Professional Documents
Culture Documents
DRAWINGS Maddie Dai, P. C. Vey, Barbara Smaller, Seth Fleishman, Mitra Farmand, Edward Steed,
Roz Chast, Liana Finck, John O’Brien, Emily Flake, David Sipress, Harry Bliss, William Haefeli, Bruce Eric Kaplan,
Tom Cheney, Tom Toro, Amy Hwang, Drew Dernavich, Sophia Wiedeman SPOTS Pablo Amargo
CONTRIBUTORS
Nick Paumgarten (The Talk of the Town, Burkhard Bilger (“Bean Freaks,” p. 56)
p. 26; “Water and the Wall,” p. 44) has been has been a staf writer since 2001.
writing for the magazine since 2000.
Yiyun Li (Fiction, p. 66) is the author
Ann Beattie (Shouts & Murmurs, p. 39), of several books, including, most re-
a contributor to The New Yorker since cently, “Dear Friend, from My Life I
1974, is the recipient of a PEN/Mala- Write to You in Your Life.”
mud Award for excellence in short fic-
tion. “The Accomplished Guest” is her Dan Chiasson (“Anybody There?,” p. 40)
latest story collection. teaches English at Wellesley College
and has contributed to the magazine
David Hockney (Cover), a painter based in since 2007. “Bicentennial” is his latest
England and California, recently had a book of poems.
career retrospective at the Metropolitan
Museum of Art. Exhibitions of his work Naomi Fry (The Talk of the Town,
are currently on view in New York City, p. 30) became a staf writer in 2018.
Los Angeles, and Venice, California. She also writes about pop culture for
newyorker.com.
Carrie Battan (Pop Music, p. 74) began
contributing to the magazine in 2015, Ian Frazier (“The Maraschino Mogul,”
and became a staf writer in 2018. p. 32) most recently published “Hogs
Wild: Selected Reporting Pieces” and
George Packer (Comment, p. 25), a staf is working on a book about the Bronx.
writer, is the author of “The Unwind-
ing” and seven other books. Jennifer Chang (Poem, p. 62) teaches
at George Washington University. Her
Emily Nussbaum (On Television, p. 84), second poetry collection, “Some Say
the magazine’s television critic, won the Lark,” won the 2018 William Car-
the 2016 Pulitzer Prize for criticism. los Williams Award.
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THE MAIL
GUNS IN THE HANDS OF KIDS reserve. In Drum’s ranch house, the adolescent gun users are learning how
rifles up on the wall—lovely old Win- to use their tools responsibly, and that
There was a strange dissonance be- chester lever-actions and such—were education is something that should be
tween Sharif Hamza’s photographs of for history, not for shooting. Valuable, supported.
teen-agers with guns and Dana Good- of course, if somebody stole them. But K. A. Robinson
year’s accompanying article (Portfo- his really good rifles and shotguns were Montclair, N.J.
lio, March 26th). Goodyear mentions well hidden and locked up. A lot of
gun-related deaths and injuries, but what’s for sale out front in the gun stores I suppose the goal of Hamza’s photos
mostly focusses on a “parallel realm, is tricked-out trash. I prefer archery. was to humanize gun owners and to
where guns signify . . . safety, disci- Gary Snyder show us how “normal” gun ownership
pline, and trust.” Hamza’s pictures, by Nevada City, Calif. is for many people. So what? We al-
contrast, were outright frightening. ready know that not all gun owners are
We can talk about target shooting or The majority of Americans both re- big-bellied, bearded yahoos. We have
trap and skeet, but guns have only one spect a person’s passion for firearms heard plenty of stories about ladies tot-
purpose, which is to kill. These armed and favor stricter gun laws, in order to ing pistols in specially made purses,
children, regardless of the occasional prevent guns from being obtained by and about mothers who are gun own-
smile, look menacing. There is sim- mentally unstable individuals who kill ers. We certainly don’t need remind-
ply no way to take benign photos of innocent citizens. The idea that the left ing that gun owners can be young. An
armed people. wants to take away someone’s Second innocent or appealing face does not
Looking at the picture of Cheyenne Amendment rights is propaganda from dispel the reality that guns kill. Ham-
Dalton, a sixteen-year-old from Mis- the National Rifle Association. Should za’s young figures did not convince me
souri, whose mother is concerned about semiautomatic weapons designed for that a despicable activity is acceptable—
self-defense, I could not help think- purposes of war be banned? As a non- only that appearances can be deceiv-
ing of a New Yorker cartoon by Mat- gun-owning person, I say yes. How- ing. What a waste of ten pages. Even
thew Difee, from 2011, in which a gun ever, each of us deserves the right to worse, these photos served as an ad-
salesman says, “O.K., but say that you enjoy our passions. If children wish to vertisement for more gun ownership.
have up to six hundred intruders per use AR-15s in sanctioned competitions, Laura Inman
minute.” then I can support that choice, pro- Rye, N.Y.
Peter Hantos vided that there are strict registration 1
Los Angeles, Calif. and training requirements. But victims DEFINITIONS OF BEAUTY
of gun violence deserved to live their
There are plenty of people out beyond lives without being killed as if they I am disappointed by Anthony Lane’s
the suburbs who are active and con- were in the midst of war. glib criticism of my character’s appear-
scious gun owners. Many of them are Larry Kwiatkowski ance in the film “Gemini” (The Cur-
appalled by what has happened with Bellingham, Wash. rent Cinema, April 2nd). To deem un-
guns—the loss of training, practice, and flattering the “big jeans” and “baggy
discipline in gun handling; the igno- When I lived in Manhattan, I attended gray top” I wear throughout the film is
rance and apathy of gun dealers and a program sponsored by the N.R.A. to suggest a preference for heroines in
police. The people I know are ranch- called Women On Target. After work, more tight-fitting clothes. And to even
ers, farmers, or aficionados. They are a group of women would assemble in mention my “haircut from hell” is to
not interested in military-type weap- a basement firing range on the West miss the point of my performance en-
ons like the AR-15, because they’re not Side to practice responsible gun use tirely. We need to see female charac-
accurate, they’re noisy, and there’s no and safety. I learned that guns are tools, ters be powerful and beautiful in ways
use for them. Skeet shooting requires and that, like all tools, they are de- that don’t rely on outdated represen-
well-made, balanced, and accurate shot- signed for a specific purpose. It is dis- tations of women.
guns. They are an enthusiasm all their ingenuous for the N.R.A. to promote Lola Kirke
own. Hunters want accuracy and reli- itself as an organization that teaches Los Angeles, Calif.
ability in their long guns. After my gun safety, even as it refuses to ac-
friend the late rancher Drummond knowledge the need for gun reform in •
Hadley (the author of a fine book of order to promote true safety. It was Letters should be sent with the writer’s name,
cowboy poems) talked to experts at a also exploitative for The New Yorker to address, and daytime phone number via e-mail to
rifle company about the accuracy of a use photographs of kids with guns to themail@newyorker.com. Letters may be edited
for length and clarity, and may be published in
new .270, they sent him one with a sidestep the fractious topic of the ep- any medium. We regret that owing to the volume
super-accurate barrel that they kept in idemic of gun violence. These trained, of correspondence we cannot reply to every letter.
Johannes Schenk’s twelve viol sonatas, by turns sprightly and solemn, and collectively called “Le Nymphe di Rheno,”
were a swan song, in 1702, for the now archaic ancestors of the modern violin. Shirley Hunt, Wen Yang, and Sarah
Cunningham, of New York Baroque Incorporated (above), bring the instruments back to life with one of the
Schenk sonatas. They also perform works by Bach and Couperin, and a ifteenth-century paean to smoking, on
April 24 at the Morgan Library, perhaps Manhattan’s closest approximation to the nymphs’ Rhineland court.
Sandrine Bonnaire and Eriq Ebouaney play a couple in Paris whose relationship is threatened by legal obstacles in “A Season in France.”
World Wars of Abbas’s family depend on a court de- ened by the hands-on violence concealed
cision about their application for asylum. in France’s administrative indiference.
Mahamat-Saleh Haroun’s films explore
Meanwhile, the family is shunted from Haroun’s first feature, “Bye Bye Af-
the politics of migration.
apartment to apartment. When the ap- rica,” from 1999, is another story of a sin-
The Chadian director Mahamat-Saleh peal is rejected, Abbas hopes to remain gle father and his two children. Here,
Haroun is the subject of a welcome ret- in France nonetheless, but his efort puts Haroun plays a character with his name.
rospective at BAM, April 20-25. It features Carole at serious legal risk. Mahamat-Saleh, a filmmaker living in
the U.S. première of his new film, “A “A Season in France” is a sort of ghost France, has been away from his home
Season in France,” in which Haroun, who story—it’s haunted by the phantom of town of N’Djamena for ten years. After
has been living in France since 1982, bit- Madeleine (Sandra Nkake), whose virtual his mother dies, he returns home, alone,
terly confronts the shame and the scandal presence weighs on Abbas’s conscience and intends to make a film there. Maha-
of that country’s xenophobic rejection of and on his relationship with Carole. But, mat-Saleh shoots documentary footage—
recent African and Asian migrants. above all, Haroun looks keenly at the mi- including a study of the decline of Chad’s
“A Season in France” is the story of grants’ practical struggles: Étienne’s hy- film industry, featuring a close look at the
Abbas (Eriq Ebouaney), a refugee from giene at a communal bathhouse and his decaying movie palaces of his youth and
the Central African Republic who, with job as a security guard; Asma and Yacine’s at the economic and political threats to
his two young children, Asma (Aalayna awareness of the dangers that they left the African cinema. He also dramatizes,
Lys) and Yacine (Ibrahim Burama Dar- behind in Africa and of the bureaucratic with anguish, the aftermath of his per-
boe), has fled a conflict in which his wife, sword of Damocles that’s hanging over sonal relationship with an actress who
Madeleine, was killed. Abbas, a former them. The movie’s central sequence— lives there. Mahamat-Saleh launches a
teacher, lives in Paris and works at a Carole’s birthday party, in her apartment, public campaign for the production of
wholesale produce market. He’s in a re- with Abbas and his children—is a long the movie he wants to make, called “Bye
lationship with a co-worker named Ca- and complex scene filmed in a matched Bye Africa”—and his casting tapes pro-
COURTESY UNIFRANCE
role (Sandrine Bonnaire), an immigrant pair of extended static takes. It’s a cheer- vide a crucial critique of his own methods,
from Poland; his colleague from home, ful, familial moment realized as a sort of and of his divided sensibility, as he strug-
Étienne (Bibi Tanga), a former professor theatre of ordinariness that exalts the gles to reconcile his French artistic edu-
who fled with them, is a regular presence simple pleasures of a life in safety as an cation with his African identity.
in the household. The stability and safety elusive paradise, one that’s brutally threat- —Richard Brody
Find The New Yorker Radio Hour free, wherever you get your podcasts.
MOVIES
Zama
The bureaucratic and intimate frustrations of a
Spanish magistrate in a remote Argentinean out-
post in the eighteenth century furnish the direc-
tor Lucrecia Martel’s new ilm with rareied pas-
sions and inspire a highly original style to match.
The middle-aged oicial, Diego de Zama (Daniel
Giménez Cacho), is posted far from his wife and
children, and his relentless requests for a trans-
fer are mocked and ignored by local governors.
One young subordinate openly deies him; an-
other, a writer, troubles his conscience. He hears
from Spanish settlers who’ve murdered the indig-
enous population and now lack slaves; an aristo-
cratic woman seeks his help and toys with his af-
fections. With a dreamlike obliviousness, Zama
observes and colludes in the brutal injustices on
which the colonial regime runs. Then, in despair,
he volunteers for a dangerous mission in pursuit
of bandits. Adapting a novel by Antonio Di Bene-
detto, Martel creates a cinema of dialectical ten-
ILLUSTRATION BY PING ZHU
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THE THEATRE
ical episode, or two characters in Ham-
let, you have a structure for free.”
“Travesties” is narrated by Henry
Carr, a real person who worked for the
British consulate in Zurich during the
war. When he irst addresses the audi-
ence, he’s an old man in a dressing
gown, recalling dazzled days; in the
main matter of the play, he is a young
man. When Stoppard wrote it, he was
closer in age to young Henry. Now, al-
most ifty years later, I asked if seeing
“Travesties” was like looking through
the other end of a telescope. “If I’m in-
volved in a production, it always feels
in the foreground again,” Stoppard said.
He went on, “Patrick made suggestions
so radical I personally wouldn’t have
thought of making them, but I’m grate-
ful. For example, he said, ‘It’s a great
shame that Lenin doesn’t put in an ap-
pearance in the irst act.’ And I said,
‘Hard luck, he doesn’t,’ and we left it
there. Unlike with a new play, when I’m
in rehearsal all the time, in a revival,
especially with someone like Patrick, I
go away and come back. So the next
time I fetched up at the rehearsal there
was Lenin in Act I, and he was playing
a lute!”
I asked Stoppard why the characters
don’t talk much about the First World
War. “Don’t they? Well, it’s not really
about that,” he said. “The play is a kind
of luxury, in which you pretend that
James Joyce was there in Zurich at the
Cult of Personality revival, directed by Patrick Marber, orig- same time as Lenin and Tristan Tzara.
inated in London in 2016; it opens on It’s a kind of intellectual entertainment.”
Tom Stoppard discusses the return of his
Broadway, at the American Airlines He paused. “It’s something I wanted to
play “Travesties.”
Theatre, on April 24. write about at the time. That’s not al-
The playwright Tom Stoppard was in Stoppard, who looks younger than tered. It feels alive. In a subtle way, one
town recently, to see previews of his 1974 his eighty years and carries with him is watching and listening as if it is a
play, “Travesties.” The drama is set in what Marber calls “his kingly bonho- laboratory experiment.”
Zurich in 1917, and, amid Stoppard’s mie,” was dressed in an Oxford shirt and It’s an experiment that yields new
layered, brilliant verbal erudition, it de- a tweed jacket and pants. He took a bite results. A recurring trope of the play—
ILLUSTRATION BY MIKKEL SOMMER
fends the purpose of art as an activity of his eggs and said, “It’s the job of the one of ten or so things that Stoppard
that can grant a sliver of immortality. artist, to exploit connections.” And then, investigates—is what to do about the
Central to the action are James Joyce, smiling: “You see, I speak on behalf of news. “Anything of interest?” Henry
the poet and Dada founder Tristan the world of the artist without hesita- Carr asks, each morning, when his man-
Tzara, and Vladimir Lenin—all of whom tion!” He continued, “People don’t real- servant brings in the newspapers—a
landed in Zurich during the First World ize that the part of the playwright is line that a New York audience greeted
War—and a production of Oscar Wilde’s inding something for people to talk last week with exhausted laughter.
“The Importance of Being Earnest.”The about. If you are writing about a histor- —Cynthia Zarin
14 THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018
D
Whitney Museum
“Grant Wood: American Gothic and Other
Fables”
This retrospective of the Iowan painter fascinates
as a plunge into certain deliriums of the United
States in the nineteen-thirties, notably a culture
war between cosmopolitan and nativist sensibili-
ties. But any notion that Wood—who died in 1942,
of pancreatic cancer, on the day before his ifty-irst
birthday—is an underrated artist izzles. “Ameri-
can Gothic” is, by a very wide margin, his most ef-
fective picture (although “Dinner for Threshers,”
from 1934, a long, low, cutaway view of a farm-
house at harvesttime, might be his best). Wood
was a strange man who made occasionally impres-
sive, predominantly weird, sometimes god-awful
art in thrall to a programmatic sense of mission:
to exalt rural America in a manner adapted from
Flemish Old Masters. “American Gothic”—starchy
couple, triune pitchfork, churchy house, bubbly
trees—succeeded, deserving the inevitable term
“iconic” for its punch and tickling ambiguity. The
work made Wood, at the onset of his maturity as an
artist, a national celebrity, and the attendant pres-
sures pretty well wrecked him. Why Wood now? A
political factor might seem to be in play. Although
the show was planned before the election of Don-
ald Trump, it feels right on time, given the wor-
ries of urban liberals about the insurgent conser-
vative truculence in what is often dismissed—with
a disdain duly noted by citizens of the respective
states—as lyover country. Through June 10.
Dia:Chelsea
“Rita McBride”
The sixteen beams of green lasers in the Ameri-
can artist’s installation “Particulates” form a criss-
crossing tubular pattern that suggests a tunnel into
another dimension. (Water molecules and “sur-
factant compounds,” whatever those are, are also
involved.) It’s a familiar form for the American
sculptor, recalling her seventeen-story-tall pub-
COURTESY THE GALLERY
Jewish Museum Horn,” photographs from August Sanders’s “Vic- mounted in a continuous dark stripe around the
“Marc Camille Chaimowicz: Your Place or tims of Persecution” series—give way to a wide gallery, are a quiet critique of the male-domi-
Mine . . .” array of less familiar revelations, from the polit- nated canon of the road-trip picture, in the tradi-
Since the nineteen-seventies, when the French- ical photo collages of Friedl Dicker-Brandeis to tion of Robert Frank and Garry Winogrand. Like
born artist began to regard his small London Rudolf Wacker’s unsettling still-life “Sheep and her predecessors, Lipper documents her travels
apartment as a gesamtkunstwerk, or “total work of Doll,” in which nursery toys seem to hint at im- in telling fragments, contrasting the romantic
art,” Chaimowicz has been exploring the over- pending atrocities. Through May 28. myth of the American West with the country’s
lap of art and décor with enchanting abandon. mundane interiors, humble structures, and tum-
His irst, career-spanning solo museum exhibi- New Museum bledown signage. But, in a subtle departure, she
tion in the U.S. is divided into sections named “2018 Triennial: Songs for Sabotage” leaves traces of her own presence in unpeopled
for domestic interiors, beginning with the laven- This show, co-curated by Alex Gartenfeld and shots. In one image, an untouched Wale House
der-walled “L’Entrée” (“The Entrance”), which Gary Carrion-Murayari, tethers fresh artists to breakfast rests on a table; in another, the word
features a row of handsome coat hooks, from stale palaver. The work of these twenty-six in- “motel” is written in soap on a mirror. One of
which customized garments hang, their airy lo- dividuals and groups, ranging in age from twen- the few igures in the mix suggests a surrogate
ral prints applied with a paint roller. “La Biblio- ty-ive to thirty-ive, from nineteen countries, is for the artist—a female mannequin dressed in
thèque” (“The Library”) displays the disassem- for the most part formally conservative (paint- lannel and jeans, leaning against a tree. Through
bled pages of Chaimowicz’s delicately illustrated ing, weaving, ceramics). The framing discourse May 5. (Higher Pictures, 980 Madison Ave., at 76th
and collaged artist’s books; in “Le Salon,” he sets is boilerplate radical, adducing abstract evils of St. 212-249-6100.)
the scene for a charmed life with throw pillows, “late capitalism” and (this one may be new to
a cocktail glass, and a rotary phone arranged on you) “late liberalism,” which the artists are pre- 1
a rug in shades of lemon, rose, and eau de nil, sumed to subvert. In principle, the aim relects GALLERIES—DOWNTOWN
whose ebullient pattern mirrors the playful, Im- the museum’s valuable policy of incubating up-
pressionistic motifs of his nearby paintings and start trends in contemporary art. But it comes Lucy Dodd
screens. The artist makes wonderful use of the of as willfully naïve. Nearly all the participants After entering the gallery through a beaded cur-
museum’s Central Park views, bringing the gar- plainly hail from an international archipelago tain patterned like an American lag—the show’s
den indoors with path-like curved platforms that of art schools and hip scenes and have launched title, “May Flower,” rifs on the founding of the
display his parasols, ceramics, lampshades, and on normal career paths. Noting that they share U.S., and also on celebrations of spring—view-
furniture, including “Desk on Decline,” a non- political discontents, as the young tend to do, is ers encounter a circle of mystical-looking chairs,
functional marvel with a sharply slanted top— easy. Harder, in the context, is registering their arranged around “Prince Porcupine,” a canvas
an invitation to shrug of work and enjoy life. originalities as creators—like bumps under an leaning against a column on the loor. Like the
Through Aug. 5. ideological blanket. Two standouts are painters works mounted on the surrounding walls, the
who evince independent streaks at odds with the painting’s amber depths and jet-black clouds are
Morgan Library and Museum ideal of collectivity that the curators promulgate. achieved not with conventional paint but with
“Peter Hujar: Speed of Life” The Kenyan Chemu Ng’ok, who is based in South lower essences, Tetley tea, cuttleish ink, and
Hujar, who died of AIDS-related pneumonia Africa, has developed a conidently ebullient Ex- yew berries, among other substances. With ti-
in 1987, at the age of ifty-three, was among the pressionism—faces and igures teeming in deep- tles like “The Flight of Aunt Goose” and “Slowly
greatest of all American photographers and has toned, plangent colors. Even more impressive is Snail . . . Time Is Creation’s Bubble,” the artist
had, by far, the most confusing reputation. This the Haitian abstractionist Thomm El-Saieh, who seems to invite viewers to read her radiant works
dazzling retrospective of a hundred and sixty-four lives in Miami. From a distance, his three large like Rorschach tests for pagan rites. Through
pictures, curated by Joel Smith, airms Hujar’s acrylic paintings suggest speckled veils of atmo- May 20. (Lewis, 88 Eldridge St. 212-966-7990.)
excellence while, if anything, complicating his spheric color. Up close, they reveal thousands
history. The works range across the genres of por- of tiny marks, blotches, and erasures, each dis- Joanne Greenbaum
traiture, nudes, cityscape, and still-life—the still- cretely energetic and decisive. Through May 27. Forty small plexiglass cubes housing abstract
est of all from the catacombs of Palermo, Italy, sculptures ill a table in modular columns of
shot in 1963. The inest are portraits, not only Rubin Museum of Art four or ive—a memory palace of bright color
of people but of cows, sheep, and, most notably, “Chitra Ganesh: The Scorpion Gesture” and brisk gesture. Greenbaum is best known
an individual goose, with an eagerly coniding The Brooklyn artist’s new animations ingeniously for her exuberant abstract paintings; these
mien. The quality of Hujar’s prints, tending to combine her own drawings and watercolors with coiled, squeezed, and extruded little wonders
sumptuous blacks and simmering grays, trans- historical imagery, peppering the journeys of express that same energy in a riot of neon pink
ixes. He was a darkroom master, maintaining bodhisattvas with contemporary pop-culture ref- and yellow, lavender, molten orange, Interna-
technical standards for which he got scant credit erences. Five of these pieces are installed on the tional Klein Blue, and the shade of pink now
except among certain cognoscenti. He never museum’s second and third loors amid its collec- known as millennial. The show’s title is “Caput
hatched a signature look to rival those of more tion of Himalayan art, elements of which appear Mortuum,” which is Latin for “worthless re-
celebrated elders who inluenced him (Richard in her psychedelic sequences of spinning man- mains.” Insigniicance has never held more ap-
Avedon, Diane Arbus) or those of younger peers dalas and falling lotus lowers. (Ganesh’s works peal. Through May 20. (56 Henry, 56 Henry St.
who learned from him (Robert Mapplethorpe, are activated, as if by magic, when viewers ap- 646-858-0800.)
