April 8, 2025

Last Week's New Yorker Review: 🌱 The Weekend Special (April 7)

The Weekend Special

Pieces are given up to three Boyles (for fiction), Harrimans (for essays), or Parkers (for random picks). As with restaurant stars, even one Boyle, Harriman, or Parker indicates a generally positive review.

🌱 Fiction

“Marseille” by Ayşegül Savaş. Two Boyles. wine, wind, wince. A very simple story; three middle-aged friends have a vacation, which proceeds in the gradually deflating manner moderately familiar from life and excruciatingly familiar from the short story form. Yet Savaş totally pulls it off, mainly by foregrounding the wistful mood from the beginning, and not overdoing the way the scene eventually curdles; I was worried there’d be a hackneyed friend-group-ending blowup of some sort, and was far more satisfied by the resignation we get instead. I also like that this resignation can be read as gloomy or essentially peaceful, depending on how one interprets “slowly”. One comes to Savaş for elegant, closely observed miniatures. They’re a natural fit for this magazine, where three of the stories in her upcoming collection have appeared: They mirror its contemporary humanism and thoughtful detail, and, crucially, they don’t fill too many of its pages. This story would make for an awfully gloomy beach read, but on a winter’s night it’s nice to read about sunshiney disappointment.

🌱 Weekend Essay

“Welcome to the Preschool Plague Years” by Kathryn Schulz. One Harriman. generations, germs, grownup. A charming second-person narrative of sick kids and their accompanying tribulations; there’s nothing to surprise here, really, as even those of us without progeny will recall our own coughing childhoods. (Indeed, to tell the whole truth Schulz would need to get even grosser.) But this has no pretensions toward trends-piece topicality; it’s perfectly content to be universal and lightweight. It’s sorta surprising to see what’s nearly an Erma Bombeck column in this particular magazine (or at least its online edition)¹ but I’m happy to see Schulz stretch her legs in whatever direction she wishes.

🌱 Random Pick

“The Women” by P.W.W. Jr. (September 5, 1953.) No Parkers. hit, holes, hospitable. Of all things, a women’s amateur golf review. Faulk, who won, would soon go pro. Some of the youngsters mentioned would, too. I don’t really care about any of that, but there is one jaw-dropping detail here: “Out of deference to the Southern origins of the finalists, the club hospitably produced Confederate flags to replace the red ones customarily used for marking balls in the rough.” Oof!

🌱 Something Extra

I saw Gypsy for the second time, and while the staging tweaks they made since the late preview I saw are minor, they improve the show considerably. The principal performances have all deepened and expanded. The climactic striptease still doesn’t work, but basically everything else does. It’s a stunner.

I also liked (though certainly didn’t love) the bizarre Love Life at City Center Encores. A hetero-optimistic dreamscape and a very mild satire with scattered targets, the songs are nevertheless lovely and the oddball riff on Skin of our Teeth engaging.

I saw a bunch of other good theater recently (I’m Assuming You Know David Greenspan, Deep Blue Sound, and Wine in the Wilderness were all terrific; Grief Camp and Death Becomes Her also very good) but I’m gonna push my thoughts to next week’s Extra.

Sunday Song: