newyorker--2020-03-21--In Boston, Doctors Wait for the Deluge of Coronavirus Patients

The emergency department where I work has been eerily quiet this week .
On typically busy eight-hour shifts , during which we sometimes evaluate and treat as many as forty patients , we ’ ve been seeing five or six .
Halls that are often lined with patients on stretchers are empty .
Except for the occasional hoot of a heart monitor , the corridors are silent .
The hospital is preparing for what everyone fears will be a massive wave of ill patients infected with the novel coronavirus .
Regularly scheduled procedures—cardiac catheterizations to treat narrowed or blocked arteries @ @ @ @ @ @ @ replacements for arthritis—are being cancelled or postponed in an attempt to empty the hospital and free up all available resources .
Some doctors ’ offices , where patients are often evaluated before being sent to the emergency department for further testing and treatment , have closed .
It also seems that patients who otherwise might have come in to be evaluated for chest pain , abdominal pain , rash , or other routine medical complaints are staying home out of fear of exposure to the virus .
Everyone is talking about how few @ @ @ @ @ @ @ strange it feels .
A colleague on my shift pulled up a clip from the disaster movie “ Deep Impact , ” from 1998 .
The movie is about an asteroid impact on Earth ; the scene depicts a massive tsunami , generated by the force of the asteroid , rushing toward two characters on a beach .
As the towering wave approaches , it sucks the water backward off the beach , exposing the reef beyond it .
That was us on the beach : we weren ’ t seeing any patients @ @ @ @ @ @ @ into the vast COVID-19 tidal wave that was about to break on top of us .
Some are expressing hope that the slowness is evidence that social-distancing measures , such as closing bars , limiting restaurants to takeout , and discouraging nonessential social contact , may be limiting the spread of the virus .
I hope so , but I ’ m not so sure .
I ’ ve been reading Twitter missives from Italian physicians , and many of them described a similar period of spooky calm before they were inundated with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with some amazement the reorganization of the entire hospital in the past week , when our current enemy was still in the shadows , ” a critical-care physician working in Bergamo wrote .
“ The wards slowly ‘ emptied , ’ elective activities were interrupted , intensive care was freed up to create as many beds as possible.
” American hospitals , now fully aware of the potential magnitude of this outbreak , are emptying themselves out , too .
In New York , resident call rooms are being converted into barracks for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ rooms are being turned into makeshift intensive-care units .
Around the country , entire hospital floors are being transformed into isolation wards ; YouTube videos making the rounds among I.C.U .
staff show how a single ventilator can be modified to support two or even four patients at once .
“ All this rapid transformation brought an atmosphere of silence and surreal emptiness to the corridors of the hospital that we did not yet understand , waiting for a war that was yet to begin , ” the Italian physician wrote .
This @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , I ’ ve often felt as though he were describing my own hospital .
Even as we wait for the surge , we ’ ve begun to face complex decisions .
Earlier this week , a critically ill patient arrived in the emergency department with severe pneumonia .
I intubated him , placing a breathing tube into his trachea and then connecting it to a ventilator .
In terms of exposure to respiratory pathogens , including the novel coronavirus , intubation is a high-risk procedure .
The physicians and nurses that cared @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the I.C.U .
were all on edge , myself included .
Until the results of his coronavirus test came in , we wouldn ’ t know whether we might have been exposed .
“ I still remember my night call a week ago when I was waiting for the results of a [ testing ] swab , ” the Italian doctor wrote , from what I fear is our future .
“ When I think about it , my anxiety over one possible case seems almost ridiculous and unjustified , now that I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” Despite seeing fewer patients in the emergency department , we are already facing shortages of critical supplies , such as masks , face shields , gowns , gloves , and even bleach wipes .
The hospitals where I work have seen utilization of these supplies increase by an order of magnitude since just last week , as staff have begun using them more often , as a precaution .
We ’ re also running out of nasal swabs .
Without them , we can ’ t obtain samples from patients to test @ @ @ @ @ @ @ news has been full of articles mentioning “ ventilators ” and “ respirators.
” The words sound similar , but they mean different things .
A ventilator is a large , complex mechanical device that pumps air into the lungs of a patient .
A respirator is simpler : it ’ s a paper mask held snugly against the face with elastic bands , containing a filter that removes ninety-five per cent of particles greater than three microns in diameter .
( For this reason , it ’ s often called an “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ smaller than three microns in size , the water droplets on which they travel through the air are large enough to get caught .
They , too , are in short supply .
In New Jersey , a physician I know of needed to examine a patient with symptoms suggestive of COVID-19 ; he was told that respirators were only available for doctors working with confirmed cases .
I heard a similar story about a cardiologist in Houston assessing a COVID-19-positive patient—he was told that respirators weren ’ t available at all .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ myself , but I ’ m concerned about what lies ahead .
My own risk of becoming infected is already high , even with adequate protective equipment .
And it ’ s not just my own safety that could be jeopardized .
What if I infect my partner ?
My loved ones ?
My patients ?
It is possible for the virus to be transmitted by asymptomatic carriers .
I might never even know that I was the vector that brought the disease to those closest to me .
Hospital leaders everywhere have @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lot of what we need is manufactured in China , however , and so its availability is limited .
A few days ago , the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention recommended that health-care workers consider using bandanas or scarves in place of the missing masks , as a “ last resort.
” When I first read the advisory , I thought it was a joke .
Some hospitals are distributing instructions for making homemade surgical masks and face shields .
An emergency physician I work with has contacted everyone he knows in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ masks or respirators ; those wouldn ’ t be medical-grade equipment , but they ’ d probably be better than a bandana .
The president of Massachusetts General Hospital , where I work , has urged private companies with 3-D printers to try manufacturing masks that way .
A few days ago , a family friend of ours , a retired obstetrician , arrived at our doorstep .
Wearing a bandana over her face , she handed over a box of construction masks as a donation for the hospital .
They were left @ @ @ @ @ @ @