Nan Goldin). His pictures share, in place of a proach.) In “Rainbow Body,” a cave, which also
style, an unfailing rigor that can only be experi- appears in a nearby painting of Mandarava, is Cary Leibowitz
enced, not described. Through May 20. illed with people in 3-D glasses, watching as the In this picnic-themed installation of wooden
guru-deity attains enlightenment. “Silhouette in tables and red gingham looring, the native
Neue Galerie the Graveyard” is projected behind a glass case New Yorker continues his decades-long quest
“Before the Fall: German and Austrian Art of containing a small sculpture of Maitreya, from to entertain with self-deprecation. His text-
the 1930s” late-eighteenth-century Mongolia, for a cleverly driven art, which here includes signs and pie
Haunting details give this broad roundup of Aus- dioramalike efect. Prophesied to arrive during charts, white crockery scrawled with black let-
trian and German art from the nineteen-thirties an apocalyptic crisis, the bodhisattva is seen here ters, and found photographs doctored with a la-
an all-too-vivid sense of the period’s mounting against Ganesh’s montage, which includes foot- bel-maker, also continues to bring on the camp.
anxiety. Hanns Ludwig Katz’s “Eye Operation” age of global catastrophes and political protests, Other works include Hollywood publicity stills
portrays two corpse-colored hands pulling open from the Women’s March to Black Lives Mat- that read “Elizabeth Taylor Is Thinking About
a man’s eye, as a third hand approaches it with a ter. Through Jan. 7. Fried Chicken” and “Joan Collins Has a Head-
scalpel. Felix Nussbaum’s bone-chilling painting ache,” and a brightly colored, diamond-shaped
“Self-Portrait in the Camp,” made between his 1 plywood panel captioned “Ugh, He’s Crying
escape from a prison camp in southern France GALLERIES—UPTOWN Again.” Leibowitz’s jokes land best when his
and his subsequent murder in Auschwitz, shows pop-cultural insight merges with his satire of
the young Surrealist in three-quarter proile Susan Lipper self-grandiosity, as in a picture of Milton Berle
against a sand-colored hellscape of loose bones The title of the New York photographer’s black- smoking a cigar, captioned “Cancel All My Ap-
and barbed wire. Well-known touchstones—Max and-white series “trip, 1993-1999” is lowercase pointments with the Whitney.” Through May 13.
Beckmann’s red-and-black “Self-Portrait with for a reason: the ifty small, unframed prints, (Invisible Exports, 89 Eldridge St. 212-226-5447.)
Bodega Bamz
New York City hip-hop is known for producing
vivid storytellers and big characters; the fash-
ionable cluster of young artists that includes
A$AP Mob, Flatbush Zombies, and Bodega Bamz
aspired to the latter when they began break-
ing, around 2012. Bamz delivered his mixtape
“Strictly 4 My P.A.P.I.Z.” that year, a stab at
booming trap inluenced by his native Spanish
Harlem. “At Close Range” was its best moment,
a rare personal look into the rapper’s backstory.
Bodega Bamz is releasing a new album, and plays
a show at S.O.B.’s this week. (204 Varick St., at
W. Houston St. 212-243-4940. April 18.)
Built to Spill
This beloved Idaho band has witnessed the past
twenty years of alternative rock irsthand, but
has never swayed along. The group’s 1997 album,
“Perfect from Now On,” is required listening
for those interested in indie-rock history; the
guitarist Doug Martsch was inspired to start
the group after he moved to Seattle, the birth-
place of grunge, and surrounded himself with
musicians who were writing droning, emotive
Two Jokers updates of early skeletal Def Jam pro- songs without commercial aspirations. Built to
ductions and New Wave bands. Their Spill eventually signed with Warner Bros., and
The twin brothers in the Garden are beneitted from the full promotional strength
over-all message seems to land some-
savvy scenesters earning punk yuks. of college stations and other indie outlets. The
where near “You can have as much fun band’s catalogue still endures; at this intimate
“All Access,” released in 2013, by the as us, if you try.” set at Baby’s All Right, added to a co-headlin-
Garden, starts of loud and goofy, with The twenty-four-year-old Shears ing tour with Afghan Whigs, fans can again ex-
press their gratitude. (146 Broadway, Brooklyn.
a blizzard of hard snares and synth, like brothers are from a musical family. Their 718-599-5800. April 19.)
an outtake from a John Hughes-era father gigged regularly with a local punk
soundtrack. Fletcher Shears goes on to band, which meant that there were al- James Chance and the Contortions
This legendary short-lived outit irst appeared
share a bit of life-style advice, extolling ways instruments around the house. By on Brian Eno’s 1978 compilation “No New York,”
the virtues of patience, originality, indi- 2011, the twins had begun releasing lim- which packaged the city’s hippest post-punk
vidualism, and getting a good night’s ited batches of records on the small label bands and christened the No Wave genre. Blend-
ing the free-jazz horn theatrics of Ornette Cole-
sleep. “In the end, you’re on your own,” Burger, and they were soon embraced man and Albert Ayler with wet, muted funk
he warns. “Better cook up something as muses by fashion houses; designers and showman shrieks (“Contort yourself ive
good while you’re home.” fell for their flowing thrift-store style times!”), Chance and his group put their stamp
on a fringe style that felt at once chicly nostal-
The Garden, which plays at Market and costumed performances. The broth- gic and switchblade sharp. Young contempo-
Hotel on April 18, has a distinct style: ers modelled for Yves Saint Laurent in rary bands still aspire to their plucky, smoky
the small band from Orange County, 2013, but swatted away associations with tones and rambling structures. Chance and the
Contortions return to the city for a stand at the
California, employs a fast collage of the style sphere. “To me, fashion and Bowery Electric. (327 Bowery, at 2nd St. 212-228-
toy instruments and wordy verses that music presentation are opposite. No 0228. April 18.)
somehow add up to punk, or rap (or, feelings are alike to me. I like them both
Diarrhea Planet
on at least one track, jungle). The songs in diferent ways, though,” Fletcher ex- This Nashville-based sextet understands the
are philosophical if you listen closely, plained in an interview. joys of maximalism and willful stupidity. Look
and fun if you dance badly; many Still, the band has seized on the past its name to its live arrangement: four gui-
tar players assemble front and center during
transform two or three times within power of image: its videos are ac- performances, each with his own mike. The re-
three minutes, and they’re catchy tion-packed and theatrical, featuring sult is near-perfect garage rock that sounds like
enough to mumble along to for days. baseball games, mini-bikes, and cowboy a Trans Am revving out front. Efervescent col-
lege-radio hits like “Ghost with a Boner” have
If you ask Fletcher or his twin brother, hats. In videos for the Garden’s new
ILLUSTRATION BY KEITH NEGLEY
MikeQ début album, and, with little recorded material zling listeners with her levitating bass lines;
The ballroom and vogue music scenes, most fa- released, its precious new tunes may be best ex- she’s since played with such estimable artists
mously captured in the documentary ilm “Paris perienced in the lesh. (325 Franklin Ave., Brook- as Kenny Barron and Pat Metheny. Now lead-
Is Burning,” have been inluencing popular cul- lyn. cmoneverybody.com. April 21.) ing her own unit at this most hallowed of jazz
ture since the nineteen-eighties, while remain- venues, Oh fronts a quintet that includes the
ing staunchly underground. Vogue grew out 1 saxophonist Ben Wendel, the pianist Fabian Al-
of New York’s seventies disco and house eras, JAZZ AND STANDARDS mazan, and the drummer Rudy Royston. (Vil-
and crossed over when Madonna and others lage Vanguard, 178 Seventh Ave. S., at 11th St.
cribbed its sounds, its fashion, and its dance Joel Forrester 212-255-4037. April 17-22.)
moves; today, a new generation maintains the Although he’s fronted many a delightfully
insular, escapist energy that made the original twisted ensemble since the 1992 breakup of the Roberta Piket
parties special. This twenty-seven-year-old New- Microscopic Septet, Forrester may be best ap- An exceptional modern-jazz pianist hover-
ark-based d.j. started out producing on free soft- preciated as a radiant and stylistically uncatego- ing just under the radar, Piket looks beyond
ware, and soon found himself spinning all over rizable pianist and composer in a solo context. the tradition while tipping her hat to its veri-
New York as one of the few d.j.s willing to stick Like a present-day Fats Waller, he can dazzle you ties. She’s joined by two players who prize in-
to ballroom tracks for entire sets. His irst oi- while making you laugh out loud. (Jules, 65 Saint vention and subtlety as much as she does: the
cial release came out on Fade to Mind, an agen- Marks Pl. julesbistro.com. April 18.) bassist Harvie S and Piket’s husband, the crafty
da-setting Los Angeles record label that special- drummer Billy Mintz. (Mezzrow, 163 W. 10th St.
izes in futurist electronic music. (House of Yes, Mike McGinnis, Art Lande, and Steve mezzrow.com. April 19.)
2 Wyckof Ave., Brooklyn. houseofyes.org. April 18.) Swallow
Expecting the conventional from the union of Kendra Shank
79.5 three players as idiosyncratic as the saxophon- Celebrating her birthday alongside musical
This slow-paced, psychedelic outit is a regu- ist and clarinettist McGinnis and the veteran buddies, the valiant singer Shank takes to
lar headliner at C’mon Everybody, a pleasantly improvisers Lande, on piano, and Swallow, the stage with the pianist Frank Kimbrough,
snug bar, bordering Clinton Hill and Bed-Stuy, on electric bass, is downright foolish. These the saxophonist Billy Drewes, and the bass-
that’s always good for a night of music that you simpatico players revel in modernist cham- ist Dean Johnson, three longtime associates
wouldn’t hear anywhere else. The six-person ber-jazz that allows for both lyricism and open- in tune with her audacious juxtaposition of
ensemble, named for a radio station at the far ended jostling; they shine on McGinnis’s re- warmhearted swinging and out-on-a-limb vo-
left of the dial, relishes in four-part girl-group cently released “Singular Awakening.” (Jazz calizing. Bringing lustre to standards, Shank
harmonies; the cooing choral arrangements on Standard, 116 E. 27th St. 212-576-2232. April 19.) also wisely plumbs the jazz repertoire for hid-
its 2012 twelve-inch “Boogie/OOO” sound like den gems from the likes of Abbey Lincoln,
Donna Summer and Evelyn (Champagne) King Linda May Han Oh Quintet Fred Hersch, and Cedar Walton. (Jazz at Ki-
playing a Steve Rubell club. After a fan-sourced It seems like just yesterday that the Austra- tano, 66 Park Ave., at 38th St. 212-885-7119.
funding campaign, the band is still polishing its lian bassist Oh was the new kid in town, daz- April 21.)
St. Jordi Festival prone dread the impending bloom of New Gay, as well as a lecture by Hillary Clinton, who
In Barcelona, St. Valentine’s seat is occupied York’s cherry blossoms. The festival celebrating will appear in conversation with the Nigerian
by Jordi, a knight who, according to medieval the lowers’ arrival is in its fourteenth year at author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (April 22).
legend, slew a dragon and saved a village, in- Flushing Meadows Park; this installment will (Various locations. worldvoices.pen.org. April 16-22.)
cluding the daughter of a king; the dragon’s be packed with performances relecting both
blood produced a rosebush where it dripped. traditional and modern Japan, including taiko The New School
Catalans celebrate St. Jordi each April by drumming, martial arts, and a cosplay fashion In 2018, the word “scam” has slipped into Inter-
exchanging roses and books with their loved show. (Pavilion & Astral Fountain in Flushing net meme-dom, an online inside joke: youthful
ones. Two organizations, the Farragut Fund Meadows-Corona Park. bbg.org. April 21 at 11 A.M.) users everywhere are concocting schemes that
for Catalan Culture in the U.S. and the Cat- Ralph Kramden couldn’t dream up, in relent-
alan Institute of America, aim to broaden the 1 less over-the-top pursuits of wealth, fame, and
tradition’s global recognition with a week of READINGS AND TALKS social-media followers. (When Virgil Abloh was
events, including a bookstore crawl and a read- appointed the menswear designer of Louis Vuit-
ILLUSTRATION BY PABLO AMARGO
ing by the Catalan writer Alícia Kopf, at this PEN World Voices Festival of International ton, the style igure saw one of his old tweets,
year’s PEN World Voices Festival. (Various Literature “Design is the freshest scam,” ironically resur-
locations. ciofa.org. April 21-23.) This literary festival was founded by Salman face.) At the multi-session talk “Cons and Scams:
Rushdie, Esther Allen, and Michael Roberts in Their Place in American Culture,” several profes-
Sakura Matsuri Cherry Blossom Festival the wake of the September 11th attacks, with a sors and academics trace the history of the scam
In the classic Japanese horror ilm “Under the mission to foster dialogue among writers from as a social and political phenomenon, and exam-
Blossoming Cherry Trees,” from 1975, villagers around the globe. This year’s edition addresses ine its role in popular culture, art, inance, law,
are warned to avoid passing beneath the pictur- a newly connected and mobilized world with a and medicine. The talk is free and open to the
esque petals, as stories spread of the lowers program titled “Resist & Reimagine.” It includes public, with no snake oil for sale. (Theresa Lang
driving travellers mad. Today, only the allergy- talks by Sean Penn, R. J. Palacio, and Roxane Center, 55 W. 13th St. 212-229-5108. April 23-24.)
# To Art Its Freedom
VIENNESE
MODERNISM
2018
THE TALK OF THE TOWN
COMMENT trils, spoke to him. The President or- Russia, of course, say that the reports
MIGHT AND RIGHT dered fifty-nine Tomahawk cruise mis- from Douma are fake news.
siles to be fired at the base from which Poison gas, which kills with particu-
ple. Last April, Assad used sarin on Khan tion to respond to these atrocities. Un-
Sheikhoun, a rebel-held town in north- like every other President since Jimmy
ern Syria, killing at least seventy. Pres- Carter, he doesn’t even ofer human rights
ident Trump’s advisers found it diicult the compliment of hypocrisy. His for-
to focus his attention on the enormity eign policy is simple: might makes right.
of the act, until his daughter Ivanka, He has championed brutal rulers, like
after seeing pictures of dead children the Philippine President, Rodrigo Duter-
with foam around their lips and nos- te, and the Saudi royal family; shrugged
THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018 25
at genocidal killings in Burma; and force largely responsible for crushing the Free Syrian Army, or about the possible
pushed our military to use levels of vi- Islamic State. U.S. diplomacy was never return of ISIS, or about the regional am-
olence that have sent civilian casualties aligned with the leverage in Syria that bitions of Russia and Iran. The announce-
in Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan soaring. comes with force, and now we have no ment came as a surprise to his generals.
Under Trump, it is nearly impossible for diplomacy at all. Any action that Trump After nearly two decades of inconclusive
refugees from the Syrian civil war to find takes will be feckless at best and possi- wars in collapsed states, against elusive
a haven in this country. John Bolton, his bly disastrous—triggering conflict with enemies backed by complex arrays of ac-
new national-security adviser, describes Russia, or the war with Iran that Bolton tors, our military leaders no longer think
international organizations and treaties and others want—for there is no strat- in terms of victory parades. They use
as threats to U.S. sovereignty. On what egy to guide it except to “bomb the shit phrases like “staying in the game” and
ground can the Administration punish out of them” and get out. Even a joint “pursuing your objectives.” They are far
Assad for defying an international weap- attack with European allies would be too wised up to suit their shallow, frag-
ons ban and killing civilians? empty without a larger efort to nego- ile, ignorant Commander-in-Chief.
Seven years of indecision have left us tiate an end to the war. Trump’s taunts and reversals of the
the weakest outside power in the war. A few days before the latest gas at- past week are the product of a charac-
Russia and Iran have committed fighters, tack, the President declared victory over ter that we know too well. They also
weapons, aircraft, and a readiness to jus- the Islamic State and announced that the reflect deep American frustration with
tify any inhumanity and tell any lie on two thousand U.S. troops in Syria would the limits of our power to win these
behalf of their client in Damascus, and soon come home. Maybe he will have wars or to end them. Hitting Assad now
now Assad is close to the ultimate Pyr- them march down Pennsylvania Avenue, might bring a momentary sense of just
rhic victory. Turkey, defying American past his reviewing stand, in the military deserts, but there is nothing to be proud
pleas, is waging a brutal campaign against parade planned for later this year. Trump of in Syria, and no American solution—
the Kurdish People’s Protection Units, had nothing to say about the fate of the not even for the gassing of children.
our only reliable partner and the ground Syrian Kurds and our other partner, the —George Packer
VOCATIONAL STUDIES the Rolls or the Lambo.) He opens the “We had a diicult relationship. When
ANGEL IN HASTINGS back door. He wants you to have the ex- I changed my name to Max, in 1993,
perience. He gets in front and starts driv- my dad said, ‘Fuck you.’ I went to fat
ing north. The contrast between the back camp when I was eleven. I got out
seat’s spacious, buttery interior and the of special ed at thirteen and drifted
driver’s livery (T-shirt, worn jeans, jean through high school. They thought I
jacket) is sharp enough to make you won- was retarded. But I learned to sing and
der if the car is stolen. play entire catalogues of music. I don’t
osh Max is a name that turns up in But it’s not. Max, it turns out, tends read music, but I have a savant’s mem-
Ja video
your e-mail in-box, sometimes with
attached. The video might be a
many lines—musician, writer, photog-
rapher, ordained minister, and figure
ory for lyrics and melodies.”
Max has put this talent to great use
business proposition, in the form of him model—but his most remunerative is as through the years—in a prog-rock band
performing, on a portable keyboard, a a test driver and reviewer, for magazines, called Rage, a hybrid cover act (Elvis
few verses he’s written to the tune of of expensive automobiles. He has been Prestello and the Distractions), a Nick
Billy Joel’s “Just the Way You Are.” In doing this for eighteen years—fifty-two Drake tribute orchestra, and a lounge-
place of the opening line, “Don’t go cars a year. The manufacturers deliver a-billy ensemble that he christened Josh
changing,’’ he sings your name. He’s sit- the cars to him and he drives them Max’s Outfit. There were memorable
ting next to an old stove. He has messy around. He’d driven the Maybach to gigs but never a lot of cash.
peroxide-blond hair, a tight red T-shirt, Bellmore, on Long Island, and was now In 2000, Max became the automo-
and a wild look in his eyes. taking it up the Saw Mill to the West- bile critic at the News. Life was grand:
So you’d think, when other e-mails chester Hills Cemetery, in Hastings-on- “Jaguar would call and say, ‘What do
arrive saying he’s going to be in the city Hudson, to visit his father’s grave—a you want?,’ and they’d bring it to me
and would like to pick you up near your favorite test-driving destination. the next day.” Bentley flew him to Bei-
apartment in a fancy car and drive you The Maybach pulled up, scattering jing; Bugatti had him test-drive a two-
to a graveyard, that you might come up a rafter of wild turkeys. A footstone and-a-half-million-dollar Vitesse. But
with an excuse not to. But the videos read “Stanley P. Friedman. 1925-2006.” that racket, like so many, got tight. He
are funny. He’s persistent. And he says “We buried him with a cup of cofee, lived for a while in Park Slope, then
he’ll be driving a Rolls-Royce or a Lam- mismatched socks, the Times, and a Inwood, and then, finally, in a Win-
borghini. If you’ve never been in a car cigar,” Max said. Friedman was a writer nebago, parked on the Upper West Side,
like that, this could be your chance. and a photographer, and a Second not far from where he’d lived as a child.
