent six months living in Berlin, and, during that time, I became very interested in the Stasi surveillance of the cultural scene in the nineteen-eighties. At first I was interested in the artists and intellectuals, but I came to realize that what had happened to the teen-age punks was just as intense. Unlike the intellectuals, these kids had no real political sensibility, at least initially. They just wanted to make a noise and have fun. In some cases, they were radicalized by their contact with the secret police. I interviewed one former punk who had been detained on an almost daily basis. He told me that he used to look up references made by his interrogators—to anarchism, for example—so as to be able to make better arguments when he was next questioned. In this way, the Stasi helped train a generation of pro-democracy activists.
We follow the story through Monika’s thoughts and observations, but the narrative is written in the third person. What made you not want to tell it in the first person?
The story is very intimate. It’s about the destruction of an innocent person, of her sense of self, her personhood. Of course, the natural thing would be to tell it in the first person, but it felt important to indicate that this wasn’t just a subjective impression, that this really was how she was treated. The distance of the third person gives weight to her experiences.
You give a lot of details about life in East Berlin in this time period. How concerned were you with making the story historically accurate?
I try very hard to be as accurate as possible. I feel uneasy writing about people and settings that are distant from my own life unless I’ve worked hard to understand the forces at play. It’s not just a question of describing things accurately—knowing what a street looks like, or what’s for sale in a shop. Those things are important to me, but only as a means to an end. Through research, I come to understand how it might feel to be in a particular place, at a particular time, in circumstances that are not mine. That’s the core of fiction, and the real object of research.
“A Transparent Woman” is adapted from a chapter of your forthcoming novel, “Red Pill.” It’s a more or less autonomous section of the book, in which Monika tells her story to the narrator of the book, who is an American writer in 2016. Why did you include this narrative in the book, and how does it fit into the larger story you’re telling?
It’s there as a sort of wedge, to open up the main narrative of the book into something beyond itself. I like to do this in my fiction, to use the past as a way to illuminate the present. I can walk around Berlin and eat a döner or sit in a park without thinking about history once (though, admittedly, it’s harder to do that in Berlin than in some other places), but the past is always present as a kind of outside, a hinterland. Sometimes I catch glimpses of it, and in those moments I have a clear sense of myself, as if at a distance. Those glimpses feel very profound, the sense that one’s own life is the product of longer time-scales, larger systems. I try to put that feeling into my fiction. Perhaps some readers will experience this “story within a story” as a distraction, or criticize it as a rupture in the formal unity of the book, but, even though it’s only indirectly related to the travails of my narrator, it feels absolutely central to what I’m trying to do, and the book would be incomplete without it.
What drew you, in general, to the subject of surveillance and the (often justified) paranoia it engenders?
“Red Pill” ’s narrator is a writer who has a rather complacent idea of selfhood, and of what it means to be a writer. He thinks of himself as someone with a profound subjectivity, and he thinks of his work as primarily exploring that subjectivity, uncovering all the nuances of his own experience. He’s trying to write a rather ponderous book about the German Romantic poets and their experience of selfhood. Certain things happen to him, and he begins to doubt this picture. When he looks inside himself, what does he find? Is he a rich, deeply felt self, or is he just a jumble of impressions? Is he autonomous, or is he shaped and controlled by outside forces? Does he have privacy, or are his mental and emotional insides “leaking out”? Is he constantly betraying himself? I’m interested in ideas about authenticity, and about how we behave if we feel we’re being watched. Privacy, in the traditional sense, is almost impossible to insure now. We are always, at least potentially, under surveillance. What does this do to our sense of ourselves? Is it possible to resist something so profound and pervasive? And, if our old ideas about human selfhood fade into history, what happens to the ideas of human dignity and human rights that traditionally go with them?
Do you think there are lessons that contemporary America could or should learn from East German history?
During the Cold War, ideals of freedom and autonomy were sold to Americans in explicit opposition to Stalinist tyranny. Victory in the Cold War was, supposedly, a final victory for freedom. But Americans have learned that, even without the Communist Party or the Stasi, freedom can still slip away. In some ways, the Homeland Security apparatus put in place during the War on Terror is a far more pervasive form of surveillance and control than anything we saw in East Germany. And now we all carry tracking devices in our pockets. The other lesson lies in the way East Germany vanished. Almost overnight, with the fall of the Wall, all its structures and institutions ceased to exist. We should remember that empires fall, and no state, however powerful, is guaranteed permanence.


newyorker--2020-06-29--Slide Show: New Yorker Cartoons July 6 & 13, 2020

“ We have to record this , or no one ’ s going to believe us .
”

“We have to record this, or no one’s going to believe us.”
Cartoon by Ellis Rosen