The emergency department where I work has been eerily quiet this week. On typically busy eight-hour shifts, during which we sometimes evaluate and treat as many as forty patients, we’ve been seeing five or six. Halls that are often lined with patients on stretchers are empty. Except for the occasional hoot of a heart monitor, the corridors are silent.
The hospital is preparing for what everyone fears will be a massive wave of ill patients infected with the novel coronavirus. Regularly scheduled procedures—cardiac catheterizations to treat narrowed or blocked arteries, radiation treatments for cancer, hip replacements for arthritis—are being cancelled or postponed in an attempt to empty the hospital and free up all available resources. Some doctors’ offices, where patients are often evaluated before being sent to the emergency department for further testing and treatment, have closed. It also seems that patients who otherwise might have come in to be evaluated for chest pain, abdominal pain, rash, or other routine medical complaints are staying home out of fear of exposure to the virus.
Everyone is talking about how few patients have been coming in and how strange it feels. A colleague on my shift pulled up a clip from the disaster movie “Deep Impact,” from 1998. The movie is about an asteroid impact on Earth; the scene depicts a massive tsunami, generated by the force of the asteroid, rushing toward two characters on a beach. As the towering wave approaches, it sucks the water backward off the beach, exposing the reef beyond it. That was us on the beach: we weren’t seeing any patients because they were all being sucked up into the vast COVID-19 tidal wave that was about to break on top of us.
Some are expressing hope that the slowness is evidence that social-distancing measures, such as closing bars, limiting restaurants to takeout, and discouraging nonessential social contact, may be limiting the spread of the virus. I hope so, but I’m not so sure. I’ve been reading Twitter missives from Italian physicians, and many of them described a similar period of spooky calm before they were inundated with COVID-19 patients. “I myself watched with some amazement the reorganization of the entire hospital in the past week, when our current enemy was still in the shadows,” a critical-care physician working in Bergamo wrote. “The wards slowly ‘emptied,’ elective activities were interrupted, intensive care was freed up to create as many beds as possible.” American hospitals, now fully aware of the potential magnitude of this outbreak, are emptying themselves out, too. In New York, resident call rooms are being converted into barracks for COVID-19 patients; in Seattle, operating rooms are being turned into makeshift intensive-care units. Around the country, entire hospital floors are being transformed into isolation wards; YouTube videos making the rounds among I.C.U. staff show how a single ventilator can be modified to support two or even four patients at once.
“All this rapid transformation brought an atmosphere of silence and surreal emptiness to the corridors of the hospital that we did not yet understand, waiting for a war that was yet to begin,” the Italian physician wrote. This week, reading and rereading his words, I’ve often felt as though he were describing my own hospital.
Even as we wait for the surge, we’ve begun to face complex decisions. Earlier this week, a critically ill patient arrived in the emergency department with severe pneumonia. I intubated him, placing a breathing tube into his trachea and then connecting it to a ventilator. In terms of exposure to respiratory pathogens, including the novel coronavirus, intubation is a high-risk procedure. The physicians and nurses that cared for him before he was transferred to the I.C.U. were all on edge, myself included. Until the results of his coronavirus test came in, we wouldn’t know whether we might have been exposed. “I still remember my night call a week ago when I was waiting for the results of a [testing] swab,” the Italian doctor wrote, from what I fear is our future. “When I think about it, my anxiety over one possible case seems almost ridiculous and unjustified, now that I’ve seen what’s happening.”
Despite seeing fewer patients in the emergency department, we are already facing shortages of critical supplies, such as masks, face shields, gowns, gloves, and even bleach wipes. The hospitals where I work have seen utilization of these supplies increase by an order of magnitude since just last week, as staff have begun using them more often, as a precaution. We’re also running out of nasal swabs. Without them, we can’t obtain samples from patients to test for the coronavirus.
Lately, the news has been full of articles mentioning “ventilators” and “respirators.” The words sound similar, but they mean different things. A ventilator is a large, complex mechanical device that pumps air into the lungs of a patient. A respirator is simpler: it’s a paper mask held snugly against the face with elastic bands, containing a filter that removes ninety-five per cent of particles greater than three microns in diameter. (For this reason, it’s often called an “N95.”) Although viruses are substantially smaller than three microns in size, the water droplets on which they travel through the air are large enough to get caught.
They, too, are in short supply. In New Jersey, a physician I know of needed to examine a patient with symptoms suggestive of COVID-19; he was told that respirators were only available for doctors working with confirmed cases. I heard a similar story about a cardiologist in Houston assessing a COVID-19-positive patient—he was told that respirators weren’t available at all. I have yet to face this situation myself, but I’m concerned about what lies ahead. My own risk of becoming infected is already high, even with adequate protective equipment. And it’s not just my own safety that could be jeopardized. What if I infect my partner? My loved ones? My patients? It is possible for the virus to be transmitted by asymptomatic carriers. I might never even know that I was the vector that brought the disease to those closest to me.
Hospital leaders everywhere have been frantically looking for supplies. A lot of what we need is manufactured in China, however, and so its availability is limited. A few days ago, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention recommended that health-care workers consider using bandanas or scarves in place of the missing masks, as a “last resort.” When I first read the advisory, I thought it was a joke.
Some hospitals are distributing instructions for making homemade surgical masks and face shields. An emergency physician I work with has contacted everyone he knows in the construction business to ask for face masks or respirators; those wouldn’t be medical-grade equipment, but they’d probably be better than a bandana. The president of Massachusetts General Hospital, where I work, has urged private companies with 3-D printers to try manufacturing masks that way. A few days ago, a family friend of ours, a retired obstetrician, arrived at our doorstep. Wearing a bandana over her face, she handed over a box of construction masks as a donation for the hospital. They were left over from a recent home-remodelling project.
My hospital is currently recommending that single-use items—surgical masks, respirators, face shields—be recycled unless they are soiled, so that they can be used for an entire shift. Brown paper bags and plastic bowls have been handed out to store these items, with our names written on the sides in Sharpie. I upgraded, buying a Tupperware container in which to store my own supplies. I also swung by Home Depot to buy a pair of plastic safety goggles, since we didn’t have any available in the E.R.
Regular people are running out of things, too. This week, at one of the smaller satellite hospitals where I work, I saw an alcoholic who, due to store closures, hadn’t been able to buy alcohol for several days. Withdrawal from alcohol feels terrible, and severe cases can be life threatening; to stave off withdrawal, the patient had consumed all the mouthwash in the house. (Mouthwash contains alcohol, along with other substances that are toxic.) I’m sure that we’ll start to see patients with chronic conditions, such as heart failure or diabetes, enter the hospital as they begin running out of their prescription medications. My colleagues wonder if, in addition to the COVID-19-wave, we’ll see a wave of regular people who are sicker than usual: they may delay seeking care, riding out heart attacks, strokes, or gallbladder infections at home instead of coming to the E.R. and risking exposure.
If anxiety is running high in the emergency department, it’s doing so everywhere else, too. In the E.R., I’ve already seen more than one suicide attempt triggered by fear of the pandemic. My fiancée recently started watching “Contagion,” the Steven Soderbergh film, from 2011, about a lethal virus that erupts out of Macau; she had to turn it off because it felt too real. (The medical details in the film are unsettlingly true to life.) Another friend who is pregnant told me that she worries that her level of anxiety could trigger premature labor; that fear, in turn, is making her even more anxious.
The pandemic is already causing our slipshod mental-health system to falter. In one of the satellite emergency departments where I work, a patient was denied a bed in a psychiatric facility because she had a single recorded temperature of 99.2 degrees. Never mind that fever is defined as a temperature greater than 100.4; the facility wouldn’t budge—a “normal” body temperature was 98.6, they said, and they weren’t taking any chances. That patient is still stuck in the E.R., with nowhere to go. I’m concerned about what will happen when patients run out of their psychiatric medications and can’t get in to see their therapists or psychiatrists due to office closures. Will we have a third wave of distressed, anxious, or psychotic patients flooding the E.R. in the weeks ahead?
What are we really in for? At the hospital, that’s the question that’s on everyone’s mind. After vividly describing the strange emptiness we are now experiencing, the Italian doctors on Twitter recount something scarier. “The war has literally exploded and battles are uninterrupted day and night,” the physician from Bergamo wrote. “One after the other the departments that had been emptied fill up at an impressive pace. Cases are multiplying . . . . The results of the swabs now come one after the other: positive, positive, positive. Suddenly the ER is collapsing . . . . We no longer see our families for fear of infecting them. Some of us have already become infected despite the protocols.” Another Italian physician reports treating “hundreds of patients with severe respiratory failure.” Such patients need to be intubated and placed on a ventilator; the physician can offer them nothing more than oxygen masks, which are unlikely to stave off death.
In New York City, the wave already seems to be breaking. On the GroupMe discussion threads I share with med-school and physician friends, I’ve seen panicked messages about I.C.U.s there filling up at alarming rates. The number of positive cases has increased tenfold in just one week. The city’s E.R.s are already above capacity, and several Bronx hospitals are nearly out of ventilators. The future no longer seems so far away.
More Medical Dispatches


newyorker--2020-03-21--Inside a New Effort to Create Guidelines for Treating COVID-19 Patients

On Friday , a team at Brigham and Women ’ s Hospital , in Boston , which is affiliated with Harvard Medical School , released guidelines for treating patients who become critically ill with COVID-19 , at the Web site covidprotocols.org .
The document is a work in progress , which will be updated as its creators receive feedback from other physicians and gather more information about the course of the disease .
As they are today , the guidelines offer medical professionals advice for a multitude of possible scenarios , from how to lower the risk of airborne transmission @ @ @ @ @ @ @ treat cancer patients who contract the virus .
Two final sections , “ The Role of Palliative Care ” and “ Ethical Considerations and Resource Allocation , ” remain blank , with the note , “ This section is in progress.
” On Friday , I spoke by phone with Dr. C. Lee Cohen , who led the effort to compile the guidelines .
Cohen , a pulmonary and critical-care fellow at Brigham and Women ’ s Hospital , has a background in global health .
During our conversation , which has been @ @ @ @ @ @ @ discussed what she learned from doctors in China , whether health-care professionals should become more willing to experiment because of the scope of the pandemic , and how much death and suffering could be prevented with unlimited medical resources .
What was your process in compiling these guidelines ?
We pretty rapidly created a task force among the pulmonary and critical-care departments , and had a series of meetings related to that , and assigned sections to different individuals to create initial drafts , and then solicited opinions from our department as a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ assistance in terms of looking up information from residents and medical students and many people who were interested and excited to help out .
And then we had an extremely long Zoom meeting where we tried to develop a consensus among ourselves about what the best practices ought to be .
And then there was a period of revision and homogenization and editing , and now , obviously , we have put it out into the world and are open to a lot of comments and are correcting things as they come in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to actual major clinical conundrums or disagreements .
The Society of Critical Care Medicine also just came out with their recommendations , so I am going to make sure ours correspond with theirs , and where there are conflicts , bring them up with our smaller task force .
Were there things that were debated or that were particularly hard , or where you think there are good arguments for doing things in different ways ?
I think the single biggest thing that has come up , and the single biggest thing that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the availability of resources .
And we consciously made this document for current-tense situations .
And a lot of times there were debates about , “ Well , this is going to be irrelevant , ” but we intend and probably will plan to do different versions of this guide for different degrees of resource limitation .
But we don ’ t want to preëmptively make clinical decisions based on future resource limitations .
And the issues that would come up in these future scenarios are about how to ration care or equipment @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Or even medications .
And then the intensity of treatment .
Many of the things that we mentioned only make sense in coördination with each other .
With a lot of critical-care things , you don ’ t want to give one person something and somebody else a different thing .
It makes more sense to have a coördinated approach .
But these are questions that are actually more on the ethical side of things than the clinical side of things .
And there is an entirely separate group of people who are @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is why we are working on a protocol for current-tense situations , and when we move into different phases of this epidemic , we will adjust according to that .
What were the things you felt were the most important to highlight , for medical professionals or for ordinary people who should have some idea about what doctors and nurses and health professionals are wrestling with ?
We live in a world where we are used to making decisions based on the concerted efforts of many people to study things for long periods @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to make recommendations based on very brief case theories that are published during the middle of us creating these documents .
Things are changing absolutely constantly , and that has to change how we think about evidence-based medicine , which is one of the reasons that the open-sourced format for this is so incredibly important .
It can ’ t be a static document .
What does it mean , in practice , that you have to change how you practice medicine and how you think about evidence-based medicine ?
I think a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ not to use the medication Plaquenil—hydroxychloroquine is the non-brand name—that has gotten a lot of press recently .
[ A French clinical trial indicated that hydroxychloroquine , an old malarial drug , may be an effective treatment for COVID-19 . ]
We don ’ t wholly understand the mechanism , but we have some theories about the mechanism .
China is starting to roll it out in certain places , but it is really not well researched at this time .
Some U.S. programs are doing it .
Some U.S. programs are not @ @ @ @ @ @ @ forum for that to be debated among smart people and smart choices to be made .
Is your feeling that the American medical system is more likely to take risks where it shouldn ’ t , or more likely to be too conservative when it needs to be experimental , given what we are facing ?
It ’ s a great question .
I would say that , as a whole , the profession , with good reasons , tends toward conservatism , and I think that this going to change that , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be thoughtful about how it changes that .
Did doctors from other countries have special lessons to impart ?
Oh , absolutely .
It was a challenge for language reasons , and for the simple fact that all of us are working constantly .
So people don ’ t really have the time to create these things right now .
They have the time to contribute small parts for sure , but they don ’ t have the time to really hash it out .
There are a lot of anecdotal things that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the public data , by necessity .
And we definitely had many PowerPoints and talks from colleagues in Wuhan , China , that were incorporated into here .
The Italy experience has been a little harder to access because they are so in the thick of it , and it is hard for them to publish right now and make public presentations about these things .
But we have tried as much as possible to incorporate from colleagues there what they learned , and from colleagues around the United States , as well @ @ @ @ @ @ @ we are , especially in Seattle .
Was there one thing that stood out that you learned from people abroad ?
I think the major thing I have learned from that are the absolute importance of policy-level containment strategies—things like a centralized quarantine , which we don ’ t do yet , and I very much wish that we would , and things like cohorted wards and policies toward health workers ’ personal protective equipment .
These things are not even in our clinical guidelines , but they were for me personally some @ @ @ @ @ @ @ learned from the slides of people in Wuhan .