On the appointed afternoon, you meet World War B-17 bombardier who’d sur- The neighborhood rebelled and, even-
him on the street. He’s driving a Mercedes- vived thirty-six missions over Europe. tually, he had to split town for Phila-
Maybach S560. (He couldn’t get hold of “He never talked about it,” Max said. delphia, then Colorado. “I’m so fucking
26 THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018
broke,” he said. On this occasion, Mer-
cedes had flown him to New York from
his temporary perch in Longmont. “But
I have no permanent home now, really,”
he said. “My stuf ’s in storage in Man-
hattan and Philly.”
He performs up and down the Front
Range, mostly solo: “It’s rare there to
find people who can sing harmony. And
they don’t really get my references to
‘The Honeymooners’ or ‘The God-
father.’” All-request solo-piano sets have
him doing lots of Billy Joel. He has a
gimmick, on vocals and guitar, where
he strings together snatches of sixty-four
Beatles songs, in six minutes. His cur-
rent show, called “Binge Mode,” has
him in Rollerblades, performing on a
circular saw. “The noise gets their at- And, just like that, Facebook is giving us ads for used cars,
tention,” he said. He also has a regular optometrists, and couples counselling.”
gig as a nude model for art students at
C.U. Boulder: “I name the poses so I
can remember them: the Pelican, the
• •
Bela Lugosi, the Shoveller, the Pugi-
list.” He’s working on a memoir called is to promote cultural exchange. The assumed even greater urgency. His firm
“Help Wanted.” name is a variant of “samizdat” (“self- takes those cases pro bono. “At the con-
“Where to now, sir?” he asked. He published”), the Soviet term for clan- sular stage, there’s definitely some con-
was headed eventually to New Jersey to destinely distributed dissident literature. fusion coming down from the Admin-
take his mother bowling. She is ninety- “ ‘Tam’ means ‘over there,’ ” Covey ex- istration about how rigid to be,” he said.
four. “I speak to her every day,” he said. plained the other day. “The stuf that’s Earlier this year, he tried to bring in a
But first he piloted the Maybach to a taken across the border.” group of Syrian dancers. The State De-
cofee shop in a nearby mini-mall. A Covey, who is fifty, is a tall, cheerful partment said no to a member of the
young man was sitting out front, writ- Minnesotan. “I wanted to be a hermit troupe. “Totally a bummer,” Covey said.
ing on a laptop he’d plugged into his for a really long time,” he said. “But then “I had some Scandinavian clients, and
car. He said that he was driving around in grad school I studied post-colonial they were, like, ‘Oh no, are we not get-
the country with a mutt named Bolt literary theory.” In 1992, after the Ber- ting in?’ And I said, ‘No, you’re Danish
and blogging about it. His motto was: lin Wall came down, he and a girlfriend jazz musicians.’ ”
“Be silly, find joy, live in the moment.” took university gigs in Slovakia. “We Translating arcane immigration pol-
He and Max talked for a bit. It felt like found this really great indie-rock punk icy for aspiring rock stars and global-
a meeting of two angels. scene there,” he said. “I wound up start- citizen d.j.s can be trying. On one form,
—Nick Paumgarten ing a band, which was way more inter- applicants are asked whether they’ve
1 esting than teaching. Kind of damaged- ever committed genocide. “It pushes
PAPERWORK art-noise math rock.” people’s patience,” Covey said.
GETTING IN The band didn’t last; neither did the The other night, Covey hosted a
relationship. Covey moved to Dublin, workshop called “Navigating the Lab-
then to Amsterdam, where he ran the yrinth” at his oice building, in Dumbo.
Knitting Factory’s European booking He wore a plaid shirt, jeans, and black
agency. He dabbled in publicity; he boots; he has glasses and a graying goa-
managed the Klezmatics. “But there tee. About fifty artists gathered in a
wasn’t any good system for afordably meeting room with a small disco ball
dversity can inspire great art, but getting artists into the U.S.,” he said. dangling from the ceiling. A golden re-
A it can also be a time suck. For more
than twenty years, Matthew Covey has
In 1998, he and some friends launched
Tamizdat; after 9/11, visa applicants
triever greeted them at the door. “We
once had a dog act write us about get-
been helping musicians and other art- faced a much stricter level of scrutiny. ting visas,” Covey recalled. “We wrote
ists deal with government paperwork. “We kind of drew straws as a board, back, ‘We assume that you’re talking
He’s an immigration fixer; his firm, Cov- and I drew the short one,” he said. “So about the trainer?’ ” Nope. He grinned.
eyLaw, handles some twenty-five hun- I wound up having to go to law school.” “Dogs don’t need visas.”
dred visas every year, in ailiation with With Trump’s travel ban—in each He went on, “All these laws have to
Tamizdat, a nonprofit whose mission of its iterations—Covey’s mission has do with labor policy. They’re to protect
THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018 27
American artists from”—he leaned into of Dolce & Gabbana clients descended
a microphone—“you guys.” He pulled on New York for the first-ever Alta
up a PowerPoint. “The Department of Moda event in the United States—
Homeland Security’s idea of what’s four days that kicked of at the main
‘culturally unique’ is, unsurprisingly, not branch of the New York Public Library
very sophisticated. In our oice, we have with an exhibit of the company’s high-
the Funny Costumes and Weird Instru- jewelry, or Alta Gioielleria, line.
ments Rule: if you’re wearing something The library’s entrance hall—usually
weird and playing an instrument that frequented by frazzled-looking grad-
can’t be bought at Guitar Center, then uate students, pufy-coated tourists,
you’re probably good for a P-3 visa.” and homeless people seeking shelter—
An actor asked about travel flexibil- had been transformed. Enormous sprays
ity. “I think Rod Stewart has been on of blossoming plum branches loomed
an O-1 visa for years,” Covey replied. everywhere; in a tribute to the loca-
“Because he doesn’t want to get a green tion, oversized faux-medieval books lay
card and he tours all the time, and he open on tables; and a series of vitrines
wants to spend his summers in the South displayed opulent, one-of trinkets.
of France, or whatever.” The Dolce & Gabbana woman can Sarah Jessica Parker and Domenico Dolce
Parham Haghighi, a pianist, has an be defined by her willful rejection of the
O-1 visa, but he’s from Iran, so he can’t well-known Coco Chanel edict—pre- a dozen glittering Coachella-gone-
fly in and out as he pleases. “This is not ferring to put on rather than take of one Baroque flower crowns in the room,
the best place to live,” he said. “But it’s final accessory before leaving the house— some flounces and some trains, hats with
better than where I came from.” and the almost comically ornate jewelry veils, and colorful fur stoles, not to men-
Clicking ahead, Covey advised, on display echoed this attitude. A pair tion bejewelled corsets. The clients min-
“You’re going to have to get creative. of earrings were composed of kittens gled over flutes of pink Cristal, served
And by creative I don’t mean fraudu- perched on pavé balls, batting at pearl by handsome waiters in maroon livery.
lent. You can’t do what a lot of artists orbs dangling from diamond-flecked Domenico Dolce, bald and bespec-
do, which is make up a bunch of stuf hearts. A book-shaped pendant was stud- tacled, wearing gold-embroidered loaf-
and put it in your petition. Because ded with diamonds and garnets and ers with a velvet dinner jacket of the
what Homeland Security has started topped by a chunky ruby; hung on a same shade as the waiters’, bobbed and
to do is call those venues to check.” sturdy chain, not unlike that worn by Sid weaved among the crowd—posing for
(This elicited an ominous “Oooh.”) Vicious in his heyday, it bore the hard- pictures, dispensing hugs, and passing
In closing, Covey assured the artists to-argue-with legend “Love Is Beauty.” around drinks. A jovial group of four
that they could follow up about their At 7:50 P.M., harried stafers were women from Hong Kong swept him up
particulars. His oice has a hot line. He still bustling around, positioning jew- for a selfie. One of them, Karen Suen, a
described a sample call: “ ‘The band is els on Picasso-esque busts commis- jewelry designer, who wore a flowered
coming in from Toronto, and everyone sioned from the American artist Nick gown with a plunging neckline and chan-
but the drummer is here.’ ” The crowd Georgiou, whose medium—appropri- delier earrings, had been an Alta Moda
murmured. “It’s always the drummer.” ately or not, given the location—is re- client for two years. “Luxury!” she said.
—Betsy Morais purposed books. The library had been “It’s one of a kind!”
1 kept open until six. Only then were the The evening had the feel of a sum-
OVER THE TOP three hundred Dolce & Gabbana work- mer-camp reunion. “It’s like a big fam-
BEDAZZLED ers able to spring into action. “We were ily,” Veronica Chaves, who had flown
waiting for everyone to put their books in from Paraguay, said. She wore a white
down, pencils down, exit the library in gown under a structured bolero busy
single file,” a publicist said. She looked with sparkly peppers and hearts, a tiara
tired. The event had been in the works perching on her pale Renaissance-style
for a year. At eight, a Verdi aria boomed ringlets. “Wearing Dolce & Gabbana
from speakers, marking the evening’s makes you feel like you’re a queen in-
or the past six years, the designers start. “Cominciare!” the publicist said side,” she said. A potential hazard—
F Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gab-
bana have staged biannual presenta-
with a short laugh.
The guests began to arrive—most
two clients wearing the same dress—
had to be averted, she cautioned, by
tions of their haute-couture, or Alta of them Alta Moda enthusiasts who’d consulting with the company in ad-
Moda, collections. The extravagant travelled from countries as far-flung as vance. “Every girl has her personal help,”
events, in which the designers show China, Russia, and Brazil—and the hall she explained. (Clients also communi-
custom-made, one-of-a-kind pieces for was quickly filled by a scrum of intri- cate with one another via a special
both women and men, have until now cately shod, gem-adorned, heavily per- WhatsApp account.) Chaves’s husband,
taken place largely in Italian resort fumed clients. The looks were gaudy who represents the Toyota company in
towns. But on a recent Friday hundreds and dramatic. There were at least Paraguay, was standing quietly by her
30 THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018
side, his dark suit punctuated by a pair by saying, ‘I don’t have any money.’ ” Miki Yamashita and the director Doug
of sparkly shoes. But the caller was Tim Sanford, the Hughes—who first put on an O’Don-
After dinner, served at tables groan- artistic director of Playwrights Hori- nell play when the two were Harvard
ing under bushels of peonies, platters zons, and he told Winkler that she’d undergraduates—joined Steve in read-
of strawberries, and ornate candelabra, been chosen as the first recipient of the ing three of Mark’s pieces, among them
the actress Sarah Jessica Parker led a Mark O’Donnell Prize, for “an emerg- “Manhattan Zen,” a sequence of koan-
charity auction with the help of Adrien ing theater artist in recognition of her like reflections on city life: “A run-over
Meyer, from Christie’s. Parker had on or his talent and promise.” The prize rat. Good! Still . . .”; “The neighbor who
a turquoise turban and a gold Alta came with twenty-five thousand dol- needs voice lessons is taking them.”
Moda dress. The auction benefitted the lars. Once Winkler got over the shock, “I was born first,” Steve said after-
New York City Ballet and ROC United, she bought a desk. ward. “One day, in grade school, I told
an organization that is dedicated to The prize was named for a play- him, ‘I’m the original, and you’re the
raising the wages of restaurant work- wright, poet, novelist, cartoonist, and copy’—and he came back instantly with
ers. Modelling a set of aquamarine- general-purpose humorist. He wrote ‘You’re the rough draft, and I’m the new,
and-diamond earrings, bracelet, and for “Saturday Night Live,” in the eight- improved version.’ He was very fast. He
necklace that were to be auctioned, ies, and he was an occasional contrib- was like a little adult when we were
Parker worked the crowd, coaxing guests utor to this magazine, but commercial kids—and then, in a sort of strange
to bid. “Tonight is not Alta Moda,” success eluded him, or he eluded it, until switch-around, he was very childlike
Dolce cried. “It’s Altissima! Too much!” the theatre producer Margo Lion asked when he was actually a grownup.”
Rob Arnott, a gray-haired entrepre- his agent, “Do you think Mark O’Don- Leah Winkler never met her bene-
neur from Newport Beach, California, nell could write the book for a musi- factor, but, eerily, the first play she had
who sat beside his tiara-wearing Rus- cal?” The musical was “Hairspray.” anything to do with, in high school,
sian wife, Marina, bid aggressively, O’Donnell shared a Tony with his co- was an adaptation of Molière’s “Les
inspiring hoots and slightly feral ap- writer, Thomas Meehan, and a few years Fourberies de Scapin,” co-written by
plause. He ended up buying all the lots, later they adapted the play for film and him. “I was a wordless gendarme, but
including Parker’s golden gown—which wrote the book for a second musical, that play was what made me fall in love
the designers had at first been reluc- “Cry-Baby.” Prosperity didn’t visibly
tant to part with—for a little more than change him, however. His twin, Steve—
half a million dollars. who for years was David Letterman’s
“Domenico and Stefano, can you head writer—said recently that, “Hair-
throw in the dress?” Parker had asked spray” notwithstanding, his brother
earlier, attempting to solicit a steeper bid. never had more than one belt. “He
“No, no, no!” Dolce had at first an- owned two pairs of scufed shoes, which
swered, with a laugh. “I’m Catholic— even in middle age he referred to as
no naked!” his ‘gym shoes’ and his ‘good, school
—Naomi Fry shoes,’ ” Steve said. “Despite my ofers
1 to treat, he never had a cell phone.”
LEGACY DEPT. Mark died in 2012, at the age of fifty-
VERY UNIQUE eight, after collapsing in front of his
apartment building, on the Upper West
Side. Recently, Steve donated Mark’s
“Hairspray” royalties in perpetuity to
the Actors Fund, to endow the prize Mark and Steve O’Donnell
and to support other fund activities,
including addiction-and-recovery ser- with the experience of theatre,” she said.
hen her phone rang that day, vices. (O’Donnell’s death was at least When Steve met her, he gave her cop-
W Leah Nanako Winkler was broke.
She’d come to New York on a bus, a
partly alcohol-related.) The gift and the
prize were announced during a private
ies of several of Mark’s plays, and she
said, “Oh, I’ve read them.”
decade earlier, with forty-five hundred ceremony at what is now the Mark “That made me feel great on Mark’s
dollars that she’d earned by selling her O’Donnell Theatre, at the Actors Fund behalf,” Steve recalled. “Leah’s take on
eggs to a fertility clinic, and now she was Arts Center, in Brooklyn. the world is very much like his. What
thinking about taking a part-time job as “As kids, we were identical enough she does is write characters that are true
a dog groomer because she couldn’t to swap classes and hornswoggle adults to their own selves, so that, when they
aford to both pay her rent and do the in general,” Steve said during the cer- speak, they say the kinds of dopey things
only work she wanted to do: write plays. emony. “But I have to tell you, not then, that those people really would say, and
“I saw that an unknown number was not now, was there anybody who was that makes you laugh. She told me that
calling my phone, and I automatically like Mark O’Donnell. He was unique she doesn’t think of her plays as funny,
assumed it was a telemarketer,” she said enough to carry the prohibited modifier: but to me they’re hilarious—like Mark’s.”
recently. “So I answered the phone Mark was very unique.” The actress —David Owen
THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018 31
heat reflected from the pavement had
O UR LO CAL CORRESPONDENTS scorched the leaves of street trees, cre-
ating a false, uncolorful fall. In gar-
dens, blossoms dried and withered,
THE MARASCHINO MOGUL and the weeds by highway entrances
took on the appearance of twisted
After the bees turned red, Arthur Mondella’s cherry empire revealed its secrets. wire. As summer progressed, to add
a further touch of the apocalyptic,
BY IAN FRAZIER bees returning at the end of the day
to hives in Red Hook began to glow
an incandescent red. Some local bee-
keepers found the sight of red bees
flying in the sunset strangely beauti-
ful. All of them had noticed that their
honey was turning red, too.
What next? they wondered. Bees
go through a lot. Colony-collapse
disorder—the decimation of entire
hives—has been a worrisome prob-
lem worldwide. Pesticides, parasites,
lack of flowers and other forage, er-
ratic weather, and disease have caused
drastic declines in bee populations.
Hornets sometimes get into a hive
and eat bees, honey, honeycombs, and
all. Because the red bees were city
bees, nobody took the sudden change
in the color of their honey as a prom-
ising development.
Until March of that year, it had not
been legal to keep bees in the city. A
few beekeepers had evaded the ban
by camouflaging their hives with faux-
brick contact paper or otherwise mak-
ing them blend in with the rooftops.
The outlaws got a kick out of defy-
ing former Mayor Rudolph Giuliani,
who had initiated the ban. Immedi-
In the basement, police discovered a hydroponic system for cultivating marijuana. ately after the Board of Health voted
to lift it, the number of beekeepers
rthur Mondella is mourned. Up inique, the vice-president, is thirty-two. multiplied. According to David Selig,
A until the moment of his death,
on February 24, 2015, he ran his fam-
One might not expect that Mondel-
la’s death also would have saddened
a restaurateur who began keeping bees
on the roof of his Red Hook apart-
ily’s company, Dell’s Maraschino many of New York City’s beekeepers, ment building in 2006, the number
Cherries, in the Red Hook section of but it did. People in the beekeeping of hives in the area went from about
Brooklyn. His daughters Dana Mon- community, or their bees, had crossed three to more than a dozen. In the
della Bentz and Dominique Mon- paths with Mondella in 2010, less than summer’s unprecedented heat, water
della, who run the company now, miss five years before he died. In fact, the and nectar became harder to find.
him every day. They remember him complications in Mondella’s life that At Added Value Farms, a public
in their prayers and wish he could see led to his demise had a minor but garden and composting site in Red
how they’ve done with the business. significant bee component. The first Hook, Tim O’Neal, who teaches bi-
Their great-grandfather Arthur Mon- small signs that all was not right with ology in middle school and at Brook-
della, senior, and their grandfather him arrived buzzing in the air. Though lyn College, looked into the problem.
Ralph founded it in 1948. Dell’s Mar- circumstances put Mondella and the O’Neal also keeps bees and writes a
aschino Cherries processes and sells bees on opposite sides of an issue, the blog, Boroughbees. In it he speculated
nothing but cherries—about fourteen beekeepers still speak admiringly of him, that the red honey might be connected
million pounds a year—from its sin- and express regret at his unhappy end. to the nearby service depots for M.T.A.
gle Red Hook factory. Dana, the pres- The summer of 2010 was the hot- buses, and to a substance called eth-
ident and C.E.O., is thirty, and Dom- test ever recorded in the city. By July, ylene glycol. Bees, pets, and children
32 THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018 ILLUSTRATION BY JANNE IIVONEN
have been known to sample motor had been in touch with Andrew Coté, “We had been legal for less than a
fluids that contain ethylene glycol, be- the founder of the New York City year,” Selig said. “He could’ve made a
cause it tastes sweet. The results are Beekeepers Association, to try to find fuss about why he had to deal with
sometimes fatal. He thought the bees a solution. Coté is the most famous all these local bees. We appreciated
might be bringing back spilled trans- beekeeper in New York. He keeps bees that his first reaction wasn’t to call the
mission fluid or antifreeze from the at several city sites, including on the exterminator.”
depots, and he advised his fellow- grounds of the U.N., and sells New Meanwhile, also taking an interest
beekeepers not to taste any red honey York City honey at the Union Square in the story, the authorities saw an
until it had been tested. Cerise Mayo, Greenmarket. He is a handsome, opportunity. According to later news
a food and farm consultant who kept hazel-eyed man of French-Canadian reports, there had been rumors start-
bees both in the garden and on Gov- parentage, with a suave black beard ing in 2009 that Mondella was grow-
ernors Island, just of the Red Hook going gray. Coté’s life has included ing marijuana. Law enforcement
shore, wondered why her island bees, many adventures, such as hanging up- hoped that the attention being di-
separated from land by six hundred side down nineteen stories above rected at the cherry factory might re-
yards of water, were also producing Times Square to remove a swarm of veal more about what went on inside
red honey. bees from a window washer’s stan- it. Quiet inquiries were made about
No one is sure who first began to chion with a special low-suction the factory’s floor plan.
think of the cherry factory. Bees were bee-vacuuming device he built him-
observed flying in its direction and self, and securing hives on a roof at rthur Ralph Mondella was named
visiting puddles of red juice around it
on the sidewalk. In early September,
the request of Secret Service agents
who planned to position snipers there
A after his grandfather Arthur and
his father, Ralph. The family came
O’Neal took chunks of honeycomb and did not want any bees getting from Naples, though Ralph was born
from hives in and near the garden, put into a sniper’s ear. in America. In Italy, Arthur, senior,
them in fifty-millilitre sample tubes, “The red honey tasted terrible, by had been a baker, and he wanted to
and mailed them to the state apicul- the way,” Coté told me one afternoon get out of that business because he
turist, in Albany, for testing. About a at his market stall. “It was sickly sweet, did not like working seven days a week.
month later, he received the results: kind of metallic-tasting, and watery. He and Ralph began making mara-
the honey tested positive for F.D.&C. But, after the story went all over the schino cherries in a small factory on
Red No. 40, a food-safe dye, which is place online, I could’ve sold a ton of Henry Street, in Carroll Gardens. The
an ingredient of the maraschino syrup it. I had dozens of customers asking cherries, which traditionally embel-
used by the Dell’s factory. for it. And all that red honey ended lish ice-cream sundaes and cocktails,
In November, the Times broke the up being thrown out, and those bee- were not steeped in maraschino, the
story, which ran on the front page, keepers lost a season of production.” Italian wild-cherry liqueur. (Since
under the headline “In Mystery (and He showed me a few vials of the red Prohibition, most maraschino cher-
Culture Clash), Some Brooklyn Bees honey he had kept as souvenirs. ries have not contained maraschino.)