newyorker--2020-06-29--Why the Mueller Investigation Failed

Why the Mueller Investigation Failed

Robert Mueller submitted his final report as the special counsel more than a year ago .
But even now—in the midst of the coronavirus pandemic and the Administration ’ s tragically bungled response to it , and the mass demonstrations following the killings by police of George Floyd , Breonna Taylor , and many others—President Trump remains obsessed with what he recently called , on Twitter , the “ Greatest Political Crime in the History of the U.S. , the Russian Witch-Hunt.
” In the past several months , the President has mobilized his Administration and its supporters to prove @ @ @ @ @ @ @ F.B.I.
’ s investigation into possible ties between his 2016 campaign and the Russian government was flawed , or worse .
Attorney General William Barr has directed John Durham , the United States Attorney in Connecticut , to conduct a criminal investigation into whether F.B.I .
officials , or anyone else , engaged in misconduct at the outset .
Senator Lindsey Graham , of South Carolina , the chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee , has also convened hearings on the investigation ’ s origins .
The President has tweeted about Mueller more @ @ @ @ @ @ @ repeatedly referred to the special counsel ’ s investigation as a “ scam ” and a “ hoax.
” Barr and Graham agree that the Mueller investigation was illegitimate in conception and excessive in execution—in Barr ’ s words , “ a grave injustice ” that was “ unprecedented in American history.
” According to the Administration , Mueller and his team displayed an unseemly eagerness to uncover crimes that never existed .
In fact , the opposite is true .
Mueller had an abundance of legitimate targets to investigate , and his @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , not of zeal .
Especially when it came to Trump , Mueller avoided confrontations that he should have welcomed .
He never issued a grand-jury subpoena for the President ’ s testimony , and even though his office built a compelling case for Trump ’ s having committed obstruction of justice , Mueller came up with reasons not to say so in his report .
In light of this , Trump shouldn ’ t be denouncing Mueller—he should be thanking him .
The events that led to Mueller ’ s appointment began @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he met several times with James Comey , the director of the F.B.I .
Over dinner at the White House , on January 27 , 2017 , Trump said that he expected “ loyalty ” from Comey—specifically , as he would later make clear , he wanted an announcement from the F.B.I .
that he was not under suspicion for misconduct with Russia during the campaign .
At the time , Michael Flynn , Trump ’ s former national-security adviser , was being investigated for lying to the F.B.I .
As Comey later @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a meeting in the Oval Office , the President told everyone else to leave , then asked Comey to drop the investigation of Flynn .
“ I hope you can see your way clear to letting this go , to letting Flynn go , ” Trump said .
“ He is a good guy.
” Comey declined either to publicly clear Trump of wrongdoing or to close the investigation of Flynn , and the President resolved to fire him .
On May 8 , 2017 , Trump told Rod Rosenstein , who had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ General , to write a memo describing Comey ’ s performance as the F.B.I .
director , in particular his handling of the investigation into Hillary Clinton ’ s use of private e-mail .
The following day , Rosenstein submitted the memo and Trump fired Comey .
Sean Spicer , the President ’ s press secretary , told reporters that the President had done so for the reasons stated in Rosenstein ’ s memo , but , as Trump soon confirmed in an interview with NBC ’ s Lester Holt and in a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ real reason was related to the Russia investigation .
Rosenstein was distraught over how the White House had used his memo .
Concerned about Trump ’ s firing of Comey , he named an independent prosecutor , now known as a special counsel , to look into a possible connection between the Trump campaign and Russia .
( Jeff Sessions , the Attorney General , had recused himself from matters relating to Russia . )
Rosenstein didn ’ t consider anyone except Mueller for the post .
Mueller had both the skills and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Having worked in the Justice Department during the Cold War , he hardly needed lessons on the malign intentions of the government in Moscow .
Mueller had been a federal prosecutor in the nineteen-eighties , the head of the Justice Department ’ s criminal division during the George H. W. Bush Administration , and then , starting in 2001 , the F.B.I .
director for twelve years .
Until May 17th , when Rosenstein named him as the special counsel , Mueller knew very little about the state of the Russia investigation @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Comey ’ s former deputy , was the acting director of the F.B.I.
, invited Mueller to the J. Edgar Hoover Building for a briefing .
At the first Senate Judiciary Committee hearing on the Russia investigation , on June 3 , 2020 , Graham opened the proceedings by saying , “ It ’ s important to find out what the hell happened.
” He wanted to know whether , when Mueller was appointed , there was any evidence that Trump ’ s campaign had been colluding with the Russians .
McCabe ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a subsequent meeting between Mueller and Rosenstein—neither of which has been previously reported—begin to address Graham ’ s question .
These meetings demonstrate that , from the beginning , Mueller was instructed to conduct a narrow , fact-based criminal investigation .
McCabe was a generation younger than Mueller and still in awe of him .
He had worked at the F.B.I .
when Mueller was the director , and had attended countless meetings in what was then Mueller ’ s conference room , on the seventh floor of the Hoover building .
He @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and that Mueller ’ s face , which resembles an Easter Island moai , betrayed little besides impatience .
Mueller could intimidate outsiders and insiders alike with his silence .
He didn ’ t praise subordinates ; he needled them , and they came to see this goading as a sign that they were still in good standing .
( “ Are you done playing with your food ?
” he would ask those who took too long with a task . )
Now , improbably , Mueller was coming to McCabe @ @ @ @ @ @ @ director , Mueller had presided from a seat at the head of the rectangular table in the conference room .
For that first meeting , after McCabe welcomed Mueller and his associates , Aaron Zebley and Jim Quarles , the acting F.B.I .
director officiated from a seat at the middle of the table , a gesture of respect .
There was a long agenda , including a host of logistical matters .
For one thing , Mueller ’ s team had no place to work .
The investigation would include a great @ @ @ @ @ @ @ space would have to be secured as a Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility , or SCIF .
Mueller had begun to hire a staff of prosecutors , but he also needed F.B.I .
agents and analysts assigned to his team .
Rosenstein had not given the Office of Special Counsel a specific budget , but Mueller needed at least rough guidelines , and also support staff , to begin organizing his inquiries .
( Mueller ’ s team was eventually installed in underutilized space in Patriots Plaza , a commercial building on the southwest @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the city ’ s major-league baseball team plays . )
The purpose of the meeting was to describe the F.B.I.
’ s Russia investigation to date .
“ We will not get through the whole story in this one meeting , ” McCabe said , according to people who attended the briefing .
“ It ’ s too long and complicated .
We will tell you how we got here.
” McCabe told Mueller that Crossfire Hurricane—the code name for the Russia investigation—had begun shortly after the hack of the Democratic National Committee @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 2016 .
The e-mails , which were released by WikiLeaks , showed that some Party officials had favored Clinton over Bernie Sanders , poisoning relations between the two candidates ’ supporters on the eve of the Party ’ s convention .
Around that time , the Australian government informed the F.B.I .
that , in the spring of 2016 , George Papadopoulos , an official from the Trump campaign , had told Alexander Downer , an Australian diplomat , that the Russians were planning to release hacked e-mails related to Clinton ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , McCabe explained , the Australians told the F.B.I .
about the conversation .
“ We ’ ve known for years that the Russians were probing our political systems , ” McCabe said .
“ But July is when we say , Fuck , this is actually happening .
”