On Friday, a team at Brigham and Women’s Hospital, in Boston, which is affiliated with Harvard Medical School, released guidelines for treating patients who become critically ill with COVID-19, at the Web site covidprotocols.org. The document is a work in progress, which will be updated as its creators receive feedback from other physicians and gather more information about the course of the disease. As they are today, the guidelines offer medical professionals advice for a multitude of possible scenarios, from how to lower the risk of airborne transmission from patients on respirators to how to treat cancer patients who contract the virus. Two final sections, “The Role of Palliative Care” and “Ethical Considerations and Resource Allocation,” remain blank, with the note, “This section is in progress.”
On Friday, I spoke by phone with Dr. C. Lee Cohen, who led the effort to compile the guidelines. Cohen, a pulmonary and critical-care fellow at Brigham and Women’s Hospital, has a background in global health. During our conversation, which has been edited for length and clarity, we discussed what she learned from doctors in China, whether health-care professionals should become more willing to experiment because of the scope of the pandemic, and how much death and suffering could be prevented with unlimited medical resources.
What was your process in compiling these guidelines?
We pretty rapidly created a task force among the pulmonary and critical-care departments, and had a series of meetings related to that, and assigned sections to different individuals to create initial drafts, and then solicited opinions from our department as a whole, and solicited a lot of assistance in terms of looking up information from residents and medical students and many people who were interested and excited to help out. And then we had an extremely long Zoom meeting where we tried to develop a consensus among ourselves about what the best practices ought to be. And then there was a period of revision and homogenization and editing, and now, obviously, we have put it out into the world and are open to a lot of comments and are correcting things as they come in, from typos all the way up to actual major clinical conundrums or disagreements. The Society of Critical Care Medicine also just came out with their recommendations, so I am going to make sure ours correspond with theirs, and where there are conflicts, bring them up with our smaller task force.
Were there things that were debated or that were particularly hard, or where you think there are good arguments for doing things in different ways?
I think the single biggest thing that has come up, and the single biggest thing that will continue to come up, is the availability of resources. And we consciously made this document for current-tense situations. And a lot of times there were debates about, “Well, this is going to be irrelevant,” but we intend and probably will plan to do different versions of this guide for different degrees of resource limitation. But we don’t want to preëmptively make clinical decisions based on future resource limitations.
And the issues that would come up in these future scenarios are about how to ration care or equipment?
To some degree, yeah. Or even medications. And then the intensity of treatment. Many of the things that we mentioned only make sense in coördination with each other. With a lot of critical-care things, you don’t want to give one person something and somebody else a different thing. It makes more sense to have a coördinated approach. But these are questions that are actually more on the ethical side of things than the clinical side of things. And there is an entirely separate group of people who are working on that, and so that is why we are working on a protocol for current-tense situations, and when we move into different phases of this epidemic, we will adjust according to that.
What were the things you felt were the most important to highlight, for medical professionals or for ordinary people who should have some idea about what doctors and nurses and health professionals are wrestling with?
We live in a world where we are used to making decisions based on the concerted efforts of many people to study things for long periods of time. And we are having to make recommendations based on very brief case theories that are published during the middle of us creating these documents. Things are changing absolutely constantly, and that has to change how we think about evidence-based medicine, which is one of the reasons that the open-sourced format for this is so incredibly important. It can’t be a static document.
What does it mean, in practice, that you have to change how you practice medicine and how you think about evidence-based medicine?
I think a good case in point is whether or not to use the medication Plaquenil—hydroxychloroquine is the non-brand name—that has gotten a lot of press recently. [A French clinical trial indicated that hydroxychloroquine, an old malarial drug, may be an effective treatment for COVID-19.] We don’t wholly understand the mechanism, but we have some theories about the mechanism. China is starting to roll it out in certain places, but it is really not well researched at this time. Some U.S. programs are doing it. Some U.S. programs are not doing it. And we need a forum for that to be debated among smart people and smart choices to be made.
Is your feeling that the American medical system is more likely to take risks where it shouldn’t, or more likely to be too conservative when it needs to be experimental, given what we are facing?
It’s a great question. I would say that, as a whole, the profession, with good reasons, tends toward conservatism, and I think that this going to change that, and necessarily. But we need to be thoughtful about how it changes that.
Did doctors from other countries have special lessons to impart?
Oh, absolutely. It was a challenge for language reasons, and for the simple fact that all of us are working constantly. So people don’t really have the time to create these things right now. They have the time to contribute small parts for sure, but they don’t have the time to really hash it out. There are a lot of anecdotal things that have been incorporated there in addition to the public data, by necessity. And we definitely had many PowerPoints and talks from colleagues in Wuhan, China, that were incorporated into here. The Italy experience has been a little harder to access because they are so in the thick of it, and it is hard for them to publish right now and make public presentations about these things. But we have tried as much as possible to incorporate from colleagues there what they learned, and from colleagues around the United States, as well, who are several weeks from where we are, especially in Seattle.
Was there one thing that stood out that you learned from people abroad?
I think the major thing I have learned from that are the absolute importance of policy-level containment strategies—things like a centralized quarantine, which we don’t do yet, and I very much wish that we would, and things like cohorted wards and policies toward health workers’ personal protective equipment. These things are not even in our clinical guidelines, but they were for me personally some of the most important lessons that I learned from the slides of people in Wuhan.
Can you say more about what you mean by “centralized quarantine” and “cohorted wards” and why they could be important?
Sure. So “centralized quarantine” means that, if you test positive for the coronavirus, instead of going back to your home to be quarantined in your home, you are actually quarantined in a central location. China did a lot of very good work, either quarantining people in their home and bringing them food so they didn’t have to leave or quarantining them in central locations so people could be monitored, and if they developed worsening symptoms their care could be taken to a hospital faster, and, very importantly, so they didn’t infect other people.


newyorker--2020-03-21--Finding Connection During Coronavirus Quarantine with Animal Crossing: New Horizons

Eighteen years ago , when I first played the video game Animal Crossing , I had few responsibilities and an excess of leisure time .
Like many young people , I believed that this arrangement would be permanent .
I spent hours cross-legged on the floor , roaming the pastoral town in which my character hoped to build a new life .
My own life was characterized by idleness , but in the game I was heroically industrious , inspired by the security of routine .
I fished and foraged , or befriended my neighbor , or decorated my home @ @ @ @ @ @ @ entering seemed overwhelmingly complex .
Here , onscreen , was a vision of life that could be ordered , understood , and—so long as I paid off my virtual mortgage—perhaps even won .
My girlfriend was not a keen player of video games , but even she found refuge in the world ’ s gentle rhythms .
We often sent each other gifts and notes using the game ’ s postal service—trinkets of affection that somehow had as much meaning as a necklace or a bottle of aftershave .
We were enjoying , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of connection that Animal Crossing ’ s designer , Katsuya Eguchi , wanted to create .
Eguchi joined Nintendo , in 1986 , at the age of twenty-one and found himself alone , in a new city , severed from friends and family .
Even as he climbed the company ladder , he routinely had to work past his children ’ s bedtime .
Animal Crossing was his response : a game in which people , playing at different times , could bond in unprecedented ways .
Eguchi could finally spend time with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the series , Animal Crossing : New Horizons , was released on Friday .
In a strange turn , a franchise born from solitude and estrangement now finds itself in a world of quarantine , and for many players New Horizons will offer a sublime escape .
Having started a new life on a desert island , they can enjoy the experience of visiting neighbors ’ houses , browsing fully stocked shop shelves , and hopping on a plane to visit a friend .
They can interact with anybody , anytime , without @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , the series ’ s current director , told me , “ the game can provide those practicing social isolation with a place that can relieve them of anxiety and stress.
” Of course , in a medium dominated by shooters and war games , Animal Crossing always seemed to present a kinder , more subtle mode of play .
One of the game ’ s cardinal virtues is that it happens in real time .
The sun rises and sets in accordance with our own , and the seasons move in step @ @ @ @ @ @ @ make way for the first buds of spring .
In autumn , tree leaves bronze and fall .
Winter rains fill the streams with migrant species of fish , which can be caught and sold or donated to the local museum .
Each new day brings a fresh eruption of life and potential .
The result , all the more likely if you ’ re trapped at home , is that the game becomes a fixture in your daily routine .
Each morning , you might tour the island , dig up the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , pluck some fruit to sell at market , browse items in the village shop , and check in with your neighbors .
The game ’ s overarching objectives—weeding , bridge-building , the organization of a pop concert—aren ’ t urgent , and wasps that chase you are the only villains .
The game ’ s demands are rarely overwhelming .
It ’ s merely life , lived somewhere else .
Like life , New Horizons has some familiar figures—namely Tom Nook , a local businessman who has appeared in every Animal Crossing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a pun on the Japanese word for his species , Tanuki , or raccoon dog ) funds your relocation to the island , and the construction of your home , via loans that must be repaid by carrying out errands or selling the resources that you have caught or foraged .
He encourages you to borrow ever greater sums , in order to pay for ever larger properties furnished with an ever wider variety of belongings , which are sold exclusively through the shop that he owns .
( Your interior décor is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ judges , who issue a score that is delivered via letter . )
Although the rest of the game represents a return to a simpler , bucolic way of life , Nook will seem less alien to a contemporary audience .
His argument , implicit throughout , is that wealth is necessary , not just for material comfort but for a reputable standing in the community .
It is possible , in New Horizons , to slip the game ’ s industrialist framework and eke out an alternative , hunter-gatherer life style , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ begin .
But the game is designed to incentivize working with Nook .
He asks you to pick out the plot for the village shop and museum ; he asks for suggestions about where to place the houses that his company will build for newcomers .
“ Together we ’ re reshaping this barren wastela—I mean , pristine paradise—into a lovely community , ” he says , early into your partnership .
The line could have been plucked from a debate about gentrification , but Nook ’ s creators insist that he ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ It may seem like Nook is an evil guy who takes all your money , but I want you to know that he is a real nice guy , ” the producer Hisashi Nogami told me .
New Horizons subscribes to a specific , materialist vision of society , but it also offers the opportunity to transcend that vision and to find purpose in mundane acts of kindness and reciprocity .
In wheedling its way into a player ’ s routine , the Animal Crossing series anticipated a quality that is now @ @ @ @ @ @ @ use hooks and incentives—the promise of virtual costumes or currency , say—to make their work a daily appointment .
But where most games seek to exploit those hooks in order to turn a diversion into an obsession , Animal Crossing pursues a more nourishing model .
Its goal is not to steal us away from life but to attune us to its pleasures .
If left untended , your village becomes overrun with weeds .
When you return to the game , a neighbor may remind you , pointedly , about how long @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
You may even discover letters in your in-box that remind you of a lapsed friendship or a departed love .
Just as the game provided a reassuring rhythm two decades ago , in my journey from adolescence to adulthood , so it can remind us of the value of connection—and retreat—in the midst of a pandemic .