Turn Red.” Cerise Mayo was quoted, “I really liked Arthur Mondella,” Instead, the Mondellas used a secret
voicing her distress that her bees were Coté went on. “Arthur was genuine, recipe involving sugar, citric acid, red
getting their honey from the syrup. a true Brooklyn guy, and he had that coloring, and a curing process that
Because her name sounded possibly accent. Out of the blue, before the never subjected the fruit to hot water.
made up, and her first name means newspaper story, he got in touch about The cold-water-only approach pre-
“cherry” in French, a Times researcher the bee situation and asked me to serves the cherries’ crunch, the fam-
had called her to make sure she was come to the factory. I didn’t go until ily says. All of the production was
real. The story considered the prob- right after the story appeared. I knew small-batch and hand-done. The
lem in the context of the gentrifica- there would be a lot of reporters hours turned out to be just as long as
tion of Red Hook, with the factory around, so I asked if he could be there those in a bakery.
standing for the old neighborhood really early, like 5 a.m. He said, ‘I will Arthur, of the second American
and the beekeepers for the new. The make it my business to be there.’ I’ll generation of the family, was born in
idea of the red bees somehow clicked always remember that. I showed him 1957. He grew up in Bay Ridge, at-
with readers, and scores of news out- how to put some screens up, make the tended Xavierian High School, and
lets picked the story up. David Selig, lids of his bins tighter, control the got a full scholarship to New York
whom it also mentioned, turned on spills. It was not a diicult adjustment University. After graduating with a
his computer the morning the story at all, and we solved the problem. Af- degree in finance he went to Wall
came out and found “three thousand terward, I sent him an invoice for my Street, where he found a job with an
e-mails—from people I’d never heard services, he paid it, and that was that. investment firm. He did not want to
of and from everybody I ever knew.” Throughout the whole thing he was work in the cherry factory at all, but
The Times story contained no a gentleman.” in 1983 his father had a heart attack
quotes from Arthur Mondella, who No other beekeepers dealt as ex- and Arthur set aside his financial ca-
had not returned phone calls asking tensively with Mondella; all were reer to take over the company.
for comment. It noted that Mondella grateful for his levelheaded response. Arthur, senior, was long dead by
THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018 33
then. When Arthur, the grandson, ex- always ended up getting red stains on how do I back it up?’ and he knew.
amined with an ex-Wall Streeter’s eye his white shoes, and he went through He would always introduce me to the
the company he had inherited, he saw a lot of them. latest technology.”
room for improvement. In the nine- He lived on Staten Island, in a dis- Dana said, “He didn’t have hob-
teen-seventies it had moved from Car- tant neighborhood called Graniteville, bies, he wasn’t into sports. He was
roll Gardens to Dikeman Street, in until he and the girls’ mother divorced. into movies, a movie buf. When we
Red Hook. Mondella set about ex- Dominique and Dana and their mother were little kids, my parents were di-
panding that location into two adja- stayed in Graniteville, and Mondella vorced, so he would pick us up, and
cent buildings, and eventually the fac- moved back to Brooklyn, where he we would go to Blockbuster, and we
tory occupied a total floor space of eventually married a Ukrainian woman. would pick out a bunch of movies,
thirty-eight thousand square feet. He They had a daughter, Antoinette, who and just watch movies. He used to
scaled up what had been essentially a is more than twenty years younger than cook these huge barbecues for us, and
mom-and-pop operation; his mother her half sisters. Later Mondella di- I’d be, like, ‘Dad, there’s only four of
and his sister, Joanne, worked there, vorced again and moved in with his us, we could have a meal like this for,
too, but he ran the show, increasing new girlfriend. But during all this time like, twenty-five people.’ ”
production capacity and acquiring he spent most of his life at the factory. “He was really specific in what he
large-volume food-service clients. In Dominique and Dana both went liked,” Dominique said. “If he had a
2014, he made a seven-million-dollar to Moore Catholic High School, on salad, it had to be only oil and vine-
investment in automation so that one Staten Island, and then to St. John’s gar on it, or if he wanted to have this
day the place would “run itself,” as he University, where Dana got a degree brand of rice it had to be this specific
told his daughters. in accounting and Dominique got a brand of rice. Potato chips always had
Despite automating, he wanted to degree in finance. Mondella said that to be crinkle-cut.”
keep his human workforce intact. By after college one of them had to work Dana described going on an errand
all accounts, he cared about his em- for him. Dominique had worked of to buy her father bread. “So I drive
ployees. Lots of ex-ofenders had jobs and on at the factory since high school, from Staten Island to Brooklyn, to
at Dell’s. The Red Hook Houses, a doing many jobs, from billing cus- Thirteenth Avenue, where my dad
nearby low-income housing project, tomers to booking flights for her fa- wanted me to get the bread. So I call
supplied him with workers who needed ther’s business trips. After she grad- him. I’m, like, ‘Dad, I can’t find the
the paycheck. Mondella was known uated, she went back to the company bakery.’ He’s, like, ‘What? You don’t
for giving salary advances, and loans full time. Dana was hired at Pricewa- know where it is on Thirteenth Av-
whose repayment was not vigorously terhouseCoopers, the international enue?’—click!—so I found a bakery
pursued. He hired a homeless man, accounting firm, and began a job at on Fourteenth Avenue. So I get to his
provided him an advance for a deposit, its midtown oice right out of col- apartment, he breaks the bread open,
and let him use a company truck to lege, often putting in sixteen-hour and he’s, like, ‘This isn’t from Thir-
move into a new apartment. Gang tat- days. She met a man in banking, Tom teenth Avenue! This is from Four-
toos could be seen on the muscular, Bentz, and they married in 2013. He teenth Avenue!’ And I’m, like, How
maraschino-red-stained arms of guys also works for the family company. does this guy even know?”
on the factory floor.
The most commonly used news he smell of maraschino cherries,
photo of Mondella shows him lean-
ing into a cherry-processing machine,
T not unpleasant but eye-water-
ingly strong, fills the factory, and the
small and serious-looking behind the floors remain sticky even though
mass of bright-red cherries in the fore- they’re constantly mopped. Sometimes
ground. He is wearing a white lab coat, neighbors in apartments overlooking
and a plastic shower cap covers his the building caught a few whifs of
hair. (“A terrible picture of him,” his marijuana along with the cherries.
daughters say.) He was a slim man, not David Selig thought the smell of pot
tall, with dark eyes and a seamed, care- Dana and Dominique share an might be the result of workmen smok-
worn face. He used “colorful language,” oice next to the one that used to be ing it on their breaks. Later news sto-
according to several accounts. In his their father’s. Last year, I visited them ries said that a postal employee had
oice he had a video monitor that there. Dominique is pretty and dark, told authorities that marijuana was
showed the factory floor, and when he Dana is pretty and blond, and both being grown on the premises. But the
saw something going wrong he would intensify their eyes with mascara. “My police had failed to find suspicious
appear suddenly and yell at those re- father was just a very, very smart man,” signs. An increase in energy consump-
sponsible. Unless he was meeting a Dominique told me. “He wasn’t an tion consistent with the use of grow
customer, he dressed in jeans and a engineer, he wasn’t a mechanic, but lights had not been detected, possi-
T-shirt, but he always wore white the guys on the floor said that he could bly because the factory had its own
sneakers, and asked for new pairs every fix any machine himself. Like, I could gasoline-powered generators, and a
year from his family for Christmas. He ask him, ‘Dad, how do I fix my phone, drug-sniing dog had not been able
34 THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018
to discover a definitive scent of mar-
ijuana. Independently, environmental
investigators, acting on a tip, began
to look into possible violations in
the dumping of wastewater from the
cherry-manufacturing process into
the sewer. Meanwhile, the Brooklyn
D.A.’s oice more or less forgot about
the marijuana investigation.
Inquiry into what might be going
on at the cherry factory did not pro-
ceed much beyond rumor and spec-
ulation. The heightened attention
caused by the bee episode had in-
creased the factory’s visibility. In 2013,
Brooklyn elected a new D.A., Ken-
neth Thompson, who set out to clean
up pollution in the borough. His oice
decided to take a look at some stalled
environmental cases.
“ M ythat
father was a funny man in
he didn’t share much,” “How long before the clinical trials are over?”
Dominique said. “That was just the
way he was. We’ve come to find out
only after his death what a pioneer
• •
he was in this business.”
Dana said, “He was very private. could’ve asked for, but we were not blazing” raid, which it was not, but
We’d ask him questions when we were spoiled.” the oicers did arrive in numbers.
little and his response would be, “Dana, see if you have the picture Their warrant hadn’t allowed for the
‘Whaddya, writin’ a book?’ ” of you and him and Antoinette at the searching of Arthur Mondella him-
“Don’t get us wrong—he wanted wedding.” self. As the oicers moved through
us to learn, but at the factory he “My dad gave me the most impres- his factory, he became more and more
would’ve wanted to make the deci- sive, gorgeous wedding I could’ve ever agitated. While examining some
sions for us,” Dominique said. asked for. It was a hundred and forty- shelves, they found what appeared to
“The capacity that we’re working five people, at Our Lady Queen of be a false wall. They told him they
at now, he would be so impressed,” Peace in Staten Island, and we had were going to send for a warrant to
Dana said. “But I don’t know if he the reception at the Palace, in Som- search behind it. As they waited for
would’ve been able to see that—not erset Park, New Jersey. I wore a white the warrant, Mondella excused him-
in his lifetime, because it wasn’t in his silk dress. D’Pascual, at Nelson and self to use the bathroom. Once inside,
nature to see it, to allow us to run with Amboy on Staten Island, did my hair. he locked the door and would not
an idea, especially as it pertains to I watch the video of the wedding come out.
here. He was the type of person that sometimes and it’s nice. My dad is The police tried to persuade him
did everything on his own.” in it.” to unlock the door. He refused, and
“It’s not that he didn’t have confi- “We were just very proud of him, asked them to bring his sister, Joanne.
dence in who we were,” Dominique proud of our parent.” They did. Through the door, he said
said. “He knew that he raised two to her, “Take care of my kids.” Then
smart girls.”
“A lot of Dominique’s and my
growth didn’t occur until after his pass-
W hen the raid finally happened, it
was a surprise. On February 24,
2015, a Tuesday, during working hours,
he shot himself in the head with a
.357 Magnum pistol he had been car-
rying in an ankle holster.
ing. Like, if my father were here, I would oicers from the Department of En- To have strangers going through
not be here. I would still be at Price- vironmental Protection, the New York his factory must have seemed, for such
waterhouseCoopers doing audits.” City Police Department, and the an inward and self-created man, as if
“I think you would be here.” Brooklyn District Attorney’s oice invaders were rummaging around in
“Maybe down the road, but not came to the cherry factory with a war- his brain. The factory was his world,
this early. Our father could be really rant to search parts of the premises he had thought out everything in it—
hard on you, but when he was nice for evidence of illegal dumping of he was it. When he suddenly could
you would forget about that. He gave wastewater. A lawyer for the company not control what was occurring in it,
us everything financially that we later described the action as a “guns or what was about to occur, he could
THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018 35
erase the nightmare only by erasing small oice containing a desk with idence. The volume of the operation,
himself. Experience has shown that books on plant husbandry and a copy obviously larger than was needed for
the revealing of a secret life can be a of “The World Encyclopedia of Or- personal use, implied that Mondella
motivation for suicide. But nobody ganized Crime.” In a garage area they had been selling it. How, and to whom,
saw the catastrophe coming, or imag- came upon a collection of vintage cars, and who helped him build the farm—
ined the aloneness of this man. a Bentley and a Rolls-Royce among who serviced the plumbing, the wir-
“The day it happened, Dominique them, which suggested that Mondella ing, the grow lights—remained in-
called me, and I was, like, ‘What? What led a flashier life when not at the fac- triguing questions he was not around
do you mean? Was he depressed?’ ” tory. Later reports mentioned his use to answer.
Dana said. “I mean, I didn’t under- of cocaine, his boat, his lavish spend- In his will, Mondella left an estate
stand. Then all the news about the ing in restaurants, and his fiancée, a that included $8.5 million in cash, more
marijuana came out. We never knew.” former Penthouse model. than enough to cover the fine. Dana
“Reading the articles that came out, Had Mondella lived, he could have and Dominique received fifty-five per
that was how we knew,” Dominique gone to jail for two or three years; cent of the company between them;
said. “I guess he was protecting us.” more likely, he would have received Joanne, their aunt, got twenty per cent;
“I remember I was actually out sick probation. The D.A. charged the com- and twenty-five went to Antoinette,
that day,” Dana said. “And then I came pany with criminal possession of mar- their half sister. The older daughters
here and I saw that there was a lot of ijuana in the first degree, a felony, and decided to take personal charge of the
police activity, and I didn’t understand, with failing to comply with laws re- business they now controlled. After
because if somebody killed themselves lating to wastewater dumping, a mis- the news of the raid, some customers
why would there be this many police?” demeanor. The company pleaded dropped Dell’s for other cherry sup-
Behind the false wall the oicers guilty to both charges and paid a fine pliers, but by travelling the country
discovered a ladder leading down to of $1.2 million. After that judgment, to meet with customers individually
a large basement, twenty-five hun- no further charges were filed. The Dana and Dominique were able to
dred square feet, and space for about D.A. did not want to destroy a suc- keep most of them, and later persuaded
a hundred marijuana plants in a well- cessful local business that provided a a few who’d left to come back. Most
set-up system of hydroponic cultiva- number of Brooklyn residents with of their large-volume restaurant chains
tion under L.E.D. grow lights. They jobs. Also, investigators had been un- stayed on.
also found about a hundred pounds able to find evidence to prove that the A young employee, Joshua Sabino,
of harvested marijuana, a hundred and marijuana was being sold, nor had had been hired by Mondella the day
thirty thousand dollars in cash, and a they tried very hard to find such ev- before the raid. Sabino was excited
about his new job, but when he saw
the police everywhere he figured that
the factory would have to close. He
had been grateful to Mondella for
hiring him. “But the factory closed
for only two days,” he told me. “They
kept all the workers. And we even got
paid for the days it was closed. I felt
like Mr. Mondella was still taking
care of me.”
1 =
( 2 )
( 2 )
TEETOTALLING PRESIDENT
1
B Y A N N B E AT T I E
( 1 )
1. The mouthfeel of the Stormy Dan- The major notes stride forward after
iels “60 Minutes” interview is complex, a slight delay, as the wine descends
gradually revealing itself in a mellow down the palate. One is sure to be
bitterness that still has so much more captivated by this meticulously en-
to tell. With hints of self-knowledge hanced wine, a true sparkling diamond. FIRESTONE AND PARSON
paired with humor, graced by silvery- Chef has created a special recipe to 30 Newbury Street, Boston, MA 02116
(617) 266-1858 • www.firestoneandparson.com
pink Underside of the Ash Tree lip- pair with the vintage, available on the
stick, the 2018 Stormy holds delicious vineyard’s Web site (search “Your hide
allure, ofering undertones of rasp- is cooked”), with locally sourced
berries, as its mystery resolves on the “smashed” potatoes underlying deli-
tongue with crumbling sweetness and ciously larded meat.
a sparkle of brilliance not often seen 5. Mar-a-Lago 2018 contains amus-
in so humble a grape. ingly golf-ball-size notes of sour cher-
2. The terroir was propitious for this ries, intermingled with predominant
year’s Banished Secretary 2018, whose notes of private-plane fuselage, grass
taste lies primarily beneath the surface, clippings, and Florida lemons. It is best
its low notes shivering with incautious drunk early, like a Beaujolais Nouveau,
power, owing to the convergence of and you are advised to act quickly, as
double allegations whose force pairs some experts believe that this wine may
them in an assertive way. Though some soon go out of production.
find it too strong, others will take plea- 6. As growers know, the shifting ex-
sure in the sour-grape aftertaste of this igencies of our environment sometimes
forceful wine, whose bruised-eye gloss- make it necessary to widen our cate-
iness would best be paired with arti- gories of appreciation. It has been said,
sanal young-barnyard-animal cheese. with regard to the Vin Américain 2018,
3. An impressive, bold taste can be that even the archangels might be
savored as the enigmatic qualities in- counted on to blow their trumpets (no
herent in our 2018 Special Prosecutor pun intended) in surprise. With an ap-
(limited quantities) cause smacking of proach as brash as a wildfire, this wine’s
the lips and eye rolls of delight com- tastes of charred almond intermix with
parable to what one feels when view- flavors of gravel and redwood and top
ing the stars on a winter evening in notes of burned squirrel, providing the
Moscow. A sturdy wine whose flavors perfect accompaniment to barbecued
unfold quickly, like collapsed tents, ribs slathered with our special sauce
LUCI GUTIÉRREZ
front row and the projection booth, strike twice. A businessman overheard the viewer’s own hallucinations. The
where he tweaked the sound and the on his way out of a screening spoke for studio soon caught on, and a new tag-
focus. Arthur C. Clarke, Kubrick’s col- many: “Well, that’s one man’s opinion.” line was added to the movie’s re-
40 THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018
designed posters: “The ultimate trip.” instructor in the R.A.F., and did two painters were brought to the studio,
In “Space Odyssey: Stanley Kubrick, terms as chairman of the British In- while companies manufactured the
Arthur C. Clarke, and the Making of a terplanetary Society. His reputation as film’s spacesuits, helmets, and instru-
Masterpiece,” the writer and filmmaker perhaps the most rigorous of living ment panels. The lines between film
Michael Benson takes us on a difer- sci-fi writers, the author of several crit- and reality were blurred. The Apollo 8
ent kind of trip: the long journey from ically acclaimed novels, was widespread. crew took in the film’s fictional space
the film’s conception to its opening and Kubrick needed somebody who had flight at a screening not long before
beyond. The power of the movie has knowledge and imagination in equal their actual journey. NASA’s Web site
always been unusually bound up with parts. “If you can describe it,” Clarke has a list of all the details that “2001”
the story of how it was made. In 1966, recalls Kubrick telling him, “I can film got right, from flat-screen displays and
Jeremy Bernstein profiled Kubrick on it.” It was taken as a dare. Meeting in in-flight entertainment to jogging as-
the “2001” set for The New Yorker, and New York, often in the Kubricks’ clut- tronauts. In the coming decades, con-
behind-the-scenes accounts with titles tered apartment on the Upper East spiracy theorists would allege that Ku-
like “The Making of Kubrick’s 2001” Side, the couple’s three young daugh- brick had helped the government fake
began appearing soon after the mov- ters swarming around them, they de- the Apollo 11 moon landing.
ie’s release. The grandeur of “2001”— cided to start by composing a novel. Kubrick brought to his vision of the
the product of two men, Clarke and Kubrick liked to work from books, and future the studiousness you would ex-
Kubrick, who were sweetly awestruck since a suitable one did not yet exist pect from a history film. “2001” is, in
by the thought of infinite space—re- they would write it. When they weren’t part, a fastidious period piece about a
quired, in its execution, micromanage- working, Clarke introduced Kubrick period that had yet to happen. Kubrick
ment of a previously unimaginable de- to his telescope and taught him to use had seen exhibits at the 1964 World’s
gree. Kubrick’s drive to show the entire a slide rule. They studied the scientific Fair, and pored over a magazine article
arc of human life (“from ape to angel,” literature on extraterrestrial life. “Much titled “Home of the Future.” The lead
as Kael dismissively put it) meant that excitement when Stanley phones to say production designer on the film, Tony
he was making a special-efects movie that the Russians claim to have de- Masters, noticed that the world of “2001”
of radical scope and ambition. But in tected radio signals from space,” Clarke eventually became a distinct time and
his initial letter to Clarke, a science- wrote in his journal for April 12, 1965: place, with the kind of coherent aes-
fiction writer, engineer, and shipwreck “Rang Walter Sullivan at the New York thetic that would merit a sweeping his-
explorer living in Ceylon, Kubrick Times and got the real story—merely torical label, like “Georgian” or “Victo-
began with the modest-sounding goal fluctuations in Quasar CTA 102.” Ku- rian.” “We designed a way to live,” he
of making “the proverbial ‘really good’ brick grew so concerned that an alien recalled, “down to the last knife and
science-fiction movie.” Kubrick wanted encounter might be imminent that he fork.” (The Arne Jacobsen flatware, de-
his film to explore “the reasons for be- sought an insurance policy from Lloyd’s signed in 1957, was made famous by its
lieving in the existence of intelligent of London in case his story got scooped use in the film, and is still in produc-
extraterrestrial life,” and what it would during production. tion.) By rendering a not-too-distant
mean if we discovered it. Clarke was the authority on both future, Kubrick set himself up for a test:
The outlines of a simple plot were the science and the science fiction, but thirty-three years later, his audiences
already in place: Kubrick wanted “a an account he gave later provides a would still be around to grade his pre-
space-probe with a landing and explo- sense of what working with Kubrick dictions. Part of his genius was that he
ration of the Moon and Mars.” (The was like: “We decided on a compro- understood how to rig the results. Many
finished product opts for Jupiter in- mise—Stanley’s.” The world of “2001” elements from his set designs were
stead.) But the timing of Kubrick’s let- was designed ex nihilo, and among the contributions from major brands—
ter, in March of 1964, suggested a much first details to be worked out was the Whirlpool, Macy’s, DuPont, Parker
more ambitious and urgent project. look of emptiness itself. Kubrick had Pens, Nikon—which quickly cashed in
“2001” was a science-fiction film try- seen a Canadian educational film ti- on their big-screen exposure. If 2001
ing not to be outrun by science itself. tled “Universe,” which rendered outer the year looked like “2001” the movie,
Kubrick was tracking NASA’s race to space by suspending inks and paints in it was partly because the film’s imagi-
the moon, which threatened to siphon vats of paint thinner and filming them nary design trends were made real.
some of the wonder from his produc- with bright lighting at high frame rates. Much of the film’s luxe vision of
tion. He had one advantage over real- Slowed down to normal speed, the ooz- space travel was overambitious. In 1998,
ity: the film could present the marvels ing shades and textures looked like gal- ahead of the launch of the International
of the universe in lavish color and sound, axies and nebulae. Spacecraft were de- Space Station, the Times reported that
on an enormous canvas. If Kubrick signed with the expert help of Harry the habitation module was “far cruder
could make the movie he imagined, Lange and Frederick Ordway, who than the most pessimistic prognostica-
the grainy images from the lunar sur- ran a prominent space consultancy. A tor could have imagined in 1968.” But
face shown on dinky TV screens would senior NASA oicial called Kubrick’s the film’s look was a big hit on Earth.
seem comparatively unreal. studio outside London “NASA East.” Olivier Mourgue’s red upholstered
In Clarke, Kubrick found a willing Model makers, architects, boatbuild- Djinn chairs, used on the “2001” set, be-
accomplice. Clarke had served as a radar ers, furniture designers, sculptors, and came a design icon, and the high-end
THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018 41
lofts and hotel lobbies of the year 2001 way, the film’s scientific consultant, read liest meetings in New York, Clarke and
bent distinctly toward the aesthetic of up on a doctoral thesis on psychedel- Kubrick, along with Christiane, sketched
Kubrick’s imagined space station. ics advised by Timothy Leary. Theol- drafts and consulted the Surrealist paint-
ogy students had taken psilocybin, then ings of Max Ernst. For a time, Chris-
udiences who came to “2001” ex- attended a service at Boston Universi- tiane was modelling clay aliens in her
A pecting a sci-fi movie got, instead,
an essay on time. The plot was simple
ty’s Marsh Chapel to see if they’d be
hit with religious revelations. They du-
studio. These gargoyle-like creatures
were rejected, and “ended up dotted
and stark. A black monolith, shaped tifully reported their findings: most of around the garden,” according to Kubrick’s
like a domino, appears at the moment the participants had indeed touched daughter Katharina. Alberto Giacomet-
in prehistory when human ancestors God. Such wide-ranging research was ti’s sculptures of thinned and elongated
discover how to use tools, and is later characteristic of Clarke and Kubrick’s humans, resembling shadows at sun-
found, in the year 2001, just below the approach, although the two men, both down, were briefly an inspiration. In the
lunar surface, where it reflects signals self-professed squares, might have saved end, Kubrick decided that “you cannot
toward Jupiter’s moons. At the film’s time had they been willing to try hal- imagine the unimaginable” and, after try-
conclusion, it looms again, when the lucinogens themselves. ing more ornate designs, settled on the
ship’s sole survivor, Dave Bowman, wit- The Jupiter scenes—filled with what monolith. Its eerily neutral and silent
nesses the eclipse of human intelli- Michael Benson describes as “abstract, appearance at the crossroads of human
gence by a vague new order of being. nonrepresentational, space-time aston- evolution evokes the same wonder for
“2001” is therefore only partly set in ishments”—were the product of years members of the audience as it does for
2001: as exacting as Kubrick was about of trial and error spent adapting exist- characters in the film. Kubrick realized
imagining that moment, he swept it ing equipment and technologies, such that, if he was going to make a film about
away in a larger survey of time, wedg- as the “slit-scan” photography that finally human fear and awe, the viewer had to
ing his astronauts between the apelike made the famous Star Gate sequence feel those emotions as well.
anthropoids that populate the first sec- possible. Typically used for panoramic And then there is HAL, the rogue
tion of the film, “The Dawn of Man,” shots of cityscapes, the technique, in the computer whose afectless red eye reflects
and the fetal Star Child betokening hands of Kubrick’s special-efects team, back what it sees while, behind it, his
the new race at its close. A mixture of was modified to produce a psychedelic mind whirrs with dark and secret de-
plausibility and poetry, “real” science rush of color and light. Riding in Dave’s signs. I.B.M. consulted on the plans for
and primal symbolism, was therefore pod is like travelling through a birth HAL, but the idea to use the company’s
required. For “The Dawn of Man,” shot canal in which someone has thrown a logo fell through after Kubrick described
last, a team travelled to Namibia to gather rave. Like the films of the late nine- him in a letter as “a psychotic computer.”
stills of the desert. Back in England, teenth century, “2001” manifested its in- Any discussion of Kubrick’s scientific
a massive camera system was built to vented worlds by first inventing the prescience has to include HAL, whose
project these shots onto screens, trans- methods needed to construct them. suave, slightly efeminate voice suggests
forming the set into an African land- Yet some of the most striking efects a bruised heart beating under his cir-
scape. Actors, dancers, and mimes were in the film are its simplest. In a movie cuitry. In the past fifty years, our talking
hired to wear meticulously constructed about extraterrestrial life, Kubrick faced machines have continued to evolve, but
ape suits, wild animals were housed a crucial predicament: what would the none of them have become as authen-
at the Southampton Zoo, and a dead aliens look like? Cold War-era sci-fi tically malicious as HAL. My grandfa-
horse was painted to look like a zebra. ofered a dispiriting menu of extrater- ther’s early-eighties Chrysler, borrow-
For the final section of the film, “Ju- restrial avatars: supersonic birds, scaly ing the voice from Speak & Spell, would
piter and Beyond the Infinite,” Ord- monsters, gelatinous blobs. In their ear- intone, “A door is ajar,” whenever you
got in. It sounded like a logical fallacy,
but it seemed pleasantly futuristic none-
theless. Soon voice-command technol-
ogy reached the public, ushering in our
current era of unreliable computer in-
terlocutors given to unforced errors:
half-comical, half-pitiful simpletons,
whose fate in life is to be taunted by
eleven-year-olds. Despite the reports of
cackling Amazon Alexas, there has, so
far, been fairly little to worry about where
our talking devices are concerned. The
unbearable pathos of HAL’s disconnec-
tion scene, one of the most mournful
death scenes ever filmed, suggests that
when we do end up with humanlike
computers, we’re going to have some
wild ethical dilemmas on our hands. tion: Kubrick was incapable of not mak- ing photography” was what prompted
HAL is a child, around nine years old, ing Kubrick films. Maxim Gorky, who saw the Lumière
as he tells Dave at the moment he senses “2001” established the aesthetic and brothers’ films at a Russian fair in 1896,
he’s finished. He’s precocious, indulged, thematic palette that he used in all his to bemoan the “kingdom of shadows”—a
needy, and vulnerable; more human than subsequent films. The spaciousness of mass of people, animals, and vehicles—
his human overseers, with their stilted, its too perfectly constructed sets, the rushing “straight at you,” approaching
near robotic delivery. The dying HAL, subjugation of story and theme to ab- the edge of the screen, then vanishing
singing “Daisy,” the tune his teacher stract compositional balance, the preci- “somewhere beyond it.”
taught him, is a sentimental trope out sion choreography, even—especially— “2001” is at its best when it evokes the
of Victorian fiction, more Little Nell in scenes of violence and chaos, the “somewhere beyond.” For me, the most
than little green man. entire repertoire of colors, astounding moment of the
As Benson’s book suggests, in a way angles, fonts, and textures: film is a coded tribute to film-
the release of “2001” was its least im- these were constants in films making itself. In “The Dawn
portant milestone. Clarke and Kubrick as wildly diferent as “Barry of Man,” when a fierce leop-
had been wrestling for years with ques- Lyndon” (1975) and “The ard suddenly faces us, its eyes
tions of what the film was, and meant. Shining” (1980), “Full Metal reflect the light from the pro-
These enigmas were merely handed of Jacket ” (1987) and “Eyes jection system that Kubrick’s
from creators to viewers. The critic Al- Wide Shut” (1999). So was team had invented to create
exander Walker called “2001” “the first the languorous editing of the illusion of a vast primor-
mainstream film that required an act “2001,” which, when paired dial desert. Kubrick loved the
of continuous inference” from its audi- with abrupt temporal leaps, efect, and left it in. These de-
ences. On set, the legions of specialists made eons seem short and tails linger in the mind partly
and consultants working on the minu- moments seem endless, and its brilliant because they remind us that a brilliant
tiae took orders from Kubrick, whose deployment of music to organize, and artist, intent on mastering science and
conception of the whole remained in often ironize, action and character. These conjuring science fiction, nevertheless
constant flux. The film’s narrative tra- elements were present in some form knew when to leave his poetry alone.
jectory pointed inexorably toward a big in Kubrick’s earlier films, particularly The interpretive communities con-
ending, even a revelation, but Kubrick “Dr. Strangelove,” but it was all per- vened by “2001” may persist in pockets
kept changing his mind about what that fected in “2001.” Because he occupied of the culture, but I doubt whether many
ending would be—and nobody who genres one at a time, each radically young people will again contend with
saw the film knew quite what to make diferent from the last, you could con- its debts to Jung, John Cage, and Jo-
of the one he finally chose. The film trol for what was consistently Kubrick- seph Campbell. In the era of the meme,
took for granted a broad cultural toler- ian about everything he did. The films we’re more likely to find the afterlife of
ance, if not an appetite, for enigma, as are designed to advance his distinct “2001” in fragments and glimpses than
well as the time and inclination for pars- filmic vocabulary in new contexts and in theories and explications. The film
ing interpretive mysteries. If the first environments: a shuttered resort hotel, hangs on as a staple of YouTube video
wave of audiences was baled, it might a spacious Manhattan apartment, Viet- essays and mashups; it remains high on
have been because “2001” had not yet nam. Inside these disparate but metic- lists of both the greatest films ever made
created the taste it required to be ap- ulously constructed worlds, Kubrick’s and the most boring. On Giphy, you
preciated. Like “Ulysses,” or “The Waste slightly malicious intelligence deter- can find many iconic images from “2001”
Land,” or countless other diicult, am- mined the outcomes of every appar- looping endlessly in seconds-long in-
biguous modernist landmarks, “2001” ently free choice his protagonists made. crements—a jarring compression that
forged its own context. You didn’t solve Though Kubrick binged on pulp couldn’t be more at odds with the lan-
it by watching it a second time, but you sci-fi as a child, and later listened to guid eternity Kubrick sought to cap-
did settle into its mysteries. radio broadcasts about the paranormal, ture. The very fact that you can view
Later audiences had another advan- “2001” has little in common with the “2001,” along with almost every film
tage. “2001” established the phenome- rinky-dink conventions of movie sci- ever shot, on a palm-size device is a fu-
non of the Kubrick film: much rumored, ence fiction. Its dazzling showmanship ture that Kubrick and Clarke may have
long delayed, always a little disappoint- harkened back to older cinematic ex- predicted, but surely wouldn’t have
ing. Casts and crews were held hostage periences. Film scholars sometimes dis- wanted for their own larger-than-life
as they withstood Kubrick’s infinite futz- cuss the earliest silent films as examples movie. The film abounds in little screens,
ing, and audiences were held in eager of “the cinema of attraction,” movies tablets, and picturephones; in 2011, Sam-
suspense by P.R. campaigns that often meant to showcase the medium itself. sung fought an injunction from Apple
oversold the films’ commercial appeal. These films were, in essence, exhibits: over alleged patent violations by citing
Downstream would be midnight show- simple scenes from ordinary life—a train the technology in “2001” as a predeces-
ings, monographs, dorm rooms, and arriving, a dog cavorting. Their only im- sor for its designs. Moon landings and
weed, but first there was the letdown. port was that they had been captured astronaut celebrities now feel like a thing
The reason given for the films’ failures by a camera that could, magically, of the past. Space lost out. Those screens
suggested the terms of their redemp- record movement in time. This “mov- were the future.
THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018 43
The Rio Grande runs along Big Bend National Park, separating Mexico, on the right, from the United States, on the left.
44 THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018
A R E P O R T E R AT L A R G E
WATER AND
THE WALL
A river trip through the borderlands
that Trump wants to fence of.
B Y N I C K PA U M G A R T E N
A border wall would be devastating to life on both sides of an already threatened river.
PHOTOGRAPH BY GEORGE STEINMETZ
W
hen Dan Reicher was eight, nosaur National Monument. He was who don’t depend on it, little more
he became fixated on wol- captivated by the journals of a prede- than a boundary separating Mexico
verines. He admired their cessor there: John Wesley Powell, the from Texas, a squiggly moat on a map.
ferocity but, because they were endan- Union Army major who lost an arm It represents a gateway to opportunity
gered, feared for their survival. While at Shiloh and later led the first expe- or escape for the migrants and fugi-
poring over a catalogue of outdoor dition to navigate the length of the tives, in life and in song, who cross it
gear, he came across a parka trimmed Grand Canyon. As an undergraduate in the hope of a fresh beginning—a
in wolverine fur. He was outraged. His at Dartmouth, Reicher joined the kay- kind of baptism by border. Known
mother, a schoolteacher, and his fa- aking team and the Ledyard Canoe south of the border as Río Bravo del
ther, an ob-gyn, urged him to put his Club, which is named for John Led- Norte, and to the indigenous Pueblo
umbrage to good purpose, so he sent yard, the eighteenth-century Ameri- people as P’Osoge, its various sections
the gear company a letter. After some can explorer, who dropped out of Dart- were given an array of now mostly for-
time, he received a reply: the company mouth after a year and paddled down gotten names by sixteenth-century ex-
was discontinuing the parka. Had his the Connecticut River, from Hanover plorers—Río Caudaloso, Río de la
protest made the diference? Probably to the Long Island Sound, in a dug- Concepción, Río de las Palmas, Río
not, but, still, he inferred that a citi- out canoe fashioned from a tree he de Nuestra Señora, Río Guadalquivir,
zen, even a little one, had the power cut down on campus. Río Turbio, River of May, Tiguex River.
to efect change. “Boy, was I misled,” In the spirit of these forebears, in The Rio Grande drops out of the San
he said recently. 1977 Reicher and some fellow-Led- Juan Mountains, in southern Colo-
Reicher, now sixty-one, is a pro- yardians embarked on an expedition rado, bisects New Mexico, north to
fessor at Stanford and the executive of their own. A classmate, Tony Anella, south, and then, splitting El Paso and
director of its Steyer-Taylor Center from Albuquerque, was preoccupied Ciudad Juárez, tacks southeast. The
for Energy Policy and Finance. Pre- with his home-town river, the Rio majority of its length, from El Paso to
viously, he led Google’s climate and Grande, and had determined that no the Gulf of Mexico, with the S-turn
energy initiatives and served in the one in documented history had nav- of the Big Bend, forms the southern
Clinton Administration as an Assis- igated the river’s nearly two thousand boundary of Texas, and of the United
tant Secretary of Energy. He has spent miles, from source to sea. He planned States. The river empties into the Gulf
most of his adult life trying to help to be the first. The students secured just past Brownsville, Texas. No part
humankind move past its reliance on backing from the National Geographic of the river is like any other. Typically,
fossil fuels. Under President Trump, Society, which, a dozen years before, it is treated more as a managed scheme
conservationists have seen decades had sponsored a Ledyard trip along of discrete local parts—Taos Box, El-
of gains rolled back in a matter of the Danube. For course credit, Anella, ephant Butte Reservoir, Big Bend,
months. Still, Reicher, like so many a history major, would compile a his- Lower Canyons, Valle—than as an es-
environmentalists, goes grimly about tory of water rights on the river, while sential artery feeding a vast corner of
his business. the other principal, Rob Portman, an our continent and a watershed con-
Reicher’s real obsession is water. anthropology major (and now the ju- necting interdependent ecosystems,
He grew up in Syracuse, paddling on nior United States senator from Ohio), cultures, and nations.
polluted lakes, and liked to collect and would take on the subject of mass mi- Reicher, with Portman and Anella
test water samples. When he was gration. Reicher, a biology major, and another classmate, a photographer
eleven, his parents sent him to On- would assess the water and whatever named Pete Lewitt, hiked down from
tario on a canoe trip with life could survive in it. the source, at Stony Pass, just east of
a drill sergeant who failed Generally, the storied Silverton, Colorado, and put in twenty-
to bring an adequate sup- river descents, like so many five miles later, below the first dam, in
ply of food. Reicher, get- iconic American journeys, fibreglass kayaks, brittle precursors of
ting by on wild blueber- have tended to be those today’s polyethylene creek boats. Two
ries and toothpaste, had which run west, down from weeks later, they encountered their first
never been and would never the Continental Divide great challenge, in the tricky rapids
again be as hungry, but, to the sea. And, of those, near Taos. The surge of snowmelt was
even so, he loved the whole the torrent that drains the greatly reduced by dams upstream.
thing. For a couple of sum- far slope of the southern (And by drought: 1977 was the worst
mers in his teens, he at- Rockies, the Colorado, year, in terms of snowpack, in the past
tended the Colorado Rocky seemed to draw the love half century. The second worst? 2018.)
Mountain School, in Carbondale, and the lore—it had deeper cataracts, The river was, in kayak-speak, bony.
where a French champion of the new- bigger flows, gnarlier rapids, bolder By the time they reached the conflu-
fangled sport of white-water kayak- boatmen, and fiercer fights over dams ence with the Santa Fe, below Cochiti
ing taught aspiring river-runners the and acre-feet. Dam, there wasn’t much water left.
eddy turn and the high brace. Reicher The Rio Grande had neither a John Even forty years ago, the flow south
got to spend a week on the Green Wesley Powell nor a Lake Powell. It of Albuquerque was so depleted by
River, paddling through the vast Di- is typically considered, by those of us farmers and by the city’s sprawling
46 THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018
population that the kayakers had to
divert to the network of irrigation
ditches that run alongside the river.
At one point, a farmer in an El Camino
pulled up next to them, unloaded two
water skis, strung a rope from the trailer
hitch, and towed Reicher along the
canal. “First time I ever water-skied
with dust in my face,” Reicher said.
Farther downriver, in the muddy
flats at the head of the Elephant Butte
Reservoir, in southern New Mexico,
the water would neither support their
weight nor allow them to paddle, so
they devised a method of pushing
their boats with their hands and feet
while lying on the stern. Crossing into
Texas, where the river meets the Mex-
ican frontier, the Ledyardians switched
to bicycles and rode along paved roads
until, a couple of hundred miles later,
the Río Conchos, running out of the
Mexican state of Chihuahua, replen-
ished the ancient riverbed, so that
they could saddle up their kayaks • •
again. Because of upstream depletions,
the Rio Grande is really two rivers:
one that fizzles in southern New Mex- was terribly interested,” Reicher re- the Disappearing Rio Grande Expe-
ico (the locals there refer to it as the calls.) At night, burrowing into the dition. He soon discovered that the
Rio Sand) and one that begins in West invasive wild cane to make camp, they river was in even worse condition than
Texas. In between is the puddled and set of seismic sensors installed by the it had been forty years earlier. Ground-
trenched borderland east of El Paso U.S. Border Patrol. water depletion, suburban sprawl, pe-
and Juárez—the Forgotten Reach, After four months on the river, they riodic droughts (attributable, proba-
which, prior to the big dams, had been reached the Gulf. They posed on the bly, to climate change): every year,
regularly revived (and scoured) by sea- beach, five gringos, tan and lean, bran- people were asking more of less water.
sonal floods from New Mexico. There dishing the Ledyard flag. Relations He wound up having to walk a third
had even been eels in Albuquerque— among some of them had frayed, amid of the river’s length. Reicher, who had
fifteen hundred miles upstream of the a clash of egos—endemic to such ex- helped McDonald raise money and
Gulf of Mexico. peditions. Reicher and Anella have get attention for the trip, joined him
The Dartmouth expedition, now hardly spoken since. But the trip re- for a couple of actual-water segments—
five strong, made it through the deep mains a highlight of their lives. To in the Big Bend and then the last miles,
canyons and riles of the Big Bend Anella, it was a religious experience. where the river limps into the Gulf.
and then entered the Lower Canyons, “One-half of the hydrologic cycle—it When McDonald did a slide show in
the river’s most remote leg, which Con- reached something deep in my soul,” Albuquerque, Anella approached him
gress, a year later, designated part of he says. He likes to cite Ecclesiastes: afterward and said simply, “That was
the National Wild and Scenic Rivers “All streams flow into the sea, yet the my trip.”
System. The desert eventually gave sea is never full. To the place the streams
way to a subtropical luxuriance of come from, there they return again.” fter Donald Trump was elected,
palms, broccoli farms, and citrus or-
chards, the riverbanks and wetlands
Reicher prefers Heraclitus: “No man
steps in the same river twice, for it is
A he pursued his campaign prom-
ise to build a wall along the nearly two
teeming with wildlife. The birds and not the same river and he is not the thousand miles of border between the
animals didn’t recognize the border. same man.” Since 1977, he has been United States and Mexico. The Rio
The people, though, were defined by back to the Rio Grande six times; the Grande’s “disappearance” took on fresh
it. The kayakers regularly encountered river may have changed more than he meaning. As imagined, such an un-
Mexicans crossing the river with bur- has. Four years ago, a young newspa- dertaking would be devastating to life
lap bundles. Near Eagle Pass, they per reporter in San Antonio named along an already threatened river.
came across a bloated male corpse, Colin McDonald set out to duplicate Having been determined by the
with a noose around the neck. (“We the source-to-sea trip, using Reicher’s 1848 peace treaty that ended the Mex-
tried to report him, but neither side journals as a blueprint. He dubbed it ican-American War, the border traces
THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018 47
Rio Grande in its annual list of the
ten most endangered rivers.) This
wasn’t so much an expedition as a float-
ing Chautauqua, with a missionary
bent. He and Bob Irvin, the president
of American Rivers, invited me along.
Among the guests were two grandees
with dynastic connections to environ-
mental conservation: Senator Tom
Udall, Democrat of New Mexico,
whose father, Stewart Udall, spear-
headed the protection of vast tracts of
American wilderness and was a cru-
cial proponent of the Wild and Sce-
nic Rivers Act; and Theodore Roo-
sevelt IV, whose great-grandfather,
the twenty-sixth President, used his
bully pulpit, and hundreds of execu-
tive orders, to turn the federal gov-
ernment into a force for, and an en-
“Thank God she was wearing a helmet.” forcer of, land and wildlife conservation.
Before American Rivers got involved,
Reicher had invited Rob Portman,
• • who has the kayak from the 1977 ex-
pedition mounted in his oice on Cap-
the river’s deepest channel—the thal- fences. (There are about seven hun- itol Hill, but his schedule was too tight,
weg—which, because the riverbed fre- dred miles of fence already, most of and he’d been back to the river a year
quently shifts according to the water’s it in California and Arizona.) For a earlier, with his family. “Last thing a
whims, is in some respects notional. great deal of its length, the river is in- Republican needs now is to be seen
Of course, no one is proposing that a sulated on both sides by hundreds of spending a week on a river with a
wall be built in the middle of the river, miles of desert—inhospitable terrain bunch of tree huggers,” Irvin told me
or for that matter on Mexican soil, that does more to discourage smug- with a chuckle.
even if Mexico is going to pay for it. glers and migrants than a wall ever
So the wall would go on the Ameri- could. (The vast majority of hard drugs ’d never given any thought to the
can side, some distance from its
banks—miles into U.S. territory, at
intercepted on the southern border is
coming through so-called points of
Ifourth-longest
Rio Grande, despite its being the
river in the United
times. It would cut people of from entry—the more than forty oicial States. My first river trip was a five-
their own property and wildlife from crossings—hidden in vehicles and night commercial float, on rafts, on
the main (and sometimes the only) cargo.) And, while the banks of the the Middle Fork of the Salmon, in
water source in a vast upland desert. river, for much of it, are free of im- Idaho’s River of No Return Wilder-
The Center for Biological Diversity pediments, except for thick stands of ness. It was 1985. I was a teen-ager,
has determined that ninety-three listed invasive cane and salt cedar, which with my family and about twenty
or proposed endangered species would can make life miserable for the Bor- strangers—a group of gay men from
be adversely afected. The wall could der Patrol, about a hundred miles of Houston and New Orleans, and a biker
disrupt the flow of what meagre water it cut through deep canyons far more hippie from Portola, California. The
there is, upon which an ecosystem pre- imposing and prohibitive to a travel- biker, who was a friend of one of the
cariously depends. And it would es- ler on foot than a slab of concrete or guides, went by Feets (he had got
sentially seal the United States of from steel. The canyons don’t require fund- himself listed in the white pages as
the river and cede it to Mexico: lop- ing from Congress. Amazing Feets) and spent his Middle
ping of our nose to spite their face. It This winter, Reicher put together Fork days aboard the supply boat, in
would shrink the size of Texas. a trip on the Rio Grande, with Amer- jean cutofs and a white tank top, roll-
There is also the matter of eicacy. ican Rivers, an advocacy group, of ing and smoking joints. I remember
The wall would probably delay a hy- which he’s a board member, to cele- sitting on a sandbank one evening,
pothetical crossing by a few minutes, brate the fiftieth anniversary of the after a consultation with Feets, watch-
depending on its design and the man- Wild and Scenic Rivers Act, and to ing the river flow—the molecules jos-
ner of the breach. There are videos of begin to articulate, in an informal but tling past, toward the Main Salmon,
Mexicans deploying ladders, ramps, pertinent setting, a response to Trump’s the Snake, the Columbia, and the
ropes, welding torches, and tunnels wall. (Last week, American Rivers, for Pacific, and then up into the atmo-
to get over, through, or under border the first time since 2003, included the sphere and the jet stream and eventu-
48 THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018
ally, via cumulonimbus, back to the guided—raft trip on the Colorado Pulitzer-winning account of the Rio
mountains upstream—and appreciat- River, through the Grand Canyon, put Grande, which, like “2001: A Space
ing, really for the first time, the fact together by a few friends, some of Odyssey,” reaches about as far back as
that this conveyor belt of snowmelt whom had guided on the river in their a history can. It begins:
and runof never stopped rolling, a twenties. Most of us were strangers to Space.
quintessence of incessance unlike any- one another, but the pixie dust was Abstract movement.
thing I could conceive of, except maybe strong. Two weeks in the canyon, with The elements at large.
time itself. Or an escalator. Then I no connection to the outside world. Over warm seas the air is heavy with
moisture.
wandered of in quest of some leftover The rim the edge of your universe, the
Dutch-oven apple crisp. river your only way through it. Among The guy was speaking my language.
Even in the clear-eyed light of day, the promises I made to myself, down
the Middle Fork worked its magic. on the Colorado—promises that were his is why, after a five-hour eve-
There was something addictive about
the unfurling, around every bend, of
inevitably broken—was that I would
spend a greater portion of my life, or
T ning drive from El Paso through
the shimmering blood-meridian ex-
new vistas. The fellowship, too: by the what remained of it, on swift, wild, panse of West Texas, then a morning
end of the trip, all of us, clients and and scenic American rivers. of sorting gear, meeting and greeting,
guides, vowed to visit one another soon, So I signed on to Reicher’s trip. At and bouncing in a shuttle van through
making what I now know are routine his urging, I started reading “Great the ocotillo-and-yucca high desert of
pixie-dust promises that in this case River,” Paul Horgan’s muy grande Big Bend National Park, I found my
were so unlikely to be kept that it took
only a few days for the spell to wear
of. (A river trip is a little like sum-
mer camp that way.) I passed through
Portola a year later and found “Feets,
Amazing” in the local phone book.
No answer.
Soon afterward, I learned how to
do an Eskimo roll, and spent a decade
white-water kayaking wherever and
whenever I could. Lehigh, Lochsa,
Youghiogheny, Ocoee, Gallatin, To-
hickon, Penobscot, Payette: the names
of the rivers summon up boulder gar-
dens, azure pools, high-speed surf
waves, life-threatening keeper holes—
and those mesmerizing cellophane
stretches where the water, clear and
unriled, accelerates over a rocky bed,
getting ever shallower, before drop-
ping into the aerated tumult of a rapid.
To safely navigate big rapids, and to
play in them with some assurance, you
have to acquaint yourself with a fun-
damental principle: water seeks its own
level. This is why it flows toward the
sea, why it churns back on itself when
it drops steeply, and why, if you lean
the wrong way crossing an eddy line,
it flips your boat—and why, if you fail
to roll up and have to swim, it fills your
boat (and your sinuses) as it dashes
you against the rocks. Whatever level
the water is seeking, you are better of
with your head above it.
Work, city life, injuries, and chil-
dren put an end to my boating. But,
like Ishmael, I intermittently get a
strong urge to take to the ship. Sev-
eral years ago, I joined a private—un-
heart droop upon catching sight of a all over the country, including mak- was considered impregnable, by boat
sag of umber water, its banks choked ing tubular sleeves for die-casting anyway. There is no record of anyone
with cane. Great river? It looked more foundries at a factory in Milwaukee. ever having navigated it when this ter-
like a polluted tidal lagoon in Flush- In 1996, he quit, moved to Terlingua, ritory belonged to Spain. In the nine-
ing, Queens. The put-in was at the Texas, and, having never before worked teenth century, numerous survey par-
foot of a boat ramp of bulldozed mud. on a river, set out to become a guide. ties, daunted by the prospect of big
An empty beer bottle, properly hurled, He’d met his wife, also a river guide, rapids and no escape, didn’t venture
would have made it over to the Mex- on the Middle Fork of the Salmon. past the entrance. Three Confederate
ican side. “This is blue-collar work, too, but it’s deserters claimed to have floated from
At the edge of this slough sat a awesome,” he said. “Everywhere you El Paso to Brownsville, in 1861, in a
flotilla of twelve canoes, one kayak, go, there’s water.” pair of lashed-together dugout canoes
and a supply raft. The lead guide, We were a few miles upriver of Bo- but left no description of the Big Bend
John LeRoy, a ropy, leathery dude quillas Canyon, where the river cuts canyons, which would have represented
with a gray beard and ponytail, was through the limestone fortress of the a noteworthy test. In 1899, a boating
busy rigging the boats. Eventually, Dead Horse Mountains, by the Sierra expedition led by Robert Hill, an oicer
he gathered everyone for an orienta- del Carmen. That’s the stretch we were for the U.S. Geological Survey, set out
tion speech—safety, paddling and rig- heading for—four days, three nights, to explore the canyons. “Every bush
ging technique, chain of command. just thirty-three miles, in one of the and stone was closely scanned for men
He brought up the urination routine most protected sections of the Rio in ambush,” he wrote afterward. The
(“Pee in the river, whenever possible. Grande. The water flow was low, the country apparently teemed with ban-
Dilution is the solution to pollution”), workload light, the dangers few, the dits, the most fearsome of them a Mex-
but said he’d address the poop ques- rapids negligible. This was a commer- ican named Alvarado, who was known
tion later. Something about LeRoy’s cial guided float trip, cosseted and ca- as Old White Lip, because his mus-
edgy forbearance seemed to say New tered. Still, we’d be out of touch and tache was half white and half black.
York City, and, sure enough, he was of the grid. Four days without cellu- The Mexicans on Hill’s expedition
from Elmhurst—né Jean-Yves, the son lar coverage can lead to palpitations were supposed to kill Alvarado if they
of French immigrants. His father had and debilitating night sweats. So can encountered him, but, at some point,
been a waiter in the theatre district. scorpions and rattlesnakes. they floated right past him, without
LeRoy had worked blue-collar jobs For centuries, Boquillas Canyon realizing who it was, as he watched
from the bank with a baby in his arms.
Maybe he’d shaved of the mustache.
Hill and his men found the going in
Boquillas less arduous than expected,
and filled in a new section of the map.
One of our guides was named Al-
varado—Austin Alvarado. No relation:
his parents were from Guatemala. Al-
varado had recently returned from a
trip led by a twenty-nine-year-old film-
maker named Ben Masters; they’d pad-
dled, and ridden horses and mountain
bikes, along the Texas border, from El
Paso to the Gulf, for a documentary
Masters was making, called “The River
and the Wall.” Masters, a wry, red-
headed horseman with a telegenic
Texas drawl, was on this trip, too, along
with the film’s producer and another
cameraman. This time, strictly speak-
ing, Alvarado was a guide and Mas-
ters a client. Another client was Colin
McDonald, the one who’d done the
source-to-sea trip in 2014, and who
was now working on endangered-
species policy for the Texas state comp-
troller’s oice, having capitulated to
the looming extinction of his own spe-
cies, Reporterus localus.
All told, there were twenty guests
and four guides. Reicher, who had his Stewart Udall, was Secretary of the (as midstream downed limbs and trees
daughter and his son along (one a re- Interior under Presidents Kennedy are called), and LeRoy pulled up on a
cent graduate of Dartmouth, the other and Johnson. “L.B.J. bullied my dad,” gravel bar—Mexico—to supervise,
headed there next fall), made intro- Udall said. “He considered him a Ken- while a vaquero in reflector shades and
ductions. As people paired up, Udall, nedy guy.” (Stewart had supported a backward ball cap sat sentry on a
unaccompanied by staf or spouse, Kennedy over Johnson in 1960.) “But burro. “Buenas tardes,” the Senator said.
chose me as his stern man. He is sixty- my dad had a great relationship with “Everyone has a river story,” Udall
nine years old, of medium build, and Lady Bird.” As a Mormon with deep told me. His had to do with a Grand
had on a long-billed sunhat, sunglasses, roots in the Southwest and a dam- Canyon trip he took with his father,
thick sunblock, a long-sleeved fishing happy constituency at home in Ari- when he was a teen-ager, in June, 1967.
shirt tucked into khaki-colored quick- zona, Stewart Udall was con- As a congressman from Ar-
dry pants, and Teva sandals: no Amaz- stitutionally and politically izona, and then as Interior
ing Feets, my bow man. He had a inclined to develop natural Secretary, Stewart Udall
Jimmy Stewart aw-shucks air about resources, rather than preserve had for many years sup-
him and a way of working my first them. “I was born with a ported two controversial
name into every other sentence, but shovel in my hand,” he liked projects in the Grand Can-
he wasn’t above having a beer on the to say. But his adventures out- yon: proposed dams in
water or sharing cold-eyed appraisals doors and his friendship with Marble and Bridge Can-
of his colleagues on Capitol Hill. He Rachel Carson and other en- yons, which would have
is a liberal-voting Democrat with a vironmentalists made him in- turned long sections of the
lifetime score of ninety-six per cent creasingly receptive to oppos- Grand Canyon into reser-
from the League of Conservation Vot- ing arguments, and he wound voirs. Eventually, Congress
ers, but has some sensitivity to the up presiding over the federal govern- killed the dams. Soon afterward, Udall
needs of constituents trying to make ment’s most prolific spree of land and and his family went on a raft trip in
a living of the land in the arid West. species protection, including the Wil- the Grand—what he called his “ride
He’d spent a lot of time outdoors derness Act, the Endangered Species on the wild side.”
through the years. He’d been an in- Preservation Act, and the Wild and Tom Udall told me, “My dad
structor for Outward Bound, in col- Scenic Rivers Act. wanted, as he put it, to ‘let the can-
lege, and every summer he spends a yons speak for themselves.’ ” For the
week or two backpacking in the wil- he Senator and I were getting the first time, in that wild place, Stewart
derness of the Wind River Range, in
Wyoming. (His cousin—and longtime
T hang of our boat. It was an Old
Town canoe, almost seventeen feet
Udall came to appreciate why his op-
ponents in the dam debates had felt
travelling companion in the Winds— long and piled high with gear. We were so strongly that the river ought to be
Randy Udall died there five years ago, approaching the old mining village of left alone. You had to see it to want
on a solo hike.) Boquillas del Carmen, on the Mexi- to save it. He published an article soon
Udall began to tell the story, over can side. Udall called out “Hola! ” to afterward taking himself to task for
his shoulder, of his family and its roots some men squatting on the bank with his support of the dams. That year,
in the Church of Latter-day Saints. a skif that they employed to ferry peo- he also travelled to upstate New York
One great-grandfather, David King ple back and forth across the river, at and paddled a canoe with Robert Ken-
Udall, was a Mormon bishop and a five dollars a head. The Boquillas nedy in the Hudson River Derby,
polygamist, who went to prison for Crossing, at a shallow and slack stretch to promote the pending Wild and Sce-
perjury. (He’d lied when Mitt Rom- of the river, has long been a port of nic Rivers legislation. It passed the
ney’s great-grandfather was being in- entry. The Border Patrol shut it down following year. The act now covers
vestigated for polygamy; his bail was in 2002, after the attacks of Septem- more than twelve thousand miles of
posted by Barry Goldwater’s father.) ber 11th. This devastated the village, rivers and streams, including two
A great-great-grandfather, John Lee, which, on the Mexican side, is about stretches of the Rio Grande—the
who had nineteen wives, was one of four hours away from the nearest paved Lower Canyons and Boquillas. Now
the leaders of the Mountain Mead- road. In the absence of tourism, some his son wanted to hear what this can-
ows Massacre, in 1857, in which a Mor- hundred remaining residents scraped yon had to say to him.
mon militia murdered a party of set- by for a decade. In 2013, the U.S. opened And here we were. The walls closed
tlers in southwest Utah; Lee was the the crossing again, allowing Big Bend in—steep, streaked limestone clifs
only one executed for the crime. visitors to go over to Boquillas for with a terra-cotta tinge, pocked high
The family eventually made its way the day or the night, and Mexicans to and low with dark openings big and
toward the political mainstream, as go to the other side to sell souvenirs— small, made by waterfalls during an
the West fell under the sway of Wash- or to retrieve grazing cattle that might era, post-Ice Age, when these precincts
ington. Mo Udall, Tom’s uncle, was a have strayed there. were lush. The water, clearer here, took
liberal congressman who ran for Pres- A little farther downstream, a on the colors of the clifs, and of the
ident, in 1976. Mo’s son, Mark, spent stretch of fast water steered the boats salt cedars that crowded the shore. The
six years in the Senate. Tom’s father, toward a cut bank and some strainers air had a prehistoric hush, except for
THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018 51
of this Administration appall him.
In 1903, Roosevelt’s great-grandfa-
ther, as President, established the Na-
tional Wildlife Refuge system, with
the designation of Pelican Island, in
Florida—the first instance of the fed-
eral government putting aside land
for wildlife. As it happens, one of the
first sections of the border wall was
scheduled to be built on a national
wildlife refuge in the lower Rio
Grande, the Santa Ana, one of the re-
gion’s most crucial habitats for migra-
tory birds. Last year, contractors for
the Department of Homeland Secu-
rity arrived there to drill test holes.
Just upriver last summer, at the Na-
tional Butterfly Center, a privately
owned refuge, a staf member discov-
ered a crew of workers, sent by U.S.