Robert Mueller submitted his final report as the special counsel more than a year ago. But even now—in the midst of the coronavirus pandemic and the Administration’s tragically bungled response to it, and the mass demonstrations following the killings by police of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and many others—President Trump remains obsessed with what he recently called, on Twitter, the “Greatest Political Crime in the History of the U.S., the Russian Witch-Hunt.” In the past several months, the President has mobilized his Administration and its supporters to prove that, from its inception, the F.B.I.’s investigation into possible ties between his 2016 campaign and the Russian government was flawed, or worse. Attorney General William Barr has directed John Durham, the United States Attorney in Connecticut, to conduct a criminal investigation into whether F.B.I. officials, or anyone else, engaged in misconduct at the outset. Senator Lindsey Graham, of South Carolina, the chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee, has also convened hearings on the investigation’s origins.
The President has tweeted about Mueller more than three hundred times, and has repeatedly referred to the special counsel’s investigation as a “scam” and a “hoax.” Barr and Graham agree that the Mueller investigation was illegitimate in conception and excessive in execution—in Barr’s words, “a grave injustice” that was “unprecedented in American history.” According to the Administration, Mueller and his team displayed an unseemly eagerness to uncover crimes that never existed. In fact, the opposite is true. Mueller had an abundance of legitimate targets to investigate, and his failures emerged from an excess of caution, not of zeal. Especially when it came to Trump, Mueller avoided confrontations that he should have welcomed. He never issued a grand-jury subpoena for the President’s testimony, and even though his office built a compelling case for Trump’s having committed obstruction of justice, Mueller came up with reasons not to say so in his report. In light of this, Trump shouldn’t be denouncing Mueller—he should be thanking him.
The events that led to Mueller’s appointment began shortly after Trump took office, when he met several times with James Comey, the director of the F.B.I. Over dinner at the White House, on January 27, 2017, Trump said that he expected “loyalty” from Comey—specifically, as he would later make clear, he wanted an announcement from the F.B.I. that he was not under suspicion for misconduct with Russia during the campaign. At the time, Michael Flynn, Trump’s former national-security adviser, was being investigated for lying to the F.B.I. As Comey later testified, on February 14th, at a meeting in the Oval Office, the President told everyone else to leave, then asked Comey to drop the investigation of Flynn. “I hope you can see your way clear to letting this go, to letting Flynn go,” Trump said. “He is a good guy.”
Comey declined either to publicly clear Trump of wrongdoing or to close the investigation of Flynn, and the President resolved to fire him. On May 8, 2017, Trump told Rod Rosenstein, who had recently been confirmed as the Deputy Attorney General, to write a memo describing Comey’s performance as the F.B.I. director, in particular his handling of the investigation into Hillary Clinton’s use of private e-mail. The following day, Rosenstein submitted the memo and Trump fired Comey. Sean Spicer, the President’s press secretary, told reporters that the President had done so for the reasons stated in Rosenstein’s memo, but, as Trump soon confirmed in an interview with NBC’s Lester Holt and in a conversation with visiting Russian officials, the real reason was related to the Russia investigation.
Rosenstein was distraught over how the White House had used his memo. Concerned about Trump’s firing of Comey, he named an independent prosecutor, now known as a special counsel, to look into a possible connection between the Trump campaign and Russia. (Jeff Sessions, the Attorney General, had recused himself from matters relating to Russia.) Rosenstein didn’t consider anyone except Mueller for the post. Mueller had both the skills and the bipartisan credibility that the job required. Having worked in the Justice Department during the Cold War, he hardly needed lessons on the malign intentions of the government in Moscow. Mueller had been a federal prosecutor in the nineteen-eighties, the head of the Justice Department’s criminal division during the George H. W. Bush Administration, and then, starting in 2001, the F.B.I. director for twelve years. Until May 17th, when Rosenstein named him as the special counsel, Mueller knew very little about the state of the Russia investigation. Andrew McCabe, who, as Comey’s former deputy, was the acting director of the F.B.I., invited Mueller to the J. Edgar Hoover Building for a briefing.
At the first Senate Judiciary Committee hearing on the Russia investigation, on June 3, 2020, Graham opened the proceedings by saying, “It’s important to find out what the hell happened.” He wanted to know whether, when Mueller was appointed, there was any evidence that Trump’s campaign had been colluding with the Russians. McCabe’s briefing of Mueller, along with a subsequent meeting between Mueller and Rosenstein—neither of which has been previously reported—begin to address Graham’s question. These meetings demonstrate that, from the beginning, Mueller was instructed to conduct a narrow, fact-based criminal investigation.
McCabe was a generation younger than Mueller and still in awe of him. He had worked at the F.B.I. when Mueller was the director, and had attended countless meetings in what was then Mueller’s conference room, on the seventh floor of the Hoover building. He knew that Mueller was a relentless inquisitor, and that Mueller’s face, which resembles an Easter Island moai, betrayed little besides impatience. Mueller could intimidate outsiders and insiders alike with his silence. He didn’t praise subordinates; he needled them, and they came to see this goading as a sign that they were still in good standing. (“Are you done playing with your food?” he would ask those who took too long with a task.) Now, improbably, Mueller was coming to McCabe for information. As the F.B.I. director, Mueller had presided from a seat at the head of the rectangular table in the conference room. For that first meeting, after McCabe welcomed Mueller and his associates, Aaron Zebley and Jim Quarles, the acting F.B.I. director officiated from a seat at the middle of the table, a gesture of respect.
There was a long agenda, including a host of logistical matters. For one thing, Mueller’s team had no place to work. The investigation would include a great deal of sensitive information, so any space would have to be secured as a Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility, or SCIF. Mueller had begun to hire a staff of prosecutors, but he also needed F.B.I. agents and analysts assigned to his team. Rosenstein had not given the Office of Special Counsel a specific budget, but Mueller needed at least rough guidelines, and also support staff, to begin organizing his inquiries. (Mueller’s team was eventually installed in underutilized space in Patriots Plaza, a commercial building on the southwest waterfront, near Nationals Park, where the city’s major-league baseball team plays.)
The purpose of the meeting was to describe the F.B.I.’s Russia investigation to date. “We will not get through the whole story in this one meeting,” McCabe said, according to people who attended the briefing. “It’s too long and complicated. We will tell you how we got here.” McCabe told Mueller that Crossfire Hurricane—the code name for the Russia investigation—had begun shortly after the hack of the Democratic National Committee e-mails, which surfaced in July, 2016. The e-mails, which were released by WikiLeaks, showed that some Party officials had favored Clinton over Bernie Sanders, poisoning relations between the two candidates’ supporters on the eve of the Party’s convention. Around that time, the Australian government informed the F.B.I. that, in the spring of 2016, George Papadopoulos, an official from the Trump campaign, had told Alexander Downer, an Australian diplomat, that the Russians were planning to release hacked e-mails related to Clinton’s campaign. After the hacking took place, McCabe explained, the Australians told the F.B.I. about the conversation. “We’ve known for years that the Russians were probing our political systems,” McCabe said. “But July is when we say, Fuck, this is actually happening.”
McCabe told Mueller that, following the hacking and the Australian disclosures, the Bureau had started looking at Trump campaign officials who had ties to the Russians. These included Carter Page, who had become involved in pro-Russian activities and had drawn the interest of the F.B.I. almost a decade earlier, and Papadopoulos. Paul Manafort, who served for a time as Trump’s campaign chairman, had long-standing financial and political ties to the pro-Russian political party in Ukraine. McCabe said that the F.B.I. didn’t know whether Trump was aware of the connections: “Were these people just rogue morons?”
Flynn, the former national-security adviser, who had worked on the campaign, appeared to have relatively weak ties to the Russians. Between Trump’s election and his Inauguration, Flynn had spoken several times with Sergey Kislyak, the Russian Ambassador to the United States. U.S.-government surveillance revealed that the two discussed the possible easing of sanctions that the Obama Administration had imposed on Russia as punishment for its interference in the 2016 election. On January 24, 2017, after Trump Administration officials, including Vice-President Mike Pence, denied that Flynn and Kislyak had discussed the sanctions, a pair of F.B.I. agents interviewed Flynn at the White House. McCabe told Mueller that Flynn had apparently lied to the agents about his conversations with Kislyak, and said that those statements should be on Mueller’s agenda, too.
There was also the issue of possible obstruction of justice once Trump became President. The Comey-Trump encounters had led the F.B.I. to open a criminal investigation of the President for obstruction of justice shortly before Mueller was appointed. Trump’s pointed request for Comey’s “loyalty” could almost have been mistaken as the behavior of a novice. But the later meeting with Comey, when Trump asked everyone else to leave the Oval Office, was more suspicious. “It looked like Trump knew he shouldn’t do it,” McCabe said. “That’s why he kicks everyone out.”
“Then, when I got a little money, I said I’m never eating off the ground again.” Cartoon by Harry Bliss and Steve Martin Copy link to cartoon Copy link to cartoon Shop Shop
After McCabe’s briefing, Mueller, Zebley, and Quarles went to the Justice Department for an introductory meeting with Rosenstein. Rosenstein wasn’t as familiar with the evidence as McCabe and his team were, but he had a broader piece of advice for Mueller. Now that he was Mueller’s boss, it could be interpreted as a command. “I love Ken Starr,” Rosenstein said, according to people present. (Starr was the independent counsel who oversaw the Clinton Whitewater investigation; Rosenstein had been a prosecutor on the Arkansas portion of that inquiry.) “But his investigation was a fishing expedition. Don’t do that. This is a criminal investigation. Do your job, and then shut it down.”