Eighteen years ago, when I first played the video game Animal Crossing, I had few responsibilities and an excess of leisure time. Like many young people, I believed that this arrangement would be permanent. I spent hours cross-legged on the floor, roaming the pastoral town in which my character hoped to build a new life. My own life was characterized by idleness, but in the game I was heroically industrious, inspired by the security of routine. I fished and foraged, or befriended my neighbor, or decorated my home. The adult world that I was entering seemed overwhelmingly complex. Here, onscreen, was a vision of life that could be ordered, understood, and—so long as I paid off my virtual mortgage—perhaps even won.
My girlfriend was not a keen player of video games, but even she found refuge in the world’s gentle rhythms. We often sent each other gifts and notes using the game’s postal service—trinkets of affection that somehow had as much meaning as a necklace or a bottle of aftershave. We were enjoying, I now realize, precisely the sense of connection that Animal Crossing’s designer, Katsuya Eguchi, wanted to create. Eguchi joined Nintendo, in 1986, at the age of twenty-one and found himself alone, in a new city, severed from friends and family. Even as he climbed the company ladder, he routinely had to work past his children’s bedtime. Animal Crossing was his response: a game in which people, playing at different times, could bond in unprecedented ways. Eguchi could finally spend time with his children.
The latest entry in the series, Animal Crossing: New Horizons, was released on Friday. In a strange turn, a franchise born from solitude and estrangement now finds itself in a world of quarantine, and for many players New Horizons will offer a sublime escape. Having started a new life on a desert island, they can enjoy the experience of visiting neighbors’ houses, browsing fully stocked shop shelves, and hopping on a plane to visit a friend. They can interact with anybody, anytime, without fear of infection. As Aya Kyogoku, the series’s current director, told me, “the game can provide those practicing social isolation with a place that can relieve them of anxiety and stress.”
Of course, in a medium dominated by shooters and war games, Animal Crossing always seemed to present a kinder, more subtle mode of play. One of the game’s cardinal virtues is that it happens in real time. The sun rises and sets in accordance with our own, and the seasons move in step with the calendar. Ice thaws to make way for the first buds of spring. In autumn, tree leaves bronze and fall. Winter rains fill the streams with migrant species of fish, which can be caught and sold or donated to the local museum. Each new day brings a fresh eruption of life and potential.
The result, all the more likely if you’re trapped at home, is that the game becomes a fixture in your daily routine. Each morning, you might tour the island, dig up the handful of fossils that have surfaced overnight, pluck some fruit to sell at market, browse items in the village shop, and check in with your neighbors. The game’s overarching objectives—weeding, bridge-building, the organization of a pop concert—aren’t urgent, and wasps that chase you are the only villains. The game’s demands are rarely overwhelming. It’s merely life, lived somewhere else.
Like life, New Horizons has some familiar figures—namely Tom Nook, a local businessman who has appeared in every Animal Crossing game. Nook (whose name is a pun on the Japanese word for his species, Tanuki, or raccoon dog) funds your relocation to the island, and the construction of your home, via loans that must be repaid by carrying out errands or selling the resources that you have caught or foraged. He encourages you to borrow ever greater sums, in order to pay for ever larger properties furnished with an ever wider variety of belongings, which are sold exclusively through the shop that he owns. (Your interior décor is regularly appraised by a panel of unseen judges, who issue a score that is delivered via letter.) Although the rest of the game represents a return to a simpler, bucolic way of life, Nook will seem less alien to a contemporary audience. His argument, implicit throughout, is that wealth is necessary, not just for material comfort but for a reputable standing in the community.
It is possible, in New Horizons, to slip the game’s industrialist framework and eke out an alternative, hunter-gatherer life style, with only the tent with which you begin. But the game is designed to incentivize working with Nook. He asks you to pick out the plot for the village shop and museum; he asks for suggestions about where to place the houses that his company will build for newcomers. “Together we’re reshaping this barren wastela—I mean, pristine paradise—into a lovely community,” he says, early into your partnership. The line could have been plucked from a debate about gentrification, but Nook’s creators insist that he’s more than a craven developer. “It may seem like Nook is an evil guy who takes all your money, but I want you to know that he is a real nice guy,” the producer Hisashi Nogami told me.
New Horizons subscribes to a specific, materialist vision of society, but it also offers the opportunity to transcend that vision and to find purpose in mundane acts of kindness and reciprocity. In wheedling its way into a player’s routine, the Animal Crossing series anticipated a quality that is now common in video games, whose designers use hooks and incentives—the promise of virtual costumes or currency, say—to make their work a daily appointment. But where most games seek to exploit those hooks in order to turn a diversion into an obsession, Animal Crossing pursues a more nourishing model. Its goal is not to steal us away from life but to attune us to its pleasures. If left untended, your village becomes overrun with weeds. When you return to the game, a neighbor may remind you, pointedly, about how long it has been since your last visit. You may even discover letters in your in-box that remind you of a lapsed friendship or a departed love. Just as the game provided a reassuring rhythm two decades ago, in my journey from adolescence to adulthood, so it can remind us of the value of connection—and retreat—in the midst of a pandemic.


newyorker--2020-03-21--Forty Per Cent of Nation’s Toilet Paper Found in Richard Burr’s Garage

WASHINGTON ( The Borowitz Report—In a new controversy ensnaring the chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee , forty per cent of the nation ’ s toilet-paper supply has been found in Senator Richard Burr ’ s garage .
The discovery of the coveted paper products occurred on Saturday morning , when Burr , who had been checking stock quotes on his phone , accidentally leaned against his garage-door opener .
The garage immediately disgorged the priceless cache of toilet paper , which tumbled into the street and snarled traffic for three blocks .
Picking through the mess , a sharp-eyed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Costco receipt indicating that the senator had purchased the toilet paper in early January , shortly after he received classified information about the potential scope of the COVID-19 pandemic .
In an official statement , Burr angrily denied that there was “ anything inappropriate ” about the mountain of toilet paper he was hiding in his garage .
“ My wife buys all of the toilet paper in our house and has done so since we wed , in 1984 , ” he said .
“ I have never been a part of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ imply otherwise is a malicious hit job.
” Burr said that , in order to dispel any suspicions about his actions , he was offering to donate the toilet paper to U.S. citizens for only thirty dollars a roll .

WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report—In a new controversy ensnaring the chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee, forty per cent of the nation’s toilet-paper supply has been found in Senator Richard Burr’s garage.
The discovery of the coveted paper products occurred on Saturday morning, when Burr, who had been checking stock quotes on his phone, accidentally leaned against his garage-door opener.
The garage immediately disgorged the priceless cache of toilet paper, which tumbled into the street and snarled traffic for three blocks.
Picking through the mess, a sharp-eyed neighbor of Burr’s found a Costco receipt indicating that the senator had purchased the toilet paper in early January, shortly after he received classified information about the potential scope of the COVID-19 pandemic.
In an official statement, Burr angrily denied that there was “anything inappropriate” about the mountain of toilet paper he was hiding in his garage.
“My wife buys all of the toilet paper in our house and has done so since we wed, in 1984,” he said. “I have never been a part of those decisions, and any attempt to imply otherwise is a malicious hit job.”
Burr said that, in order to dispel any suspicions about his actions, he was offering to donate the toilet paper to U.S. citizens for only thirty dollars a roll.


newyorker--2020-03-21--Stealth Kids’ Movies for the Era of Coronavirus Quarantine

I recently told my five-year-old that she could no longer watch her favorite Adam Sandler trilogy , which she discovered on an international flight when parental inhibitions were low , because , as I put it , “ Our ‘ Hotel Transylvania ’ subscription ran out.
” She accepted this response with stoic grace and utter faith in my trustworthiness .
Now , though , we are entering our second week of quarantine , with many more likely to come , and I suspect that boredom , discomfort , and screen temptation will lower the bar in the manner of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lasts sixty days .
In order to minimize the odds that sheltering in place will drive us to renew our subscriptions to “ PAW Patrol , ” “ PJ Masks , ” and any number of other infernal children ’ s entertainments , I ’ ve been pulling together a list of movies that are kid-friendly by happenstance rather than by design .
The criteria are loose and can stretch or contract depending on your kid ’ s age and preferences .
But the basics are that the movies be live-action , fun @ @ @ @ @ @ @ watch , and lack as much as possible what Tipper Gore might call “ explicit content.
” We can start chronologically , with Buster Keaton .
When I asked on Twitter for recommendations of stealth kids ’ movies , Dana Stevens , the film critic and Keaton biographer , vouched for “ any Keaton two-reeler , really , ” and we ’ ve been snacking on them ever since : “ Cops , ” “ One Week , ” “ The Electric House , ” and also “ The Cameraman ” and “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ noticed that my kids respond differently to wordless or near-wordless animation—Aardman ’ s “ Shaun the Sheep , ” the first forty-five minutes of Pixar ’ s “ Wall-E , ” long stretches of Studio Ghibli ’ s “ My Neighbor Totoro ” —and the same is true when my daughter watches Keaton go about the business of inventing screen comedy : she ’ s absorbed and full of questions , and she finds much of it “ weird ” ( high praise ) , but she never glazes over .
The lack @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to interact with the work , much as she does with her favorite picture books .
Bonus : the intertitles are good for beginning and intermediate readers who have suddenly found themselves out of school .
My daughter has logged a lot of hours on the sofa watching Turner Classic Movies at my parents ’ house , a fun zone to which she is barred entry for the foreseeable future .
The little apartment where she is now trapped lacks a yard , basic cable , and many other grandparental amenities , but @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , whose plummy lockjaw and angular grace have always held a special appeal for her .
She can sort of follow the plot of “ The Philadelphia Story , ” but the slam dunk is Howard Hawks ’ s “ Bringing Up Baby , ” a profoundly goofball movie that has everything the kids love : Hepburn as a daffy heiress , a musical leopard , a pivotal dinosaur skeleton , and Cary Grant in a nightie .
Golden Age movies almost default to family-friendliness , owing to the moralistic Hays Code , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sex from Hollywood productions .
There were no such constraints on the murderer ’ s row of American directors who emerged in the nineteen-seventies , and this is where the budding auteurist ’ s self-education must become extremely selective : “ Hugo , ” for Martin Scorsese ; “ The Straight Story , ” for David Lynch ; “ Paper Moon ” for Peter Bogdanovich .
( It ’ s amazing , given everything we now know about Ryan and Tatum O ’ Neal ’ s relationship , that the frazzled sweetness of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ll just have to keep on veerin ’ ” scene in “ Paper Moon ” remains unconquerably intact . )
There ’ s also Robert Altman ’ s “ Popeye , ” a movie I watched dozens of times as a kid and that I now find borderline incompetent and almost unwatchably odd—and all the more fascinating for it .
“ Popeye ” is a musical , nominally , and magnificent song and dance is the hardiest material for unlimited wear and tear , especially if your child ’ s favorite performers are @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Throughout the years , our standbys have included “ Singin ’ in the Rain ” ( obviously ) , “ An American in Paris , ” “ Meet Me in St. Louis , ” “ For Me and My Gal , ” “ On the Town ” ( but fast-forward past the horrific sequence set in the Museum of Natural History ) , “ Anchors Aweigh , ” and “ Ziegfeld Follies.
” For some twenty-first-century energy , throw in “ School of Rock ” and “ Josie and the Pussycats.
” My @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the Rain , ” an homage to the last silents and early talkies , by saying , “ I want to watch memories.
” This is astute in ways that neither of my kids can understand : the astonishing old movie that everyone loves is itself a tribute to a lost era .
If my children retain any memories of this strange , terrifying time , I hope they remember these movies , too .

I recently told my five-year-old that she could no longer watch her favorite Adam Sandler trilogy, which she discovered on an international flight when parental inhibitions were low, because, as I put it, “Our ‘Hotel Transylvania’ subscription ran out.” She accepted this response with stoic grace and utter faith in my trustworthiness. Now, though, we are entering our second week of quarantine, with many more likely to come, and I suspect that boredom, discomfort, and screen temptation will lower the bar in the manner of, say, an international flight that lasts sixty days.
In order to minimize the odds that sheltering in place will drive us to renew our subscriptions to “PAW Patrol,” “PJ Masks,” and any number of other infernal children’s entertainments, I’ve been pulling together a list of movies that are kid-friendly by happenstance rather than by design. The criteria are loose and can stretch or contract depending on your kid’s age and preferences. But the basics are that the movies be live-action, fun and somewhat intellectually engaging for grownups to watch, and lack as much as possible what Tipper Gore might call “explicit content.”
We can start chronologically, with Buster Keaton. When I asked on Twitter for recommendations of stealth kids’ movies, Dana Stevens, the film critic and Keaton biographer, vouched for “any Keaton two-reeler, really,” and we’ve been snacking on them ever since: “Cops,” “One Week,” “The Electric House,” and also “The Cameraman” and “Sherlock Jr.” I’ve always noticed that my kids respond differently to wordless or near-wordless animation—Aardman’s “Shaun the Sheep,” the first forty-five minutes of Pixar’s “Wall-E,” long stretches of Studio Ghibli’s “My Neighbor Totoro”—and the same is true when my daughter watches Keaton go about the business of inventing screen comedy: she’s absorbed and full of questions, and she finds much of it “weird” (high praise), but she never glazes over. The lack of dialogue leaves imaginative space for her to interact with the work, much as she does with her favorite picture books. Bonus: the intertitles are good for beginning and intermediate readers who have suddenly found themselves out of school.
My daughter has logged a lot of hours on the sofa watching Turner Classic Movies at my parents’ house, a fun zone to which she is barred entry for the foreseeable future. The little apartment where she is now trapped lacks a yard, basic cable, and many other grandparental amenities, but it does have access to Katharine Hepburn, whose plummy lockjaw and angular elegance have always held a special appeal for her. She can sort of follow the plot of “The Philadelphia Story,” but the slam dunk is Howard Hawks’s “Bringing Up Baby,” a profoundly goofball movie that has everything the kids love: Hepburn as a daffy heiress, a musical leopard, a pivotal dinosaur skeleton, and Cary Grant in a nightie.
Golden Age movies almost default to family-friendliness, owing to the moralistic Hays Code, which banned profanity and flagrant hints of sex from Hollywood productions. There were no such constraints on the murderer’s row of American directors who emerged in the nineteen-seventies, and this is where the budding auteurist’s self-education must become extremely selective: “Hugo,” for Martin Scorsese; “The Straight Story,” for David Lynch; “Paper Moon” for Peter Bogdanovich. (It’s amazing, given everything we now know about Ryan and Tatum O’Neal’s relationship, that the frazzled sweetness of their famous, single-take “We’ll just have to keep on veerin’ ” scene in “Paper Moon” remains unconquerably intact.) There’s also Robert Altman’s “Popeye,” a movie I watched dozens of times as a kid and that I now find borderline incompetent and almost unwatchably odd—and all the more fascinating for it.
“Popeye” is a musical, nominally, and magnificent song and dance is the hardiest material for unlimited wear and tear, especially if your child’s favorite performers are Gene Kelly and “Judy Garden.” Throughout the years, our standbys have included “Singin’ in the Rain” (obviously), “An American in Paris,” “Meet Me in St. Louis,” “For Me and My Gal,” “On the Town” (but fast-forward past the horrific sequence set in the Museum of Natural History), “Anchors Aweigh,” and “Ziegfeld Follies.” For some twenty-first-century energy, throw in “School of Rock” and “Josie and the Pussycats.”
My three-year-old son requests “Singin’ in the Rain,” an homage to the last silents and early talkies, by saying, “I want to watch memories.” This is astute in ways that neither of my kids can understand: the astonishing old movie that everyone loves is itself a tribute to a lost era. If my children retain any memories of this strange, terrifying time, I hope they remember these movies, too.


newyorker--2020-03-21--Barbara Ehrenreich Is Not an Optimist, but She Has Hope for the Future

Barbara Ehrenreich was born in Butte , Montana , where her family had lived for generations , in 1941 .
Most of her male ancestors lost fingers working in nearby copper mines .
But her father attended night school , then won a scholarship to Carnegie Mellon ; the family moved to Pittsburgh and rose into the middle class .
Ehrenreich studied physics in college , got a doctorate in cell biology , and , in the late sixties , alongside her husband at the time , John Ehrenreich , she became involved in health-care organizing and antiwar activism .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ tried , as a writer and an activist , to forge a bridge between the working and middle classes .
She published her first two books—one on chemistry and one , co-written with her husband , about student protest—in 1969 , and started attracting a wide audience in the nineteen-seventies , when she began writing for the influential feminist magazine Ms. She ’ s now published more than twenty books , including the 2001 bestseller “ Nickel and Dimed , ” about the daily indignities of low-wage work , and “ Natural Causes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ wellness industry and the illusion of control .
Her latest , “ Had I Known : Collected Essays , ” which brings together work from the past four decades , examines health , the economy , feminism , “ bourgeois blunders , ” God , science , and joy .
I recently visited Ehrenreich at home , in her fifth-floor condo outside Washington , D.C. Like her , the place was no-nonsense but welcoming .
There were magazines on side tables , and shelves piled with books .
She had broken her arm @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she said , “ by a laundry basket , ” which she ’ d tripped over in the dark—and had enlisted a publicist at Twelve Books to pick up sandwiches and drinks for us .
She asked over e-mail if I had any dietary preferences or restrictions , and I said that I valued all sandwiches but preferred one without mayonnaise , a choice that later became the subject of discussion .
After selecting a turkey sandwich with mustard—Ehrenreich had chicken salad—I sat down with her in a small sunroom overlooking the Potomac @ @ @ @ @ @ @ our nation ’ s stressful capital .
Ehrenreich nestled into a wicker love seat , propping her feet up , her right arm balanced gingerly in a sling .
Later , as the coronavirus began shutting down the country , we spoke again , over the phone .
These two conversations have been combined and edited for length and clarity .
I saw that you tweeted , “ Got up this morning and self-quarantined , just like I do every morning.
” The writer ’ s life has prepared us both for this @ @ @ @ @ @ @ saying that old people shouldn ’ t be outdoors , so there we go .
Coronavirus has illuminated a lot about the limits of individualism , and our lack of a safety net .
Is that where your mind has been ?
My mind has been full of grim and rageful thoughts , many of which are about the lack of paid sick leave .
We turn out to be so vulnerable in the United States .
Not only because we have no safety net , or very little of one , but @ @ @ @ @ @ @ no social infrastructure .
In other places—Barcelona , for example , where my son is now—there ’ s much more of a community feeling in how you face disaster .
We have a little bit of it—Rebecca Solnit has written beautifully about the subject .
But we don ’ t have enough .
From the prehistoric perspective , people have gotten through a lot of stuff by coöperating and sticking together .
We built cities , we irrigated fields .
Whether we ’ ve lost that capacity , I don ’ t know @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in your work , I think—in “ Blood Rites , ” for instance , your book about war , from 1997 , and “ Dancing in the Streets , ” your book about collective joy , from 2006—that we are wired for solidarity but molded for competitive betrayal .
You ’ ve also written about how solidarity can manifest both constructively and destructively—about how the rush of solidarity that accompanies war is not so different from the rush of solidarity that accompanied the birth of the socialist movement , say .
Solidarity can @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
I don ’ t trust it inherently .
I ’ m thinking a lot more about this dialectic right now because of a book I ’ m supposed to be working on—that ’ s what you saw me doing when you walked in—about narcissism .
We want , we crave connectedness , and yet it can turn against us in awful ways .
What was the impetus for writing a book about narcissism ?
Oh , you know—across the river .
It is a rich topic , though I hate to say @ @ @ @ @ @ @ news right now and thinking that Trump , maybe the biggest narcissist that we have in the world , could be defeated by this speck of RNA and protein .
And , as a species , humans are so narcissistic .
We forgot that the animals with fangs and claws once dined on our predecessors .
We forgot that the so-called defeat of the infectious diseases , in the early twentieth century , was never actually a defeat .
We have to understand that our place in the scheme of things is not @ @ @ @ @ @ @ spotlighting the question that underlies everything right now : whether survival—of climate change , let ’ s say—will be something we negotiate individually or collectively .
The question is really : How many people do we expect are going to make it ?
The Silicon Valley view is that it ’ s about three hundred and fifty of us .
The left point of view has to be , “ We stand shoulder to shoulder and try to get through this.
” Do you think that ’ s— Or naïve , or something @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I just became a grandmother for a third time .
I can ’ t not think that some of us will survive .
When your third “ grand-dot , ” as you put it , was born , you tweeted , “ The universe starts all over again.
” And you ’ ve said that having your first child prompted a political and personal transformation .
In “ Witches , Midwives , and Nurses , ” which you co-wrote with Deirdre English a few years after your daughter was born , you argued @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , had been doctors without degrees—that learning and practicing medicine was women ’ s heritage , and that the gender imbalance in the medical field at the time , with ninety-three per cent of American doctors being male , was deeply unnatural .
Having my first child made me into a real feminist .
It was the sexism of doctors , the whole system .
With my first pregnancy , the doctor at this hospital clinic—I couldn ’ t afford private care—did a pelvic exam to see if I was good to go @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was over , I peeked up and said , “ So , is the cervix beginning to be effaced ?
” And he looked at the nurse , and said to her , “ Where did a nice girl like this learn to talk like that ?
” I would say that that ’ s when I transitioned to raging feminism .
I imagine “ Nickel and Dimed ” was another turning point in your career .
That was a complete change for me .
I thought of it as a kind of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ not really a reporter , so I had no idea what to do .
I just went out and got the jobs , and then after a few days I figured , well , I ’ ll just write down everything that happens during the day , during the shift , after .

Barbara Ehrenreich was born in Butte, Montana, where her family had lived for generations, in 1941. Most of her male ancestors lost fingers working in nearby copper mines. But her father attended night school, then won a scholarship to Carnegie Mellon; the family moved to Pittsburgh and rose into the middle class. Ehrenreich studied physics in college, got a doctorate in cell biology, and, in the late sixties, alongside her husband at the time, John Ehrenreich, she became involved in health-care organizing and antiwar activism.
In the decades since, Ehrenreich has tried, as a writer and an activist, to forge a bridge between the working and middle classes. She published her first two books—one on chemistry and one, co-written with her husband, about student protest—in 1969, and started attracting a wide audience in the nineteen-seventies, when she began writing for the influential feminist magazine Ms. She’s now published more than twenty books, including the 2001 bestseller “Nickel and Dimed,” about the daily indignities of low-wage work, and “Natural Causes,” a 2018 polemic about the wellness industry and the illusion of control. Her latest, “Had I Known: Collected Essays,” which brings together work from the past four decades, examines health, the economy, feminism, “bourgeois blunders,” God, science, and joy.
I recently visited Ehrenreich at home, in her fifth-floor condo outside Washington, D.C. Like her, the place was no-nonsense but welcoming. There were magazines on side tables, and shelves piled with books. She had broken her arm the previous weekend—“attacked,” she said, “by a laundry basket,” which she’d tripped over in the dark—and had enlisted a publicist at Twelve Books to pick up sandwiches and drinks for us. She asked over e-mail if I had any dietary preferences or restrictions, and I said that I valued all sandwiches but preferred one without mayonnaise, a choice that later became the subject of discussion. After selecting a turkey sandwich with mustard—Ehrenreich had chicken salad—I sat down with her in a small sunroom overlooking the Potomac River, with a peaceful view of our nation’s stressful capital. Ehrenreich nestled into a wicker love seat, propping her feet up, her right arm balanced gingerly in a sling. Later, as the coronavirus began shutting down the country, we spoke again, over the phone. These two conversations have been combined and edited for length and clarity.
I saw that you tweeted, “Got up this morning and self-quarantined, just like I do every morning.” The writer’s life has prepared us both for this.
Yes, and they’re saying that old people shouldn’t be outdoors, so there we go.
Coronavirus has illuminated a lot about the limits of individualism, and our lack of a safety net. Is that where your mind has been?
My mind has been full of grim and rageful thoughts, many of which are about the lack of paid sick leave. We turn out to be so vulnerable in the United States. Not only because we have no safety net, or very little of one, but because we have no emergency preparedness, no social infrastructure. In other places—Barcelona, for example, where my son is now—there’s much more of a community feeling in how you face disaster. We have a little bit of it—Rebecca Solnit has written beautifully about the subject. But we don’t have enough. From the prehistoric perspective, people have gotten through a lot of stuff by coöperating and sticking together. We built cities, we irrigated fields. Whether we’ve lost that capacity, I don’t know.
There’s an underlying argument in your work, I think—in “Blood Rites,” for instance, your book about war, from 1997, and “Dancing in the Streets,” your book about collective joy, from 2006—that we are wired for solidarity but molded for competitive betrayal. You’ve also written about how solidarity can manifest both constructively and destructively—about how the rush of solidarity that accompanies war is not so different from the rush of solidarity that accompanied the birth of the socialist movement, say.
Solidarity can embody so many things—fascism, religious fervor. I don’t trust it inherently. I’m thinking a lot more about this dialectic right now because of a book I’m supposed to be working on—that’s what you saw me doing when you walked in—about narcissism. We want, we crave connectedness, and yet it can turn against us in awful ways.
What was the impetus for writing a book about narcissism?
Oh, you know—across the river. It is a rich topic, though I hate to say it that way, looking at the news right now and thinking that Trump, maybe the biggest narcissist that we have in the world, could be defeated by this speck of RNA and protein. And, as a species, humans are so narcissistic. We forgot that the animals with fangs and claws once dined on our predecessors. We forgot that the so-called defeat of the infectious diseases, in the early twentieth century, was never actually a defeat. We have to understand that our place in the scheme of things is not very high.
Coronavirus seems to be spotlighting the question that underlies everything right now: whether survival—of climate change, let’s say—will be something we negotiate individually or collectively.
The question is really: How many people do we expect are going to make it? The Silicon Valley view is that it’s about three hundred and fifty of us. The left point of view has to be, “We stand shoulder to shoulder and try to get through this.”
Do you think that’s—
Awesome?
Or naïve, or something? Mathematically, it is daunting.
I just became a grandmother for a third time. I can’t not think that some of us will survive.
When your third “grand-dot,” as you put it, was born, you tweeted, “The universe starts all over again.” And you’ve said that having your first child prompted a political and personal transformation. In “Witches, Midwives, and Nurses,” which you co-wrote with Deirdre English a few years after your daughter was born, you argued that women, for most of history, had been doctors without degrees—that learning and practicing medicine was women’s heritage, and that the gender imbalance in the medical field at the time, with ninety-three per cent of American doctors being male, was deeply unnatural.
Having my first child made me into a real feminist. It was the sexism of doctors, the whole system. With my first pregnancy, the doctor at this hospital clinic—I couldn’t afford private care—did a pelvic exam to see if I was good to go and have the baby. When it was over, I peeked up and said, “So, is the cervix beginning to be effaced?” And he looked at the nurse, and said to her, “Where did a nice girl like this learn to talk like that?”
I would say that that’s when I transitioned to raging feminism.
I imagine “Nickel and Dimed” was another turning point in your career.