Customs and Border Protection, on
the center’s property, clearing brush
and chopping down trees, in prepara-
tion for the wall, which would strand
two-thirds of the center’s land on the
“Mexican” side of the wall. The but-
terfly center has sued the federal gov-
ernment. “We understand that not ev-
eryone in the country may be as
interested in butterflies or in the en-
• • vironment as we are,” the head of the
center told The Texas Observer. “But
everyone should care when the gov-
the dip of paddles in the current and hear some light argument among ernment thinks it can do whatever it
the tuneful descending song of the spouses and siblings amid the clickety- wants on your private property.”
canyon wren. clack of tent poles. LeRoy shooed away This is one of the reasons that the
The first night’s camp, called Puerto some grazing cattle and used a rake to Trump Administration has been eying
Rico, was Mile 8, river right, a broad remove cow dung from the prime tent federal lands. Thanks to a 2005 Patriot
floodplain of sand, stones, and grass. spots. Udall took over for a while. Roo- Act provision—the REAL I.D. waiver—
Puerto Rico was in Mexico. (After sevelt said, “Someone has to get a pic- federal agencies were able, under the
September 11th, Americans were not ture of the Senator shovelling shit.” guise of national security, to ignore en-
supposed to pull ashore, much less Roosevelt, a seventy-five-year-old vironmental and historic-preservation
spend the night, on the Mexican side, investment banker, who served in laws in building hundreds of miles of
but in recent years the authorities have Vietnam with the Navy SEALs, was border fencing during the Bush Ad-
relaxed a bit.) We set up a bucket bri- dressed like Udall, but with a Stet- ministration. Earlier this year, a law-
gade to oload the accoutrements of son hat and a red bandanna around suit challenging the waiver, filed by en-
our portable hotel: folding tables and his neck. He had a radio-friendly vironmental groups and the State of
chairs, four-burner range, Dutch oven, baritone and a solicitous air. A life- California, came before a federal judge
propane tanks, coolers, water jugs, doz- long conservationist and Republi- in San Diego, Gonzalo Curiel. Curiel,
ens of dufel-size dry bags, tents, and can, by inheritance and practice, he you’ll recall, was the judge in the Trump
camping mattresses known as paco is among those in his party who are University case whom Trump, during
pads. You can carry a lot more in a dismayed by Trump yet are still striv- his campaign, had called “a hater of
boat than in a backpack. The laws of ing, against diminishing odds, to find Donald Trump” who “happens to be,
flotation allow for comfort and en- some workable common ground. He’s we believe, Mexican.” This time, Cu-
courage excess. As the guides worked, the kind of environmentalist who can riel sided with Trump.
the guests scattered to claim sites to acknowledge and regret the occasion- Yet, last month, Congress, in its
pitch their tents. Dry bags spilled out ally invasive and inflexible nature of $1.3-trillion omnibus spending bill, es-
domestic consolations: clean clothes, a federally enforced regimen. None- sentially blocked the building of a wall
toiletries, pillows, headlamps. You could theless, the rollbacks and predations through the Santa Ana refuge—for
52 THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018
now, anyway. The bill provided hun- to restore awareness of it, from the up a tent in the dark. As we lay down,
dreds of millions of dollars to enhance ground up. he barked, “Scorpion!” We began
existing fencing and to reinforce le- He pointed to the shrubs that clung thrashing around, our headlamps ber-
vees on both sides but mandated a to the base of the steep clif: cande- serking until my beam found a pale
three-mile gap. (For patrollers, this is lilla, a source of wax used in the pro- spider the size of a silver dollar, which
the busiest section of Texas’s southern duction of lip balm, candles, religious he’d brushed from his leg. Masters
border; they apprehended more than figurines, and chewing gum. A hun- got it with his water bottle, and, with
a hundred and thirty-seven thousand dred years ago, there was a Great Wax the tent flaps slapping around in the
people crossing there last year, twenty- Rush here, with factories on both sides wind, we settled down to a night of
three times more than they did in the of the river, but now it’s a small-time fitful sleep.
bigger but far less populous sector of afair. He described how people on the
the Big Bend.) Other wildlife refuges Mexican side rip the shrubs out of the river trip is a comedy of manners
along the river were not spared. The
South Texas stretch of the Rio Grande
soil, boil them with sulfuric acid in
vats at a camp downstream, skim the
A that commences each day with
the sheepish, intermittent parade to
was the most afected. Still, Congress wax of the surface, and then trans- the groover. The groover is the name
provided nowhere near the funds port it by donkey out of the canyon, of the makeshift portable latrine, which
Trump had requested, and so in re- up to the mesa, and into Boquillas. On is typically set up at some remove from
cent weeks he has started talking about a good day, a candelillero can produce camp, out of sight and yet often with
deploying the military to the border, about ten dollars’ worth of it. “It’s ei- a stunning outlook, to make up for the
or raiding the military’s budget to fund ther that or running a ferry,” McDon- flies and the lack of a stall door. It is
a wall. On April 3rd, he announced ald said. called the groover because the body of
that he was calling in the National That night, after dinner (tilapia), the toilet is an old ammunition can
Guard, though, strictly speaking, he flashes strobed above the canyon’s stood on its side—on a wilderness river,
doesn’t, as President, have the power southern walls. “Heat lightning,” some- you must pack everything out, includ-
to do so. one said, as someone usually does, and ing human waste, and an ammo can,
there arose a debate about whether being sealable and unbreakable, is
he kayak on the trip, which a few there really is such a thing. The wind ready-made—and, when one sits on
T of us took turns paddling, was
one of the vessels that had conveyed
changed direction and began honk-
ing downriver. The camp seemed to
it, one winds up with a groove on each
cheek of one’s rear end. Usually, now-
McDonald from source to sea, a few be blowing apart. Then came hot pods adays, a toilet seat is placed atop the
years before. It still bore traces of the of rain. I was determined to sleep under opening, to moderate the experience.
messages that his wife had written all the stars, but after an hour of being Still, the old moniker pertains, as does
over it, in indelible ink, to keep him blasted by sand, amid a light show of the ritual of campers competing, with-
company. Lean, bearded, fervid, and indeterminate origin and consequence, out demonstrating that they are doing
quick-spoken, McDonald had brought I gave in, and Ben Masters and I set so, to be the first, or at least among
along some books about the river for
people to look through before dinner.
He also had a photocopy of Reicher’s
1977 journal, in a freezer bag. He
seemed to know more about the cur-
rent state of the Rio Grande than any-
one. “The Colorado, always the Col-
orado—it’s like the pretty girl,” he
said. “The Rio Grande isn’t seen,
treated, or valued as a river. My wife’s
from Brownsville, and I introduced
her to the Rio Grande. People think,
The river is dirty, it’s poverty, it’s dis-
ease.” He was involved in eforts to
address various ills, but, in light of the
obstacles (and in spite of his enthu-
siasm), he did not evince much hope.
“We have nineteenth-century laws,
twentieth-century infrastructure, and
twenty-first-century problems,” he
liked to say. His focus, in the short
term, was finding ways to get kids on
the water, to introduce them to its “I see you, Jake—but does anyone have a question
glories, such as they are, and to begin that’s not about carpentry?”
the first, to visit the groover, each day lem.” He prefers a so-called smart wall, Ears. Again the rituals: the load-in,
after dawn. the deployment of camera and drone the scramble for good ground, dry
Typically, there is a sign indicating technology to trace movement on the shorts, groover. Bob Irvin broke out a
that the groover is occupied—a pad- border, especially in remote areas. You fly rod, in the hope of catching a long-
dle, or a bandanna on a bush. On the can see instances of this approach here nose gar, a prehistoric fish native to
Rio Grande, this was a smaller ammo and there in the Big Bend region; a these waters. McDonald brought out
can, like a lunchbox, which contained giant unmanned blimp hovers high his books. There was swimming and
paper, hand cleanser, and (for the lucky over the desert south of Marfa. (In beer-drinking in the sun, some explo-
camper on groover detail) latex gloves. the omnibus spending bill, Congress ration of a slot canyon, and then later,
The smaller box’s visible presence, approved about two hundred million after dinner (Dutch-oven lasagna), in
in a designated spot en route to the dollars that could be used for this kind the dark, more Chautauqua—more
groover, indicated that the facility was of security.) schemes and dreams. Another storm
free. The sight of someone carrying a The group began to talk about a blew in, and at night’s end a group of
lunchbox to the shit box, and the ex- kind of antidote to the wall, an idea us lingered under the kitchen tarp, tell-
perience of cheerfully passing a fellow- that Reicher had only just heard of ing river tales. Killer holes, unfamiliar
boater on the way to and fro (perhaps the month before but which has been beasts, mysterious strangers. Reicher
with a tip of the hat and a “G’morn- around since Franklin D. Roosevelt’s recalled finding, in a hot springs in the
ing, Ma’am”), become so commonplace Administration discussed it, in the Lower Canyons, a new genus of iso-
that, by Day Three, any stigma sur- thirties: a binational park, linking the pod crustacean, one that glowed in the
rounding the procedure is gone. The existing Big Bend park and some ad- dark, which is unusual for a freshwa-
groover unites us all. jacent public lands, on the American ter bug. He took some pickled sam-
This was not a topic for discussion, side, with millions of acres of wild ples back to Dartmouth and got a grant
however, during the morning cofee country, both public and private, al- to do more research, but by the time
conversations initiated by Reicher. The ready set aside just across the river. he returned to the hot springs a flood
barracks banter typical of other river The Mexican government has desig- had washed out the pools and the bugs
trips was replaced by a mediated dis- nated more than four million acres as were gone.
cussion about the Rio Grande and its protected. Cemex, the Mexican build- Masters and Alvarado told a story,
discontents, chief among them the ing-materials behemoth, had bought from their Rio Grande adventure, about
wall. In the shade of the canyon, as up ranches along both sides of the a mischievous friend of Masters’s who
the sunlight gradually made its way river, in the interest of land preserva- secretly served the two of them and a
down the clifs on the American side— tion and the reintroduction of bighorn cat-loving friend an elaborate taco
there’s your wall!—Reicher asked Aus- sheep. (When Trump was elected, breakfast made with bobcat meat. I
tin Alvarado to say a few words to the Cemex was assumed to be a likely pro- was thinking of laying out my paco
group, which was seated in a circle of vider of cement for the wall, but the pad under the tarp, but as the rain in-
folding chairs. company has stated that it wouldn’t tensified a phalanx of those big pale
“The idea of a wall is so un-Amer- be bidding on the job.) As it is, the spiders came up over the sand, eyes
ican to me,” Alvarado said. “Is this Chihuahuan ecosystem straddles the goggling in the beams of our head-
America first, or America only?” Al- border and exceeds the limits of any lamps. They kept converging on Mas-
varado, twenty-five, described how his existing park. Why shouldn’t the parks ters, as though to avenge the one from
mother, and later his father and and preserves be integrated somehow? the night before. We pitched a tent.
brother—all of them Guatemalans— One precedent is Waterton-Glacier In the Grand Canyon, my friends
had crossed the river near Browns- International Peace Park, along the had, after a week, got into a mode of
ville. Udall asked, “Austin, are you a mountainous border between Mon- talking to one another almost exclu-
Dreamer?” tana and Alberta. But no one had ever sively in the diction and cadence of a
“No, I was born here.” thought of putting up a wall to keep nineteenth-century explorer’s journals:
Someone joked, “You say ‘here,’ but out the Canadians. “Cabbage stores are mostly depleted
we’re in Mexico now.” and what is left is sodden and rancid.
“I was born in Austin, Texas, which he next day, we paddled eleven The men grow restless.” I found my-
is how I got my name,” Alvarado said.
“I have cousins who are Dreamers,
T miles in the canyon. Several guests
flipped their canoes. It doesn’t take
self the next morning, over pancakes
and cofee, privately lapsing into it.
though.” much, once you get caught broadside Morale high, weather improving, Mas-
“You’re called an anchor baby on against a rock in swift water. Roosevelt, ters unbowed.
the other side,” Udall said wryly. in a boat with Masters, hit a submerged “Hey, I have an idea,” someone said.
Alvarado and Masters had spent a boulder, and into the drink they went, “I have one, too,” Masters said.
couple of days with Representative along with Masters’s fancy camera. “Sweet!”
Will Hurd, a Republican from Texas, Everyone had a laugh. “Double sweet.”
who strongly opposes the wall—which Camp was on the Mexican side It was a bluebird morning. A tail-
he has called “a third-century solu- again, just upriver of a two-pronged wind, a blessing in these parts, sped
tion to a twenty-first-century prob- tower of limestone known as Rabbit us out of the canyon and into an open
54 THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018
desert basin—out of what was, on the
American side, Big Bend National
Park and into the Black Gap Wildlife
Management Area. (It was amazing
to consider that the Big Bend park is
the southern terminus, geologically
speaking, of both the Appalachians
and the Rockies—that the ranges, or
at least the rock that distinguishes
them, almost touch here.) For hours,
the river tunnelled lazily through the
cane and wound around until Mexico,
confusingly, was to our north. We
camped on that side again, along a run
where Irvin spent another hour in mid-
stream, backlit amid the riles, as if in
some fishing magazine, tossing a fly
line toward the American side, to no
avail—no gar. Udall passed around
some Cohibas, then sat half-submerged
and shirtless in an eddy, smoking one
of them: a ride on the wild side. Some-
one put out Fritos and guacamole. A
group hiked to the top of a nearby
mesa just before sunset and took in
hundreds of square miles of moun-
tainous desert—a good chunk of a
would-be peace park. You could also
see a lot of this from the groover—of
which the returning mesa hikers had
an unobstructed view.
This was the first clear night, ea-
gerly anticipated, since the area is a
so-called dark-sky preserve, advanta-
geous for gazing at the stars. The sky “ You don’t need me. You don’t need anyone. You are Americans.”
was soon full. After dinner (steak), a
dozen or so of the group gathered by
a fire and passed around a bottle of
• •
whiskey while playing what they called
a drinking game, initiated by Mas- and, as the flotilla passed through of the river with no active border
ters: “If you were President, which some slack water and a rapid that a crossing.
fifty-mile stretch of unprotected river, guide called Eat Shit Rock, you could This is where the trip came to an
anywhere in the United States, would begin to see, along the banks, evidence end, on a sandbar across from the ruins
you designate as Wild and Scenic?” of harder use. Abandoned infrastruc- of La Linda. The vans were waiting,
One by one, people spoke of their fa- ture: an old mining tram, a pier im- with trailers for the boats. Just before
vorite threatened waterways—the provised out of a rusting truck chas- we got there, we passed beneath the
Pecos, the Pigeon, the Crow—until, sis. The big lode around here had been defunct bridge, its underbelly warted
under the spell of the whiskey and fluorspar. Dow Chemical once had up with swallows’ nests. On the road-
the stars and the rustle of the Rio an operation in La Linda, on the Mex- bed above, the array of median barri-
Grande, it seemed possible that each ican side, connected to the American ers and fences, including a reinforced-
pronouncement had the force of law. side by a steel-and-concrete bridge, mesh overhang in the shape of a
I slept outside and woke up with a high above the river. This had been a backstop, brought to mind the collec-
headache. Dover’s powder depleted. The busy crossing. But the mines shut tion of wall prototypes that Trump had
men complain of ague. down in the early nineties, and then, recently gone to see in San Diego—
There’s something forlorn about soon afterward, the bridge did, too, the disembodied slabs that some had
the last run of a river trip, when you after a drug smuggler killed a Mexi- likened to conceptual art. Would they
know it ends in a shuttle van rather can customs agent. Now La Linda work? Had these? We loaded the ca-
than at a camp. A cold front washed in, was a ghost town, with a ghost bridge, noes onto the trailers. From up on the
bringing drizzle and a chilly headwind, in the middle of the longest stretch bank, the river didn’t look like much.
THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018 55
ANNALS OF GASTRONOMY
BEAN FREAKS
On the hunt for an elusive legume.
BY BURKHARD BILGER
T
he best meal of my life, or at for dinner, there were only white beans home, a jar of these chilies would
least the most memorable, came inside, flecked with salt pork. They had abruptly blossom with black moths,
from a can. I was thirteen at the one flavor, one texture, one purpose— hatched from eggs embedded in their
time and living in France, so that may to fill my stomach—but that was enough. flesh. But Sando was just thinking how
have had something to do with it. But Hunger is a simple thing, an alarm bell great they’d be with a mess of beans.
I credit the beans. My older sisters and in the brain. Sometimes there’s noth- We passed tables of epazote, an herb
I were at a hippie camp in the Alps that ing better than shutting it of. said to prevent flatulence, and bowls
summer, not far from the Italian bor- I thought about that meal last spring, of a greenish-gray soil with a vaguely
der. My parents had stashed us there when I first met Steve Sando. We were vegetal smell. “Pond scum from Lake
while they went home to Oklahoma to standing at a table heaped with hibis- Texcoco,” Sando said. “We use it to
check on our house, which they’d rented cus flowers, at an outdoor market in soften beans.” To Sando, everything
to some graduate students while my fa- the town of Ixmiquilpan, three hours in Mexico seems to connect to beans,
ther was on sabbatical. The camp was north of Mexico City in the state of and through them to the rest of world
the cheapest one they could find, and Hidalgo. It was a Thursday morning cuisine. When he’s at home, in Napa,
they seemed to have done next to no in May, and the stalls were full of California, he sometimes gives talks at
research before signing us up. My mother women gossiping and picking through local elementary schools. He starts by
just loved the name: Jeunesse du Soleil produce: corn fungus and cactus pad- asking the kids where pizza comes from.
Levant, Youth of the Rising Sun. dles, purslane and pickling lime, agave “Italy!”
As it turned out, we rarely woke be- buds and papalo leaf that smelled of “Wrong. Mexico! That’s where toma-
fore noon. The camp had promised a mint and gasoline. Sando, who is fifty- toes are from. What about chocolate?”
vigorous program of crafts, hikes, and eight, ambled among them in a white “Switzerland!”
team-building games, but the coun- guayabera shirt, untucked at the waist. “Nope. Mexico! That’s where cocoa
sellors were usually too hungover, or He had on loose jeans, tennis shoes, beans are from. How about vanilla?”
too caught up in their tent-hopping and a bright-red baseball cap that said “Mexico?”
romances, to bother. (On the last day “Rancho Gordo” above the bill. He “That’s right! And chilies, corn, and
of camp, I found a stack of unopened could hardly have looked more Amer- squash, too.” Many of the staples of
boxes behind the mess tent; they were ican, yet he fit in perfectly somehow. European and Asian cooking came
filled with modelling clay and water- He was built like a giant bean. from Mesoamerica via the Spanish, he
color paints.) We spent most after- That may seem too easy, beans being explains. It’s called the Columbian Ex-
noons playing cards and plunking gui- Sando’s business. But people are often change, but it wasn’t much of a trade
tars, killing time till after dinner, when shaped by their obsessions, and in San- for the Mesoamericans. They got tur-
we’d hike down to the village to drink do’s case the similarities are hard to nips, barley, and spinach.
beer with grenadine and dance to miss. His body is mostly torso, his skin Sando is a rather sheepish addition
French disco music. both ruddy and tanned, like a pinto. to that history. He’s uneasy about im-
It was paradise, mostly. The excep- He makes a colorful first impression, port regulations, fretful of cultural ap-
tion was the few mornings when our gets a little starchy if you crowd him, propriation, and well aware of his fum-
counsellors, seized by a spasm of con- then slowly softens up. Fifteen years bling grasp of Mexican custom. “I’m
science, would roust us from our tents ago, when Sando founded Rancho not the Indiana Jones of beans,” he
and lead us on forced marches through Gordo, he had no food-retailing or told me. “I’m the Don Quixote.” Every
the mountains, declaring that this was farming experience. Now he’s the coun- year, he takes one or two trips to Mex-
what summer camp was all about. It try’s largest retailer of heirloom beans ico to look for rare varieties and farm-
was on one of those trips, on the shore and a minor celebrity in the culinary ers who might grow them for him.
of a frigid lake, that I had the meal of world. He’s a side dish who’s become He was in Ixmiquilpan to search for
my life. I was famished by then and a staple. an especially elusive quarry: Flor de
wobbly with fatigue. I’d spent too many “This to me . . . it just makes me so Durazno, the Flower of the Peach.
days lounging around, and a counsellor happy,” he said. He was holding a bag This was a dainty, pinkish-brown bean
had stufed two giant cans of cassoulet of rayado chilies, smoked over an oak of uncommon taste and velvety tex-
in my backpack before we left. French fire. He stuck his nose deep inside and ture, grown in Hidalgo. Sando had
trail mix. When we pried them open inhaled. Weeks later, in my pantry at seen it once in his life, in a package sent
56 THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018
Rancho Gordo’s heirloom beans look like gems in a jewelry case. The company sells half a million pounds of them a year.
ILLUSTRATIONS BY CARI VANDER YACHT THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018 57
to his oice by a farmer not far from ther’s sabbatical, they always seemed to Cooking beans is like going to see
this market. He was hoping to buy two be covered in cheese, coated in ketchup clowns and sword swallowers at a cir-
thousand pounds for his Bean Club. and molasses, or tossed into a three- cus, only to find them all sitting inside
bean salad like so many protein pellets. the tent, playing canasta. “It’s God’s
FE
LIM
R
O
3
RD Y
E R BY MA
POP MUSIC
PUBLIC PRACTICE
More studious than outrageous, Cardi B’s “Invasion of Privacy” is a breeze.