newyorker--2020-06-29--“Shanghai,” by Megan Fernandes

“Shanghai,” by Megan Fernandes

I fell in love many times these months with certain evenings , the city awash in green Neptune light .
When I was low , I was low .
And the city welcomed it , wrestled a steady heat from my melancholy .
To be shanghaied once meant to be kidnapped against your will during a shortage of sailors .
Some were forced to sign with guns to their temples .
Others , beat unconscious , woke to the wide roaring sea , ready to serve .
It was violent .
Today , the bright plazas speed us into manic @ @ @ @ @ @ @ your executioner is coming and we all get high on the fluorescence and doom .
This is a place where I ’ ve let people down .
But the penance is different .
Not like New York with her sad gargoyles .
Instead , Shanghai has her young , surveilling moonlight .
Outside , a wild and holy river runs full of tanks and neon boats peppered below a bulbous skyline .
I fed a cat here .
And named her .
Creaturely orange , she disappeared on Hankou Road .
It broke @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that small burst of fantasy of our life together , me and her , a new origin story that keeps repeating .
It says : here , here , here .
An eternal present that keeps loss at bay .
That is the trick of this city .
It looks like a weird hope , the human species struck by a wondrous asymmetry .
There is a dimension where the cat stays .
Where I stay , too .
There is a version where the world goes uncrushed , and instead my beloveds @ @ @ @ @ @ @ laughters .
We all wake to simultaneous dawns breaking over Hong Kong and Nairobi , Guatemala City and Madrid .
When one beloved says good morning , another says , good morning .
And for another , maybe it is still night .
Here it comes again .
Night .
It starts over , but this time we have tails and survive .
We come when called .

Audio: Read by the author.
I fell in love many times these months
with certain evenings,
the city awash in green Neptune light.
When I was low, I was low.
And the city welcomed it, wrestled
a steady heat from my melancholy.
To be shanghaied once meant
to be kidnapped against your will
during a shortage of sailors.
Some were forced to sign with guns to their temples.
Others, beat unconscious, woke
to the wide roaring sea, ready to serve.
It was violent. Today, the bright plazas
speed us into manic dream,
the kind where you know
your executioner is coming
and we all get high
on the fluorescence and doom.
This is a place where I’ve let people down.
But the penance is different.
Not like New York with her sad gargoyles.
Instead, Shanghai has her young, surveilling moonlight.
Outside, a wild and holy river runs full of tanks
and neon boats peppered below a bulbous skyline.
I fed a cat here. And named her.
Creaturely orange, she disappeared on Hankou Road.
It broke up my whole day. I had that small burst of fantasy
of our life together, me and her,
a new origin story that keeps repeating.
It says: here, here, here. An eternal present that keeps loss at bay.
That is the trick of this city. It looks like a weird hope,
the human species struck by a wondrous asymmetry.
There is a dimension where the cat stays.
Where I stay, too. There is a version
where the world goes uncrushed,
and instead my beloveds multiply,
and with them, their laughters.
We all wake to simultaneous dawns
breaking over Hong Kong and Nairobi,
Guatemala City and Madrid.
When one beloved says good morning,
another says, good morning.
And for another, maybe it is still night.
Here it comes again. Night.
It starts over, but this time
we have tails and survive.
We come when called.


The Mail

I found Elizabeth Kolbert ’ s report on Iceland ’ s response to the COVID-19 pandemic thought-provoking ( “ Independent People , ” June 8th & 15th ) .
It is difficult not to compare that country ’ s actions with those of the United States , but we must recall the social factors that played a role in Iceland ’ s outcomes .
Kolbert states that by mid-May Iceland had tested 15.5 per cent of its population for the virus , which amounts to sixty thousand people .
Meanwhile , the U.S. had tested only 3.4 per cent of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in scale is important to keep in mind .
In addition , Iceland , as Kolbert mentions , possesses one of the most genetically homogeneous populations in the world—a fact that must have made virus sequencing more straightforward .
This genetic similarity also has cultural implications .
As one interviewee said , “ Everybody knows everyone in Iceland.
” A sense of solidarity may explain why Icelanders so willingly follow protocols .
Finally , Iceland ’ s geographic isolation and small size have enabled it to contain the virus more easily than a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the U.S. , can .
Although the U.S. can learn much from Iceland , we must first disentangle circumstantial variables from the Icelanders ’ proactive management of this public-health crisis .
Peter Schjeldahl , in his piece about Edward Hopper , draws attention to the artist ’ s brand of “ wary individualism ” ( The Art World , June 8th & 15th ) .
I was thus surprised that he did not mention Hopper ’ s preoccupation with women ’ s growing independence during the twentieth century .
What was Hopper trying @ @ @ @ @ @ @ at the diner in Greenwich Village in “ Nighthawks ” ?
Maybe simply that she is emancipated and working , as millions were in 1942 , to win the war .
“ Cape Cod Morning ” is similarly fixated on a woman , who is not in the kitchen but in a window , looking out at the world .
These sorts of individualistic women appear throughout Hopper ’ s œuvre .
In “ The Office at Night , ” we see a woman testing the boundaries of traditional morality ; in “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ alone in her rented room ; in “ Tables for Ladies , ” a scene in which women can have lunch by themselves , without needing a man to legitimatize the outing ; and , in “ Morning in a City , ” a nude woman standing before a window , defying convention .
Hopper was perhaps illiberal in his politics , but , as these works testify , his art was frequently about the aftermath of social revolution .
As Joan Acocella attests , Blake Gopnik ’ s biography of Andy Warhol @ @ @ @ @ @ @ date about my uncle ( Books , June 8th & 15th ) .
However , Gopnik furthers a misconception about Warhol ’ s death , in 1987 , which also goes unexamined by Acocella .
Gopnik implies that Warhol died because he waited so long to have his gallbladder removed .
While that is partially true , my family and I believe that New York Hospital made some mistakes that contributed to my uncle ’ s death from heart failure .
My family and the Warhol estate brought a wrongful-death suit against the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was settled .
Today , we marvel at the incredible influence that Warhol continues to have on the world , decades after he passed away .
Letters should be sent with the writer ’ s name , address , and daytime phone number via e-mail to themail @ newyorker.com .
Letters may be edited for length and clarity , and may be published in any medium .
We regret that owing to the volume of correspondence we can not reply to every letter .