newyorker--2020-03-21--Industrial Music for Industrial People: The Singular Legacy of Genesis P-Orridge

I was saddened to read last Sunday in the Times of the death of Genesis P-Orridge , who was seventy and died from leukemia , in h/er apartment , on the Lower East Side .
I never met P-Orridge , but I spent part of an afternoon on the phone with h/er in 2011 , when I was writing a Profile of Trent Reznor .
P-Orridge was a founder of industrial music , the genre that Reznor , the figure behind the band Nine Inch Nails , made well-known , and P-Orridge was something like a hero to him .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and I didn ’ t get far into my conversation with h/er before s/he became a hero to me , too .
S/he was born Neil Megson , in 1950 , in Manchester , England .
S/he went to public school and then the University of Hull , which s/he left in 1968 .
S/he moved to a commune , in North London , whose members , according to a biographical note published by h/er most recent label , Dais Records , “ adhered to a strict regime with the intention of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and conventional behaviour.
” They had to sleep somewhere different from where they had slept the night before , they made their meals at different times each day , and each day they were to dress differently from the way they had dressed the day before .
Around this time , Megson began developing Genesis P-Orridge as an alternative identity .
P-Orridge left the commune after three months and went back to Hull , where s/he started a performance-art and music collective called COUM Transmissions , which had as one of its slogans @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , COUM put on an exhibition called “ Prostitution , ” at London ’ s Institute of Contemporary Arts , which so sufficiently outraged some viewers that a member of Parliament called COUM “ wreckers of civilization.
” In 1992 , with h/er daughters , Genesse and Caresse P-Orridge , she moved to America .
In New York , in 1993 , s/he met Jacqueline Breyer , who was a nurse for children with terminal illnesses and intractable disabilities , and also a dominatrix .
In 1995 , they married , and Breyer @ @ @ @ @ @ @ began a project of shedding their identities in order to become a third identity , a being they called a “ pandrogyne.
” To do so , they tried to look as much like each other as possible , which involved having plastic surgery .
P-Orridge ’ s thought was to discard as much of h/er inherited conceptions of self as s/he could .
Their new identity they called Breyer P-Orridge .
According to Lady Jaye , Breyer P-Orridge was “ a separate person who is both of us.
” Each took part @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Lady Jaye said “ that third being , Breyer P-Orridge , is always present.
” Lady Jaye died from a heart arrhythmia , in 2007 .
Genesis P-Orridge was most widely known for having been a founding member of Throbbing Gristle , in 1975 .
Throbbing Gristle played cacophonous and sometimes grating music intended to dramatize impressions of modern life .
Reznor told me that Throbbing Gristle had been very important to him , and this was what I called P-Orridge to talk about .
At the time , Reznor himself had never @ @ @ @ @ @ @ after I told him that I had , and he asked me what s/he had been like .
I had written down just about everything s/he said .
“ The big deal was one of your hippie friends would come back and say , ‘ I ’ ve just come from America , ’ ” s/he began .
“ So , in 1992 , when my older daughter was in high school , we finally came to America to live .
It was a novelty to have an English girl at the school @ @ @ @ @ @ @ did a show-and-tell about this England place , and someone wanted to know how long did it take to drive there .
“ Growing up , my father had been a drummer in a jazz band before the Second World War , and he bought me a set of drums .
He used to take me to concerts in Manchester .
We saw Duke Ellington , Count Basie , Buddy Rich , and also I was in the church choir , the cathedral choir , and studied music .
Then the Rolling Stones @ @ @ @ @ @ @ happened in Liverpool , which was ten miles away , and for a while we loved all of that , but , by about ’ 67 , my interest in that type of pop music was nil .
There wasn ’ t anything to satisfy my appetite for a story .
[ Bob ] Dylan introduced story and character , and then somebody heard these amazing rumors about this band from America , and we managed to get a copy of the first album the day it was released in England , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Underground .
They had that track , ‘ The Gift , ’ where it ’ s just the story .
“ After that , there was a sudden explosion of options .
Modern jazz was having a positive influence on electric rock , and then poetry being included in a much more sardonic way .
Music had become a form of journalism , life , and society , not just ‘ I love you because you ’ ve got nice clothes.
’ There was also a rejection of the Bill Haley sort of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ being a parody of African-American blues music , and the Rolling Stones trying to sing like they were American .
“ I began having my own dialogue with myself : Can ’ t there be something about my experience , as a person in Europe , who grew up playing as a child in the bauxite after the Blitz ?
Who ’ s talking about that happening to me ?
The destruction of the railways and the mill factories closing down in Manchester because cotton was too expensive .
That was a very @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ?
Is there a way to make music that includes this experience , that includes what we ’ ve been living within—cars honking , trains going past , buses grinding gears , people shouting in the streets ?
We ’ d been reading ‘ Silence , ’ by John Cage , and that was the last key really .
Chairs scraping can now be the music ; what do we want to include ?
No drummer , because music is so quickly fixed and made traditional and acceptable by the four-four-drum pan of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you need to know how to play ?
What is an instrument ?
Something that makes a noise , amplified or not .
We don ’ t need to know how to play .
What ’ s around ?
What can we use , in the spirit of a Duchamp readymade ?
“ There were hardly any girls in rock bands .
We had me and Cossi Fan Tutti , and she didn ’ t like electric guitar , because it was too heavy , so we got an electric saw and sawed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ like .
I didn ’ t really like the trying to learn where to put my fingers , and it wasn ’ t necessary for our purposes .
“ Another member , Sleazy , who was Peter Christopherson , was really into William Burroughs , so he said , ‘ I ’ d really like to involve cutups , with a tape recorder.
’ He altered walkman tape recorders so when you played a cassette you could hear both sides at the same time .
We had six , so that was twelve @ @ @ @ @ @ @ could be anything you record .
Finally , we met Chris Carter .
Chris built synthesizers .
Nobody was using them in England .
We said , ‘ That ’ s great—it ’ s very anti-rock .
’