Iceland’s Virus Strategy
I found Elizabeth Kolbert’s report on Iceland’s response to the COVID-19 pandemic thought-provoking (“Independent People,” June 8th & 15th). It is difficult not to compare that country’s actions with those of the United States, but we must recall the social factors that played a role in Iceland’s outcomes. Kolbert states that by mid-May Iceland had tested 15.5 per cent of its population for the virus, which amounts to sixty thousand people. Meanwhile, the U.S. had tested only 3.4 per cent of its population—eleven million people. That difference in scale is important to keep in mind. In addition, Iceland, as Kolbert mentions, possesses one of the most genetically homogeneous populations in the world—a fact that must have made virus sequencing more straightforward. This genetic similarity also has cultural implications. As one interviewee said, “Everybody knows everyone in Iceland.” A sense of solidarity may explain why Icelanders so willingly follow protocols. Finally, Iceland’s geographic isolation and small size have enabled it to contain the virus more easily than a large, cosmopolitan country, such as the U.S., can. Although the U.S. can learn much from Iceland, we must first disentangle circumstantial variables from the Icelanders’ proactive management of this public-health crisis.
Bernard J. Clark III
Lewes, Del.
Hopper’s Women
Peter Schjeldahl, in his piece about Edward Hopper, draws attention to the artist’s brand of “wary individualism” (The Art World, June 8th & 15th). I was thus surprised that he did not mention Hopper’s preoccupation with women’s growing independence during the twentieth century. What was Hopper trying to tell us about the woman seated at the diner in Greenwich Village in “Nighthawks”? Maybe simply that she is emancipated and working, as millions were in 1942, to win the war. “Cape Cod Morning” is similarly fixated on a woman, who is not in the kitchen but in a window, looking out at the world. These sorts of individualistic women appear throughout Hopper’s œuvre. In “The Office at Night,” we see a woman testing the boundaries of traditional morality; in “Hotel Room,” a woman reading alone in her rented room; in “Tables for Ladies,” a scene in which women can have lunch by themselves, without needing a man to legitimatize the outing; and, in “Morning in a City,” a nude woman standing before a window, defying convention. Hopper was perhaps illiberal in his politics, but, as these works testify, his art was frequently about the aftermath of social revolution.
James R. Brett
Temecula, Calif.
Remembering Warhol
As Joan Acocella attests, Blake Gopnik’s biography of Andy Warhol is probably the most complete chronicle to date about my uncle (Books, June 8th & 15th). However, Gopnik furthers a misconception about Warhol’s death, in 1987, which also goes unexamined by Acocella. Gopnik implies that Warhol died because he waited so long to have his gallbladder removed. While that is partially true, my family and I believe that New York Hospital made some mistakes that contributed to my uncle’s death from heart failure. My family and the Warhol estate brought a wrongful-death suit against the hospital, which, in 1991, was settled. Today, we marvel at the incredible influence that Warhol continues to have on the world, decades after he passed away.
James Warhola
Long Island City, N.Y.
•
Letters should be sent with the writer’s name, address, and daytime phone number via e-mail to themail@newyorker.com. Letters may be edited for length and clarity, and may be published in any medium. We regret that owing to the volume of correspondence we cannot reply to every letter.


newyorker--2020-06-29--Bill Nighy’s Obsessions, Onscreen and Off

On a recent Friday , the British actor Bill Nighy , answering a FaceTime call in his “ kitchen-cum-front-room , at home , in England , ” stood up to pause the music he was listening to : a song by the twenty-one-year-old singer-songwriter Rachel Chinouriri .
“ I found her in a Shazam , in a shop , ” he said .
He ’ d added her to a playlist he ’ d made , which included Alicia Keys , D ’ Angelo , and Mary J. Blige .
“ There aren ’ t that many people who make @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said .
“ Mary J. Blige is one of them.
” Nighy , who is seventy , wore eyeglasses , a navy V-neck sweater— “ I used to be a bit squeamish about V-neck jumpers , but I ’ m much more relaxed now ; they have to be very small and they have to be neat and they have to be navy blue ” —and a white button-down shirt .
“ I had nothing but blue shirts , so I made a conscious decision to get out of that trap , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ suppose we ’ re going for a well-turned-out librarian .
Librarian chic.
” Nighy plays a music-loving Merseyside tailor in the movie “ Sometimes Always Never , ” just released in the U.S. “ I got to work in progressive modernist knitwear that I wouldn ’ t normally have the courage to wear in real life , ” he said .
“ And when I met Carl Hunter and Roy Boulter ” —the director and a producer— “ I liked the look of them , not least because they were both wearing very @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the script , by Frank Cottrell Boyce .
“ It involved a certain sort of ironic delivery , which is something I ’ m drawn to.
” As the film begins , his character , Alan , reunites with his son , Peter ( Sam Riley ) , from whom he became estranged after the disappearance of his other son , Michael , who ran away years before , mid-Scrabble game .
They ’ re looking for answers .
As the plot unfolds , grudging British bonding occurs , and Alan seduces a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ words like “ MUZJIKS , ” and teaches his grandson to wear a suit .
The film itself has a certain ironic delivery—a stylized , whimsical aesthetic , with a mood of comic melancholy .
In creating dialogue , Nighy said , Boyce would sometimes “ YouTube me , find out stuff I ’ d said in real life , and put it in the script ” : a pro-Marmite riff from a red-carpet interview ; a definitive pronouncement on suit-jacket buttoning .
When buttoning a three-button jacket , Nighy explained , it @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , always for the middle , and never for the bottom.
“ If you meet a man with the bottom button done up , call a cab .
He ’ s not currently functioning—you shouldn ’ t be breathing the same air.
” “ Sometimes Always Never ” is set in Liverpool—the site of Nighy ’ s first professional acting gig .
He grew up in Surrey ; as a struggling actor , he sold women ’ s clothing at a stall in an old-time market .
( “ I was opposite the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ where all the girls wore cheesecloth , the long wraparound skirts .
I put the skirts on in order to advertise , and the egg man treated me with disdain .
I used to sell a lot of cheesecloth.
” ) Then he was hired by the Everyman Theatre Company , in Liverpool , where he acted alongside Julie Walters and Pete Postlethwaite .
“ I went to Liverpool in nineteen whatever the fuck ” —1974— “ and walked into what was , forty years later , described to me by an interviewer @ @ @ @ @ @ @ theatre.
’ I said , ‘ Really ?
I thought it was us just bundled into the back of a van , playing prisons and bookstores and pubs.
’ ” At fifty-three , Nighy became a household name for his role in “ Love Actually.
” He played Billy Mack , a joyfully dissolute pop icon in an open-collared getup .
Then he appeared in two “ Pirates of the Caribbean ” movies , as the dastardly Davy Jones , who has a cephalopod for a face .
“ People say , ‘ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the squid man !
’ ” he said .
( He once visited his friend Lauren Bacall for breakfast and inadvertently terrified her grandsons .
“ Their mum went to the bedroom and said , ‘ Boys , come out—Davy Jones is in the kitchen !
’ So they locked the door .
Like , ‘ Are you insane ?
’ ” ) Yet widespread recognition has its limits .
Last year , after presenting an award at the BAFTAs , Nighy said , “ I walked in the darkness of the backstage @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
I went up to her and said , ‘ You ’ re an inspiration to me .
I listen to your music every day .
Thank you.
’ She just looked at me—no idea.
” Why didn ’ t he mention “ Pirates ” ?
He laughed .
“ ‘ I ’ m the squid man , come on !
’ ” ♦

Bill Nighy Illustration by João Fazenda
On a recent Friday, the British actor Bill Nighy, answering a FaceTime call in his “kitchen-cum-front-room, at home, in England,” stood up to pause the music he was listening to: a song by the twenty-one-year-old singer-songwriter Rachel Chinouriri. “I found her in a Shazam, in a shop,” he said. He’d added her to a playlist he’d made, which included Alicia Keys, D’Angelo, and Mary J. Blige. “There aren’t that many people who make your heart go boom,” he said. “Mary J. Blige is one of them.” Nighy, who is seventy, wore eyeglasses, a navy V-neck sweater—“I used to be a bit squeamish about V-neck jumpers, but I’m much more relaxed now; they have to be very small and they have to be neat and they have to be navy blue”—and a white button-down shirt. “I had nothing but blue shirts, so I made a conscious decision to get out of that trap,” he said. “The look is—I suppose we’re going for a well-turned-out librarian. Librarian chic.”
Nighy plays a music-loving Merseyside tailor in the movie “Sometimes Always Never,” just released in the U.S. “I got to work in progressive modernist knitwear that I wouldn’t normally have the courage to wear in real life,” he said. “And when I met Carl Hunter and Roy Boulter”—the director and a producer—“I liked the look of them, not least because they were both wearing very discreet modernist brands.” He also liked the script, by Frank Cottrell Boyce. “It involved a certain sort of ironic delivery, which is something I’m drawn to.” As the film begins, his character, Alan, reunites with his son, Peter (Sam Riley), from whom he became estranged after the disappearance of his other son, Michael, who ran away years before, mid-Scrabble game. They’re looking for answers. As the plot unfolds, grudging British bonding occurs, and Alan seduces a married retiree, Scrabble-hustles an opponent with words like “MUZJIKS,” and teaches his grandson to wear a suit. The film itself has a certain ironic delivery—a stylized, whimsical aesthetic, with a mood of comic melancholy.
In creating dialogue, Nighy said, Boyce would sometimes “YouTube me, find out stuff I’d said in real life, and put it in the script”: a pro-Marmite riff from a red-carpet interview; a definitive pronouncement on suit-jacket buttoning. When buttoning a three-button jacket, Nighy explained, it’s sometimes for the top one, always for the middle, and never for the bottom.“If you meet a man with the bottom button done up, call a cab. He’s not currently functioning—you shouldn’t be breathing the same air.”
“Sometimes Always Never” is set in Liverpool—the site of Nighy’s first professional acting gig. He grew up in Surrey; as a struggling actor, he sold women’s clothing at a stall in an old-time market. (“I was opposite the egg man. It was the summer where all the girls wore cheesecloth, the long wraparound skirts. I put the skirts on in order to advertise, and the egg man treated me with disdain. I used to sell a lot of cheesecloth.”) Then he was hired by the Everyman Theatre Company, in Liverpool, where he acted alongside Julie Walters and Pete Postlethwaite. “I went to Liverpool in nineteen whatever the fuck”—1974—“and walked into what was, forty years later, described to me by an interviewer as ‘the forefront of British political theatre.’ I said, ‘Really? I thought it was us just bundled into the back of a van, playing prisons and bookstores and pubs.’ ”
At fifty-three, Nighy became a household name for his role in “Love Actually.” He played Billy Mack, a joyfully dissolute pop icon in an open-collared getup. Then he appeared in two “Pirates of the Caribbean” movies, as the dastardly Davy Jones, who has a cephalopod for a face. “People say, ‘You’re that bloke—you’re the squid man!’ ” he said. (He once visited his friend Lauren Bacall for breakfast and inadvertently terrified her grandsons. “Their mum went to the bedroom and said, ‘Boys, come out—Davy Jones is in the kitchen!’ So they locked the door. Like, ‘Are you insane?’ ”) Yet widespread recognition has its limits. Last year, after presenting an award at the BAFTAs, Nighy said, “I walked in the darkness of the backstage, and there was Mary J. Blige. I went up to her and said, ‘You’re an inspiration to me. I listen to your music every day. Thank you.’ She just looked at me—no idea.” Why didn’t he mention “Pirates”? He laughed. “ ‘I’m the squid man, come on!’ ” ♦