I was saddened to read last Sunday in the Times of the death of Genesis P-Orridge, who was seventy and died from leukemia, in h/er apartment, on the Lower East Side. I never met P-Orridge, but I spent part of an afternoon on the phone with h/er in 2011, when I was writing a Profile of Trent Reznor. P-Orridge was a founder of industrial music, the genre that Reznor, the figure behind the band Nine Inch Nails, made well-known, and P-Orridge was something like a hero to him. S/he was a brave and brilliant person, and I didn’t get far into my conversation with h/er before s/he became a hero to me, too.
S/he was born Neil Megson, in 1950, in Manchester, England. S/he went to public school and then the University of Hull, which s/he left in 1968. S/he moved to a commune, in North London, whose members, according to a biographical note published by h/er most recent label, Dais Records, “adhered to a strict regime with the intention of deconditioning its members out of their routines and conventional behaviour.” They had to sleep somewhere different from where they had slept the night before, they made their meals at different times each day, and each day they were to dress differently from the way they had dressed the day before. Around this time, Megson began developing Genesis P-Orridge as an alternative identity.
P-Orridge left the commune after three months and went back to Hull, where s/he started a performance-art and music collective called COUM Transmissions, which had as one of its slogans “COUM Guarantee Disappointment.” In 1976, COUM put on an exhibition called “Prostitution,” at London’s Institute of Contemporary Arts, which so sufficiently outraged some viewers that a member of Parliament called COUM “wreckers of civilization.”
In 1992, with h/er daughters, Genesse and Caresse P-Orridge, she moved to America. In New York, in 1993, s/he met Jacqueline Breyer, who was a nurse for children with terminal illnesses and intractable disabilities, and also a dominatrix. In 1995, they married, and Breyer became Lady Jaye Breyer P-Orridge. They began a project of shedding their identities in order to become a third identity, a being they called a “pandrogyne.” To do so, they tried to look as much like each other as possible, which involved having plastic surgery. P-Orridge’s thought was to discard as much of h/er inherited conceptions of self as s/he could. Their new identity they called Breyer P-Orridge. According to Lady Jaye, Breyer P-Orridge was “a separate person who is both of us.” Each took part in the art they made, but Lady Jaye said “that third being, Breyer P-Orridge, is always present.” Lady Jaye died from a heart arrhythmia, in 2007.
Genesis P-Orridge was most widely known for having been a founding member of Throbbing Gristle, in 1975. Throbbing Gristle played cacophonous and sometimes grating music intended to dramatize impressions of modern life. Reznor told me that Throbbing Gristle had been very important to him, and this was what I called P-Orridge to talk about. At the time, Reznor himself had never talked to her. He was impressed after I told him that I had, and he asked me what s/he had been like. I had written down just about everything s/he said.
“The big deal was one of your hippie friends would come back and say, ‘I’ve just come from America,’ ” s/he began. “So, in 1992, when my older daughter was in high school, we finally came to America to live. It was a novelty to have an English girl at the school, and everyone was fascinated. She did a show-and-tell about this England place, and someone wanted to know how long did it take to drive there.
“Growing up, my father had been a drummer in a jazz band before the Second World War, and he bought me a set of drums. He used to take me to concerts in Manchester. We saw Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Buddy Rich, and also I was in the church choir, the cathedral choir, and studied music. Then the Rolling Stones appeared, and the sixties beat-music thing happened in Liverpool, which was ten miles away, and for a while we loved all of that, but, by about ’67, my interest in that type of pop music was nil. There wasn’t anything to satisfy my appetite for a story. [Bob] Dylan introduced story and character, and then somebody heard these amazing rumors about this band from America, and we managed to get a copy of the first album the day it was released in England, and it blew me away. The Velvet Underground. They had that track, ‘The Gift,’ where it’s just the story.
“After that, there was a sudden explosion of options. Modern jazz was having a positive influence on electric rock, and then poetry being included in a much more sardonic way. Music had become a form of journalism, life, and society, not just ‘I love you because you’ve got nice clothes.’ There was also a rejection of the Bill Haley sort of music, and the parody of itself being a parody of African-American blues music, and the Rolling Stones trying to sing like they were American.
“I began having my own dialogue with myself: Can’t there be something about my experience, as a person in Europe, who grew up playing as a child in the bauxite after the Blitz? Who’s talking about that happening to me? The destruction of the railways and the mill factories closing down in Manchester because cotton was too expensive. That was a very conscious thought: What could be done? Is there a way to make music that includes this experience, that includes what we’ve been living within—cars honking, trains going past, buses grinding gears, people shouting in the streets? We’d been reading ‘Silence,’ by John Cage, and that was the last key really. Chairs scraping can now be the music; what do we want to include? No drummer, because music is so quickly fixed and made traditional and acceptable by the four-four-drum pan of the rock music. Then why do you need to know how to play? What is an instrument? Something that makes a noise, amplified or not. We don’t need to know how to play. What’s around? What can we use, in the spirit of a Duchamp readymade?
“There were hardly any girls in rock bands. We had me and Cossi Fan Tutti, and she didn’t like electric guitar, because it was too heavy, so we got an electric saw and sawed off the bits we didn’t like. I didn’t really like the trying to learn where to put my fingers, and it wasn’t necessary for our purposes.
“Another member, Sleazy, who was Peter Christopherson, was really into William Burroughs, so he said, ‘I’d really like to involve cutups, with a tape recorder.’ He altered walkman tape recorders so when you played a cassette you could hear both sides at the same time. We had six, so that was twelve lots of sound, and a cassette could be anything you record. Finally, we met Chris Carter. Chris built synthesizers. Nobody was using them in England. We said, ‘That’s great—it’s very anti-rock.’
“Then there was the question of what do we call this new sound. I had this friend, Monte Cazazza—he’d been over from America visiting me, and I was bouncing these ideas off him. ‘Do you think we can re-create our experience of life and call it music?’ I asked him. It was September 3, 1975. We were walking to a place called London Fields park, that was between the squat where we were living and the factory where we played. We said, We need a name—what about Factory? After about half an hour, Monty said, ‘You know, you keep using the word “industrial,” ’ so I named it industrial music, and it was. Industrial music for industrial people—and that was the great big eureka moment. And little did we know it would become a global phenomena—from that tiny space and four people who couldn’t play.


newyorker--2020-03-22--Sunday Reading: A Cultural Review of the Eighties

Decades can be difficult to define , in part because the culture and mores of a period often transcend any single expansive theme or subject .
In the collective imagination , the nineteen-eighties are bold and animated ; they represent a riotous recalibration of everything from pop music to mainstream cinema .
This week , we ’ re bringing you a selection of pieces about the art and culture that helped define the era .
In “ A Girl of the Zeitgeist , ” Janet Malcolm profiles Ingrid Sischy , the savvy Artforum editor who helped transform Manhattan ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the decade .
In “ At Mr. Chow ’ s , ” Jamaica Kincaid writes about attending a party in honor of Culture Club and the band ’ s lead singer , Boy George .
Pauline Kael reviews Ridley Scott ’ s science-fiction masterpiece “ Blade Runner ” and explores the cinematography of violence in Brian De Palma ’ s innovative gangster film “ Scarface.
” In “ A House Divided , ” Judith Thurman considers Toni Morrison ’ s deft examination of slavery ’ s legacy in her fifth book , “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Glen Ross , ” David Mamet ’ s dark comic play about the underbelly of salesmanship , and Edith Oliver writes about the Broadway première of August Wilson ’ s “ Fences.
” In “ Open and Shut , ” Terrence Rafferty explores the colloquial vivacity of Spike Lee ’ s “ Do the Right Thing , ” and , in “ Lies , Lies , and More Lies , ” Rafferty reflects on the psychological tension in Steven Soderbergh ’ s début film , “ sex , lies , and videotape ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Reiner and Nora Ephron ’ s comedy “ When Harry Met Sally.
” In “ Demoniasis , ” Brad Leithauser examines the themes of identity and spirituality in Salman Rushdie ’ s novel “ The Satanic Verses.
” In “ Up from the I.R.T.
, ” Calvin Tomkins chronicles the rise of graffiti art and considers the unconventional work of young artists such as Keith Haring .
Finally , in “ Smooth Pebbles at Southfork , ” Michael J. Arlen presents a deeply immersive review of the popular evening soap opera “ Dallas.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ right—The New Yorker published an eight-page review of “ Dallas , ” in 1980 . )
We ’ re living in alarming , uncertain times ; we hope that this look back at an earlier decade provides an enjoyable respite for you this weekend .
How does Ingrid Sischy see ?
The visionary sci-fi movie “ Blade Runner ” has its own look , and a place in film history .
The dreams in Salman Rushdie ’ s “ The Satanic Verses ” take on a life of their own .
How the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Beloved ” engages us in history .
In “ Dallas , ” the characters make the rules up as they go along .
In “ Do the Right Thing , ” Spike Lee has , in Hollywood terms , cut to the chase .
“ Scarface ” may be the only action picture that turns into an allegory of impotence .
The Hollywood-style wisdom of Steven Soderbergh ’ s “ sex , lies , and videotape , ” Rob Reiner ’ s “ When Harry Met Sally , ” and Ron Howard ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in “ Fences ” is the characters , in all their richness and humor .

Photograph from Alamy
Decades can be difficult to define, in part because the culture and mores of a period often transcend any single expansive theme or subject. In the collective imagination, the nineteen-eighties are bold and animated; they represent a riotous recalibration of everything from pop music to mainstream cinema. This week, we’re bringing you a selection of pieces about the art and culture that helped define the era. In “A Girl of the Zeitgeist,” Janet Malcolm profiles Ingrid Sischy, the savvy Artforum editor who helped transform Manhattan’s art scene during the early part of the decade. In “At Mr. Chow’s,” Jamaica Kincaid writes about attending a party in honor of Culture Club and the band’s lead singer, Boy George. Pauline Kael reviews Ridley Scott’s science-fiction masterpiece “Blade Runner” and explores the cinematography of violence in Brian De Palma’s innovative gangster film “Scarface.” In “A House Divided,” Judith Thurman considers Toni Morrison’s deft examination of slavery’s legacy in her fifth book, “Beloved.” Brendan Gill reviews “Glengarry Glen Ross,” David Mamet’s dark comic play about the underbelly of salesmanship, and Edith Oliver writes about the Broadway première of August Wilson’s “Fences.” In “Open and Shut,” Terrence Rafferty explores the colloquial vivacity of Spike Lee’s “Do the Right Thing,” and, in “Lies, Lies, and More Lies,” Rafferty reflects on the psychological tension in Steven Soderbergh’s début film, “sex, lies, and videotape” and critiques the screwball charm of Rob Reiner and Nora Ephron’s comedy “When Harry Met Sally.” In “Demoniasis,” Brad Leithauser examines the themes of identity and spirituality in Salman Rushdie’s novel “The Satanic Verses.” In “Up from the I.R.T.,” Calvin Tomkins chronicles the rise of graffiti art and considers the unconventional work of young artists such as Keith Haring. Finally, in “Smooth Pebbles at Southfork,” Michael J. Arlen presents a deeply immersive review of the popular evening soap opera “Dallas.” (Yes, you read that right—The New Yorker published an eight-page review of “Dallas,” in 1980.) We’re living in alarming, uncertain times; we hope that this look back at an earlier decade provides an enjoyable respite for you this weekend.
Photograph by Sara Krulwich / The New York Times / Redux
How does Ingrid Sischy see?
The visionary sci-fi movie “Blade Runner” has its own look, and a place in film history.
Photograph by Koh Hasebe / Shinko Music / Getty
A party for Boy George.
The dreams in Salman Rushdie’s “The Satanic Verses” take on a life of their own.
Photograph by Carl Mydans / FSA / Library of Congress
How the drama of Toni Morrison’s “Beloved” engages us in history.
Photograph from CBS Photo Archive / Getty
In “Dallas,” the characters make the rules up as they go along.
Photograph by Universal / Courtesy Everett
In “Do the Right Thing,” Spike Lee has, in Hollywood terms, cut to the chase.
Photograph from Bettmann / Getty
David Mamet’s howl of protest in “Glengarry Glen Ross.”
“Scarface” may be the only action picture that turns into an allegory of impotence.
The Hollywood-style wisdom of Steven Soderbergh’s “sex, lies, and videotape,” Rob Reiner’s “When Harry Met Sally,” and Ron Howard’s “Parenthood.”
What matters most in “Fences” is the characters, in all their richness and humor.
The rise of graffiti art.