newyorker--2020-06-29--The Unruly Genius of Joyce Carol Oates

The Unruly Genius of Joyce Carol Oates

In Joyce Carol Oates ’ s novel “ Because It Is Bitter , and Because It Is My Heart ” ( 1990 ) , Jinx Fairchild , a star high-school athlete , is assigned a five-hundred-word paper on the topic “ I Believe.
” To his surprise , Jinx finds himself endlessly tweaking the essay— “ in a ferocity of concentration , ” Oates tells us , “ as singleminded as his concentration on basketball.
” The aim of this “ exhausting ” process is not to sharpen his syntax or to clarify his thinking but to present the truth @ @ @ @ @ @ @ his newfound sense that “ words on paper ” can be “ expressions of the soul.
” It ’ s hardly a stretch to see an allegory here for his creator ’ s own methods—his approach to composing a credo emerging as a credo in itself .
As far back as the novels in Oates ’ s Wonderland Quartet , such as “ Expensive People ” ( 1968 ) and “ them ” ( 1969 ) , which received the National Book Award fifty years ago this fall , Oates has deployed her @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of rousing roughness .
Her dozens of novels and hundreds of short stories , many of them set in western New York , forgo an air of cool mastery in favor of a kind of cultivated vulnerability , an openness to engulfment .
Human existence , in her handling , seems a primarily somatic enterprise , and her greedily adjectival prose can sometimes read like a sort of dramatized phenomenology .
Even on a bustling city street , her characters can come across as frontierspeople , or toilers on a polar expedition .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ hearts and thumping ears and watering mouths , she exhibits a refreshing freedom from embarrassment , an indifference to the concept of overkill .
Oates ’ s friend the novelist John Gardner once suggested that she try writing a story “ in which things go well , for a change.
” That hasn ’ t happened yet .
Her latest book , the enormous and frequently brilliant “ Night .
Sleep .
Death .
The Stars.
” ( Ecco ) —the forty-ninth novel she has published , if you exclude the ones she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
It begins with an act of police brutality , and proceeds to document the multifarious consequences for the victim ’ s wife and children : alcoholism , low-level criminality , marital breakdown , incipient nervous collapse .
In a 1977 journal entry , Oates acknowledged that her work turns instinctively toward what she called “ the central , centralizing act of violence that seems to symbolize something beyond itself.
” Perhaps the most heavily ironic statement in her œuvre comes in her second novel , “ A Garden of Earthly Delights ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ says , “ Nobody killed nobody , this is the United States , ” while the most characteristic piece of exposition may be found in “ Little Bird of Heaven ” ( 2009 ) : “ Daddy was bringing me home on that November evening not long before his death-by-firing-squad to a house from which he ’ d been banished by my mother.
” Among contemporary American fiction writers—and , since the deaths of Philip Roth and Toni Morrison , she possesses a strong claim to preëminence—Oates most clearly displays what Henry James @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” a faculty or frailty she often gives to her creations .
( “ Sometimes she thought idly about earthquakes , fires , buildings cracking in two , ” we read in “ them.
” “ She thought of fires , of bulldozers leveling trees and buildings.
” ) But where James wanted to tame his sense that life was ferocious and sinister , contingent and multiple , Oates taps her feeling of inner chaos as a creative resource .
James said that the artist ’ s eternal problem was how to create @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that “ relations stop nowhere ” ; Oates has talked of the elastic and the fluid .
In 1968 , she voiced a desire to publish “ a long work with many characters , many events , a jagged and unclean plot , closely tied in with ‘ reality ’ ” —a formulation that would have kept James awake for months—and , whatever the charges that have been levelled at Oates ’ s work , she can not be accused of failing to realize this ambition .
In books as disparate as her @ @ @ @ @ @ @ With Shuddering Fall ” ( 1964 ) , the celebrated urban epics “ them ” and “ Wonderland ” ( 1971 ) , the unfairly derided mystic-politico-psychosexual thriller “ The Assassins ” ( 1975 ) , the academic chamber piece “ Marya : A Life ” ( 1986 ) , the Eisenhower-era chronicle “ You Must Remember This ” ( 1987 ) , the Marilyn Monroe bio-fiction “ Blonde ” ( 2000 ) , and the post-9/11 small-town mystery “ Carthage ” ( 2014 ) , characters insist that experience is a mess @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , in “ Night .
Sleep .
Death .
The Stars.
, ” reflects that the mental mode she calls “ widow-think , ” far from helping her to navigate changed circumstances , is nothing more than “ a barely controlled panic of neurons crazily firing.
” Even in a receptive climate , such an aesthetic would surely prove divisive , and the conditions have often been harsh .
If Jinx Fairchild , straining to express his soul , is a stand-in for Oatesian principles , then Mrs. Dunphy , the senior-year English @ @ @ @ @ @ @ official literary standards .
( The scene takes place in 1957 . )
She gives Jinx a D-plus and insists that he was lucky not to receive an F. “ You know the rule , ” she says .
“ No run-on sentences.
” When Jinx resubmits his assignment , he receives a B-plus and the message is clear—in playing it safe , he is denying himself the opportunity to achieve something transcendent .
Oates ’ s portrayal of killjoy politesse might be seen as a nose thumbed at grudging book reviewers , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s strictures has deeper roots .
A high-achieving product of nineteen-fifties academe—she was the valedictorian of her graduating class at Syracuse University , in 1960—Oates rejected what she saw as the prevailing pieties of literary conduct : “ symmetry , unity of tone , precision.
” In a study of D. H. Lawrence ’ s poetry—one of a series of strikingly ambitious literary essays she has published—she took aim at the rationalist agenda promoted by the eminent critic R. P. Blackmur , who had led the Henry James revival in 1934 , with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ( “ The Art of the Novel ” ) .
In an essay on Dostoyevsky ’ s “ The Possessed , ” Oates lamented that critics with a “ Jamesian sensibility .
.
.
simply can not see ” the structure of longer novels , and argued that the loose baggy monster—in James ’ s notorious phrase— “ is loose and baggy and monstrous only to the critic who confuses his own relative short-sightedness with an aesthetic principle.
” Oates wasn ’ t alone in this crusade—at least , not at first .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ schoolgirl in Niagara County , the Nobel Prize was awarded to William Faulkner , a writer who was steeped in the work of Dostoyevsky and dismissed James as a “ prig.
” Many of the best-known novelists who emerged during those years—Lessing , Bellow , Mailer , Styron—had paid tribute to the Russian model .
In criticism , too , escape routes from the formalist cul-de-sac were taken up in , notably , Iris Murdoch ’ s polemics “ The Sublime and the Beautiful Revisited ” ( 1959 ) and “ Against Dryness @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Frank Kermode ’ s “ The Sense of an Ending ” ( 1967 ) , a study of “ the dilemma of fiction and reality ” that considers the devices used by “ The Idiot.
” And Blackmur himself had a change of heart , embracing a radical new position that yielded essays such as “ The Loose and Baggy Monsters of Henry James ” ( 1951 ) and a study of the European novel that dwells on the work of Dostoyevsky , presented as explicitly superior to the products of “ form @ @

In Joyce Carol Oates’s novel “Because It Is Bitter, and Because It Is My Heart” (1990), Jinx Fairchild, a star high-school athlete, is assigned a five-hundred-word paper on the topic “I Believe.” To his surprise, Jinx finds himself endlessly tweaking the essay—“in a ferocity of concentration,” Oates tells us, “as singleminded as his concentration on basketball.” The aim of this “exhausting” process is not to sharpen his syntax or to clarify his thinking but to present the truth as he perceives it and to demonstrate his newfound sense that “words on paper” can be “expressions of the soul.”
It’s hardly a stretch to see an allegory here for his creator’s own methods—his approach to composing a credo emerging as a credo in itself. As far back as the novels in Oates’s Wonderland Quartet, such as “Expensive People” (1968) and “them” (1969), which received the National Book Award fifty years ago this fall, Oates has deployed her zeal for revision to forge a style of rousing roughness. Her dozens of novels and hundreds of short stories, many of them set in western New York, forgo an air of cool mastery in favor of a kind of cultivated vulnerability, an openness to engulfment. Human existence, in her handling, seems a primarily somatic enterprise, and her greedily adjectival prose can sometimes read like a sort of dramatized phenomenology. Even on a bustling city street, her characters can come across as frontierspeople, or toilers on a polar expedition. As she invokes a world of pounding hearts and thumping ears and watering mouths, she exhibits a refreshing freedom from embarrassment, an indifference to the concept of overkill.
Oates’s friend the novelist John Gardner once suggested that she try writing a story “in which things go well, for a change.” That hasn’t happened yet. Her latest book, the enormous and frequently brilliant “Night. Sleep. Death. The Stars.” (Ecco)—the forty-ninth novel she has published, if you exclude the ones she has written under pseudonyms—is a characteristic work. It begins with an act of police brutality, and proceeds to document the multifarious consequences for the victim’s wife and children: alcoholism, low-level criminality, marital breakdown, incipient nervous collapse. In a 1977 journal entry, Oates acknowledged that her work turns instinctively toward what she called “the central, centralizing act of violence that seems to symbolize something beyond itself.” Perhaps the most heavily ironic statement in her œuvre comes in her second novel, “A Garden of Earthly Delights” (1967), when a woman says, “Nobody killed nobody, this is the United States,” while the most characteristic piece of exposition may be found in “Little Bird of Heaven” (2009): “Daddy was bringing me home on that November evening not long before his death-by-firing-squad to a house from which he’d been banished by my mother.” Among contemporary American fiction writers—and, since the deaths of Philip Roth and Toni Morrison, she possesses a strong claim to preëminence—Oates most clearly displays what Henry James called “the imagination of disaster,” a faculty or frailty she often gives to her creations. (“Sometimes she thought idly about earthquakes, fires, buildings cracking in two,” we read in “them.” “She thought of fires, of bulldozers leveling trees and buildings.”)
But where James wanted to tame his sense that life was ferocious and sinister, contingent and multiple, Oates taps her feeling of inner chaos as a creative resource. James said that the artist’s eternal problem was how to create a geometric pattern that disguises the fact that “relations stop nowhere”; Oates has talked of the elastic and the fluid. In 1968, she voiced a desire to publish “a long work with many characters, many events, a jagged and unclean plot, closely tied in with ‘reality’ ”—a formulation that would have kept James awake for months—and, whatever the charges that have been levelled at Oates’s work, she cannot be accused of failing to realize this ambition.
In books as disparate as her first novel, the star-crossed romance “With Shuddering Fall” (1964), the celebrated urban epics “them” and “Wonderland” (1971), the unfairly derided mystic-politico-psychosexual thriller “The Assassins” (1975), the academic chamber piece “Marya: A Life” (1986), the Eisenhower-era chronicle “You Must Remember This” (1987), the Marilyn Monroe bio-fiction “Blonde” (2000), and the post-9/11 small-town mystery “Carthage” (2014), characters insist that experience is a mess of shards and shreds. Jessalyn McClaren, in “Night. Sleep. Death. The Stars.,” reflects that the mental mode she calls “widow-think,” far from helping her to navigate changed circumstances, is nothing more than “a barely controlled panic of neurons crazily firing.”
“Got a message from Dimitri in Athens. He says your thumb is crushing his house.” Cartoon by Pia Guerra and Ian Boothby Copy link to cartoon Copy link to cartoon Shop Shop
Even in a receptive climate, such an aesthetic would surely prove divisive, and the conditions have often been harsh. If Jinx Fairchild, straining to express his soul, is a stand-in for Oatesian principles, then Mrs. Dunphy, the senior-year English teacher, could be said to embody official literary standards. (The scene takes place in 1957.) She gives Jinx a D-plus and insists that he was lucky not to receive an F. “You know the rule,” she says. “No run-on sentences.” When Jinx resubmits his assignment, he receives a B-plus and the message is clear—in playing it safe, he is denying himself the opportunity to achieve something transcendent. Oates’s portrayal of killjoy politesse might be seen as a nose thumbed at grudging book reviewers, but her attitude toward Mrs. Dunphy’s strictures has deeper roots.
A high-achieving product of nineteen-fifties academe—she was the valedictorian of her graduating class at Syracuse University, in 1960—Oates rejected what she saw as the prevailing pieties of literary conduct: “symmetry, unity of tone, precision.” In a study of D. H. Lawrence’s poetry—one of a series of strikingly ambitious literary essays she has published—she took aim at the rationalist agenda promoted by the eminent critic R. P. Blackmur, who had led the Henry James revival in 1934, with an edition of James’s prefaces (“The Art of the Novel”). In an essay on Dostoyevsky’s “The Possessed,” Oates lamented that critics with a “Jamesian sensibility . . . simply cannot see” the structure of longer novels, and argued that the loose baggy monster—in James’s notorious phrase—“is loose and baggy and monstrous only to the critic who confuses his own relative short-sightedness with an aesthetic principle.”
Oates wasn’t alone in this crusade—at least, not at first. In 1949, when she was a schoolgirl in Niagara County, the Nobel Prize was awarded to William Faulkner, a writer who was steeped in the work of Dostoyevsky and dismissed James as a “prig.” Many of the best-known novelists who emerged during those years—Lessing, Bellow, Mailer, Styron—had paid tribute to the Russian model. In criticism, too, escape routes from the formalist cul-de-sac were taken up in, notably, Iris Murdoch’s polemics “The Sublime and the Beautiful Revisited” (1959) and “Against Dryness” (1961), and in Frank Kermode’s “The Sense of an Ending” (1967), a study of “the dilemma of fiction and reality” that considers the devices used by “The Idiot.” And Blackmur himself had a change of heart, embracing a radical new position that yielded essays such as “The Loose and Baggy Monsters of Henry James” (1951) and a study of the European novel that dwells on the work of Dostoyevsky, presented as explicitly superior to the products of “form.”
What distinguishes Oates’s record is not just longevity but doggedness. For a while, she had a kindred spirit in Iris Murdoch, who, around 1970, started writing novels in a mode that Oates called “self-consciously ‘Russian,’ ” being “looser, freer, more ribald,” notable for a “breathless, plunging, unedited” voice and “unresolved, troubling, provocative endings.” By contrast, Bellow’s books became shorter and tidier, and, anyway, for all the creative ebullience—the “waterfalls of self-displaying energy”—exhibited in a novel like “Humboldt’s Gift,” his had always been, in Oates’s view, an art of “accommodation, not terror.” And Oates’s contemporary Anne Tyler, a onetime grad student in Slavic studies whose early books “resembled the meandering of streams,” had been seduced by the charms of conventional structure. Oates, all the while, favored the flood over the levee, while striving to curb the mysticism and the slaloming plotlines of the books she published in the years after completing the Wonderland Quartet. Exorbitant attacks appeared (one by James Wolcott, in Harper’s, was titled “Stop Me Before I Write Again”). But despite her view that J. D. Salinger’s “dignified withdrawal into silence is understandable,” given the “jeering and dismissive” critical response to his last published work, silence was never likely to be her path.