B Y C A R R I E B AT TA N
Iera’sftelevision
you need more proof that reality
and social media are this
greatest cultural incubators, look
despite being more Lucille Ball than
Lauryn Hill. It was a canny move. After
all, her main skill set—a knack for lan-
ances by hip-hop and R. & B. A-list-
ers: Migos, Chance the Rapper, YG,
Kehlani, and SZA. Such a name-laden
no further than Cardi B (born Belca- guage and bombast—overlapped nicely track list usually indicates a shameless
lis Almanzar), the twenty-five-year-old with that of most successful hip-hop attempt to search-engine-optimize a
Bronx native who has taken an unprec- artists. Her first two mixtapes, “Gang- bloated body of work, but “Invasion of
edented but well-documented path to sta Bitch Music,” Volumes I and II, Privacy” is a mercifully cogent thirteen-
pop-world domination. In 2014, while from 2016 and 2017, had the feel of song breeze. It mixes hard-slapping
working as a stripper, she launched a rough drafts. She gravitated toward a street rap with dashes of velvety,
grassroots campaign for her person- pummelling street sound, with skit- heartbroken R. & B. There is also a
ality on Instagram and Vine, posting tering beats and menacing choruses crafty collaboration with the Colom-
bawdy, unflinching videos in which that didn’t always capture the humor bian pop superstar J Balvin and Latin
she monologued about whatever was and charm she was known for; none- trap’s reigning king, Bad Bunny, on a
on her mind—unfaithful boyfriends, theless, the eforts were lively. One of song called “I Like It,” a swaggering
the indignity of backhanded compli- her tracks, “Lick,” was rereleased in a update of Pete Rodriguez’s Latin-
ments, the relative merits of IHOP and collaboration with Ofset, a member boogaloo hit. Cardi, who grew up on
Philippe Chow—in a thick New York of the chart-topping hip-hop trio a diet of bachata and reggaeton and
Spanish accent. She sometimes wore Migos, who is now Cardi’s fiancé, but has never shed her Bronx accent, is a
nothing but a shower cap. “I ain’t gon’ it was not until “Bodak Yellow” that fitting hip-hop star for an era of Latin-
lie to y’all, these terrorist attacks got she became a legitimate force. That pop crossovers.
my mental a li’l finicky. That’s why I song, a thunderous New York rap Cardi’s trajectory has been idiosyn-
been in the Bronx,” she said in one record with an of-kilter beat and a cratic, but on her songs she is a tradi-
video, from 2015. “Keep me away from threatening mood, elbowed its way to tionalist. She is the first to admit that
downtown. Ain’t nobody tryna blow dominance. Rapping had seemed like rapping takes work, and that her prog-
up the hood. ” something of an extracurricular to Car- ress has required intense study. This
These little gems of street wisdom di’s career, but “Bodak Yellow” unseated makes her an outlier. Hip-hop’s pre-
got her cast in Mona Scott-Young’s a Taylor Swift single to become the vailing style is heavily improvisational,
VH1 reality series “Love & Hip Hop.” top song in the country. Cardi was now, less about flow and narrative than
A chatterbox with a refreshingly un- astonishingly, the first female rapper about hypnotic chants and call-and-
varnished self-presentation, Cardi, in to top the Billboard Hot 100 chart on response choruses. Most of the big-
perhaps her greatest accomplishment, a solo track since Hill did, with “Doo gest stars, particularly those from hip-
inverts the uses of the platforms she Wop (That Thing),” in 1998. hop’s capital city of Atlanta, do not
first called home: in her universe, so- Major labels have typically misused put raps to paper before recording
cial media and television serve as mega- unconventional or Internet-viral tal- them; instead, they enter the record-
phones for candor and exuberance ent, but Cardi’s début album, “Invasion ing booth when the mood strikes
rather than for deception or artifice. of Privacy,” which was released earlier them, building on catchphrases and
ABOVE: OLIMPIA ZAGNOLI
The music industry, of course, has this month, signals that perhaps they trying to capture an energy rather than
its own entrenched structures of artifice. are developing better strategies. The tell a story. These songs have an of-
No realm of entertainment is littered record is clearly the product of plenty hand, whistle-while-you-work feeling
with more outsiders made quickly into of money and planning, but it bottles to them. But Cardi, despite the stream
afable cash cows. Cardi, who quit strip- her vitality without allowing it to go of consciousness that characterizes her
ping in 2015, decided to try rapping, flat. The record is stacked with appear- social-media posts, makes studied,
74 THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018
Most big hip-hop stars try to capture an energy rather than tell a story. Cardi B’s songs, by contrast, are premeditated.
ILLUSTRATION BY MVM THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018 75
“Our maintenance crew is ixing a problem that should only take a few
minutes but which will haunt you for the duration of the flight.”
• •
premeditated songs. She is a formal- plays a multitude of characters. In
ist who wears the writing process— some, she’s a proud swindler giving
and her influences—on her sleeve, her followers a peek into her bag of
which means she is, in a major way, a tricks. In others, she’s a gross-out
throwback artist. Cardi adopted the comic or a vixen; often she is a hood
measured but forceful vocal style and headmistress, admonishing women
cadence of “Bodak Yellow” from “No for their transgressions or their missed
Flockin,” a hit by the troubled Flor- opportunities. At her best, she is at
ida rapper Kodak Black. “Get Up 10,” the top of her lungs, filibustering about
the first song on “Invasion of Privacy,” her everyday gripes and the misbe-
is a careful homage to Meek Mill’s havior of the people—often men—in
bait-and-switch street classic “Dreams her life. This is the Cardi who dom-
and Nightmares,” in which, for ninety inates “Invasion of Privacy”: she’s at
seconds, accompanied by a piano and the height of success, while remain-
strings, he raps about his triumph over ing disgruntled and aggressively on
his circumstances, until the turbo- the defensive. The record is not a gig-
charged beat drops and his voice shifts gle but a pissed-of snarl, aimed both
to a frenzied bark, reminding listen- at her naysayers and at her romantic
ers of his persistent hunger. It’s an interests. “Li’l bitch, I cannot stand
important touchstone for the genre, you, right hand to Jesus / I might just
and one that Cardi repurposes for her cut all the tongues out your sneakers,”
own rags-to-riches story. In inter- she threatens, on “Thru Your Phone,”
views, she has credited Pardison Fon- the track that sounds the most like
taine as a co-writer of her lyrics, turn- one of her video rants. The song is a
ing what would be a shameful secret gripping torrent of fury and resent-
for most rappers into a simple fact of ment, levelled at a cheating lover—
her process. and the other woman—but bolstered
In her videos on social media, Cardi by moments of sideways levity.
76 THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018
The swirl of bluster and romantic
sorrow on the album shows that love
is one terrain that Cardi has yet to con- BRIEFLY NOTED
quer. But she is a crafty exploiter of the
tabloid gossip surrounding her rela- Educated, by Tara Westover (Random House). In this harrow-
tionship. Recently, she appeared on ing memoir, Westover, the daughter of survivalist Christian
“Saturday Night Live,” and used her fundamentalists in the Idaho mountains, defies her father
performance of “Be Careful”—a vul- and ends up at Cambridge University. Unschooled in child-
nerable and scornful interpolation of hood, she and her siblings are repeatedly imperilled by their
Lauryn Hill’s “Ex-Factor”—to début parents’ blistering paranoia about civilization and modern
her large baby bump. It was a jarring medicine. After she leaves home, revelations include stum-
moment for anyone who might have bling upon John Stuart Mill’s opinion that, of women’s na-
believed that her romance was merely tures, “nothing final can be known”: “Never had I found such
staged to drum up attention. Not since comfort in a void,” she writes. “It seemed to say: whatever
Lana Del Rey has an artist triumphed you are, you are woman.” Westover is a keen and honest guide
over such low expectations and landed to the diiculties of filial love, and to the enchantment of
as a bona-fide pop star. embracing a life of the mind.
Ihopnticktheasofapastpeople
year, there’s been an up-
who are using hip-
way to leverage the fame
The Wife’s Tale, by Aida Edemariam (Harper). Ethiopia during
the reign of Haile Selassie bursts to life in this impression-
istic family history. Yetemegnu, the author’s grandmother, is
they’ve achieved in other realms. Cur- married at the age of eight to a powerful priest in the Ethi-
rently, the industry is trying to make opian Orthodox Church. Her days soon fill with wifely du-
stars out of plenty of other Internet ties: she bears her first child at fourteen, cooks, hosts holy
firebrands and meme-generators. There feasts. Edemariam anchors the book in these mundane rhythms,
is Danielle Bregoli, a teen-age girl who setting them against a vividly realized landscape. Political
went viral after a belligerent appear- turmoil sweeps in like a dream: Yetemegnu is outside among
ance on “Dr. Phil,” and signed a record the “pale gold domes of tef ” when the Italians invade her
deal as Bhad Bhabie. With the sup- village, in 1936; in 1974, when Selassie is deposed, she’s watch-
port of a handful of well-chosen beats, ing the sky for portents. The book elegantly collapses the dis-
she makes a disconcertingly catchy tance between the vast and the intimate, showing how his-
trap-rap pastiche. There is also Jake tory reaches even the most sheltered.
Paul, a dopey blond vlogger and provo-
cateur who recently secured a feature Being Wagner, by Simon Callow (Vintage). Callow, who has
verse from Gucci Mane. The popular performed a one-man play about Wagner, assesses the com-
hip-hop-podcast host Adam Grand- poser’s music in the light of his copious essays, letters, and
maison, known as Adam22, is also en- other writings in this lively biography. He sees Wagner as
tering the fray, along with many young always “essentially talking to himself,” and the voluminous
Internet-famous video gamers. Cardi philosophical speculations as a necessary preparation for the
could be considered the figurehead of operas. Wagner’s self-absorbed, volcanic personality comes
this era of rap as vocation rather than across clearly, whether he is supplying grenades to revolu-
as creative pursuit. tionaries, seducing his friends’ wives, or sending Nietzsche
You may get the impression that on “domestic errands.” Seeing himself as an “artist-hero,” he
these artists are grabbing at dollar bills believed that he could save Germany from cultural poverty,
in the wind tunnel of hip-hop. There and championed nothing less than “a new world order,” with-
is something unsettling about this kind out authority, class, or capital—a world he believed only his
of gold rush—it’s propelled by a cyn- art could occasion.
ical assumption that hip-hop can be
gamed, or that it is the easiest route to The Long Hangover, by Shaun Walker (Oxford). Underpin-
notoriety and riches for people who ning the disparate topics in this account of post-Soviet Rus-
are lacking in quantifiable skills. Some sia—the wars in Chechnya, the annexation of Crimea, the re-
of these artists will rise beyond sheer sidual trauma of the Gulags—is the new country’s attempt to
sensationalism; others will flame out forge a national identity. Walker takes of from the late writer
quickly. But Cardi is a shining coun- Svetlana Boym’s notion of “restorative nostalgia,” a striving to
terweight. In retaining her dogged recover a vaguely defined and idealized past. He argues that
openheartedness and honest work ethic, Vladimir Putin, seeking a new storyline for a people caught
she has been able to prove that hip- in an existential malaise, has capitalized on the collective mem-
hop is the land not of opportunism but ory of sacrifice and victory in the Second World War, the “one
of opportunity. event that had the narrative potential to unite the country.”
THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018 77
nationalism about him; if you read him
BOOKS when you’re a small child, as more Brits
seem to than Americans, he becomes,
as W. H. Auden wrote, an entire land.
KNOWING MR. LEAR No one would seem better quali-
fied to write a biography of Lear
The great master of Victorian nonsense and his harrowed soul. than Jenny Uglow, and now she has,
with “Mr. Lear: A Life of Art and
B Y A DA M G O P N I K Nonsense” (Farrar, Straus & Giroux).
Uglow is a matchless popular histo-
rian of the British nineteenth century;
her 2002 book, “The Lunar Men,” is
among the best social histories of Brit-
ish life to have appeared in the past
twenty or so years. It’s an account of
the intermingling of art and science
in the circle around Joseph Priestley
and the young Erasmus Darwin at the
dawn of the industrial revolution in
the Midlands, and the book revealed
a kind of mini-Enlightenment cen-
tered in Birmingham.
When it comes to Lear, Uglow’s
disability, if there is one, is that she is
such an enthusiast that her enthusiasm
crowds out, a little, her urge to explica-
tion. That nursery nationalism kicks in.
She takes Lear’s greatness for granted,
piling on limericks and sketch draw-
ings as though we, too, had known them
since infancy. Her enthusiasm can be-
come a velvet rope separating us from
her subject, more than an invitation
to the dance. (Enthusiasm, whatever
they may say, is never actually “conta-
gious.” Eloquence about an enthusi-
asm alone is.)
For much of his life, Edward Lear was best known as a landscape painter. What is eloquent and astonishing
in Uglow’s biography is her demon-
ultures, like caterpillars, crawl for- on those nineteenth-century disguises. stration of how embedded Lear was in
C ward in contradictions, drawing
back and then suddenly springing for-
Of the two great makers of non-
sense, Carroll rightly has received more
Victorian art and culture. Given the
eccentricity of his tone and the sad,
ward. The Victorians, famously puri- attention, because of his twists and self-mocking little-Englishness of, for
tanical, are also famous for providing quirks, because of his photography and instance, his verse “Self-Portrait of the
the template of modern pornogra- the ghost of pedophilia falsely supposed Laureate of Nonsense”—
phy—the words “Victorian classic” to cling to his obsessions. About Lear
on a paperback have long meant a less has been written, perhaps because He reads, but he cannot speak, Spanish,
He cannot abide ginger-beer:
dirty book—while on the other side there does not seem as much to say. His Ere the days of his pilgrimage vanish,
of that earnest, progressive Victorian classic love ballad, “The Owl and the How pleasant to know Mr. Lear!
rationality are the mad leaps of Vic- Pussycat,” was voted the most popular
torian irrationality. All that sense, de- British childhood poem in 2014, and —you might have expected a second
corum, and propriety produced the has been set to music by everyone from William Blake, living as a recluse in a
first fully achieved literature of non- Stravinsky to Laurie Anderson. And row house in Lambeth. Not a bit of it:
sense. Like the porn, it was amazingly no history of the limerick, or of light the younger Lear was a social figure, a
BRIDGEMAN IMAGES
generative, so that most works of Dada verse, can escape his imposing presence. permanent house guest, as deep in his
and Surrealism bear the marks of But his work seems so self-enclosed time as Truman Capote was in his.
mid-Victorian Englishness, descend- and self-evident that championing him He knew everyone. Reading his me-
ing from Lewis Carroll and Edward has felt unnecessary, even impudent. lodic nonsense lines, one might enter-
Lear, as much as modern erotica takes Lear has a certain amount of nursery tain the thought of Lear as a kind of
78 THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018
comic Tennyson, with the same gift for as—it sounds like the beginning of
murmuring sounds disguised as phi- one of his limericks—the twentieth
losophy—and then, reading Uglow, one of twenty-one children, by his own
discovers that Lear and Tennyson were account. (Uglow thinks that he might
friends, sharing ideas and rhymes. (In have been the sixteenth of seventeen.)
fact, Lear set much of Tennyson’s verse Epileptic, and seemingly what we
to his own music.) A diligent student would now call “on the spectrum,” he
of Charles Darwin might be struck became known as an ornithological
by how much the creatures in Lear’s illustrator when still a teen-ager. Under
verse—the Pobble Who Has No Toes, the indirect influence, and then the
et al.—are part of a new vision of life firsthand mentoring, of the master
that includes an expanded place for John James Audubon himself—they
chance and oddity in nature, with the met on one of Audubon’s fund-rais-
extra idea that animal happiness comes ing trips to Britain—the adolescent
from nothing more than filling a pre- Lear had the brilliant idea of publish-
carious niche for a necessary moment. ing a picture book about parrots, just
Then one discovers that Lear was an parrots, and nothing but.
attentive and informed reader of Dar- If he had published only his “Illus-
win; he worked with John Gould, the trations of the Family of Psittacidae,
natural-history entrepreneur who had or Parrots” (1832), Lear would still oc-
actually picked apart the varieties of cupy a solid paragraph in the history
finch that Darwin had brought back of Victorian art. (A parrot watercolor,
from the Galápagos Islands. Lear has rather than a “nonsense” sketch, graces
Ruskinian notes of dense, worried aes- the cover of Uglow’s book.) Lear’s par-
theticism—and then, reading the bi- rots, for all their exoticism, strike a dis-
ography, we get Ruskin weighing in on tinctly English note, and are almost
Lear’s lyrics. We find, in Lear, the im- like Regency political cartoons in their
mersive, overstufed feel common to airy, bright-colored clarity. In fact, the Basil Twist’s
all Victoriana—and here is Victoria diferences in style between Audubon’s
herself, getting a drawing lesson from and Lear’s birds suggest almost per-
him. Because Lear was lodged far more fectly realized national types. Audu-
securely in Victorian society than the bon was drawn to the democratic and Tickets at HERE.org
donnish Carroll was, his art mirrors the encyclopedic—birds of all kinds
and parodies it more precisely. Carroll occupying a common space. Lear’s sub- +
was making jokes about Oxford; Lear ject was the eccentric individual, poised
about London and the world. on its perch. His parrots display plum-
Throughout, Uglow patiently traces age, fashion, and intelligence, mixed
the contours of a closeted gay man’s with aristocratic unself-consciousness.
martha’s vineyard
life. Lear participated in the classic Where Audubon’s parrots gyrate and
Victorian pantomime in which an older foreshorten themselves—one can al-
man supported or befriended or men- most hear them chattering as they press
tored younger ones, often handsome their beaks toward the picture plane—
and foreign-born fellow-pilgrims and Lear’s are sphinxlike in their mysteri-
guides. The pantomime tends to fall ous stillness. Audubon fixed a whole
into two orders: in one, the relation- nation of birds in action in the wild,
ship was discreetly consummated; in even when he had had their corpses
the other, the pathos of yearning and wired and posed beforehand. Lear’s
missing feels overwhelming. All of parrots, drawn from living captives in
Lear’s romances seem, with perhaps the newly opened London Zoo, are
one exception, to belong to the sec- rich and self-suicient on their perches.
ond category. Their minimal movement—a feather
We know Lear best as a befuddled astray here, a wing akimbo there—
middle-aged man, but he was a prod- makes them look uncannily like Gains-
igy of printmaking, a sort of Victo- borough’s feathery society beauties, who Ohana Family Camp in Vermont
rian David Hockney, with a charm- are equally silent, equally sure.
Swim Archery
ing if odd manner that brought him His animal illustrations made his Sail Tennis
early fame and easy access to the fa- reputation, if not a lot of money, and Kayak Hiking
mous. Born in 1812, he rose from an on the strength of it Lear began to travel. Canoe Biking
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erratically middle-class background For the next forty years, he was mostly
THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018 79
endary excursions of Byron and Shel-
ley as models for the wanderings of
Dongs and Pobbles.
Even relatively late in Lear’s career,
he was set alight by memories of the
Romantics. Uglow makes the sugges-
tive point that Lear’s great ode “The
Dong with a Luminous Nose,” pub-
lished in 1876, must have been sparked
by his surprising encounter, the previ-
ous year, with the Romantic wanderer
Edward John Trelawny, the sailor and
friend of Byron’s, who found Shelley
dead and cremated his body on a beach
in Italy. (Lear had presumed Trelawny
to be as dead as the poet.) “The Dong,
like Trelawny, is a Romantic relic roam-
ing high Victorian terrain,” Uglow re-
marks. (One might add that the line
about the Dong’s “weary eyes on/ That
pea-green sail” recalls Trelawny’s search
for Shelley’s foundered boat.)
This residual Romanticism gives
surprising pathos and dignity to the
“Of course I love you more than cheese. What a silly question. In fact, cheese Dong’s ode. We learn the tale of how
and I are just friends. Nothing’s going on between cheese and me.” the graceful Jumblies once danced to
his pipe, and of how one beautiful
singer in particular, the Jumbly Girl,
• • was the joy and fascination of his life
but then took ship and sailed away.
on the road, painting pictures—some- breeze-blown reeds too intense to quite “For day and night he was always
times in watercolor, sometimes in oil— credit as reportage. But for the most there / By the side of the Jumbly Girl
of exotic places for subscribers at home. part his work is dutifully, if cosmeti- so fair,/ With her sky-blue hands, and
Greece, Egypt, Italy, India, Ceylon: for cally, reportorial, placing him in the her sea-green hair.”
most of his life, Lear was known pri- line of the great British travellers, like In the Dong’s world, the dance is over.
marily as an intrepid traveller and land- Laurie Lee and Bruce Chatwin. He And now each night, and all night long,
scape painter. The sharply etched non- was always going somewhere. Over those plains still roams the Dong;
sense verse (first published under a One of the odd things about Lear’s And above the wail of the Chimp and Snipe
pseudonym) and hard-edged cartoons pensive wanderings is how often they You may hear the squeak of his plaintive pipe
that we know best were sidelines to his tracked the sanctified wanderings of While ever he seeks, but seeks in vain
To meet with his Jumbly Girl again;
dreamy watercolors and oils, which oc- the British Romantic poets. He loved ...
cupy a stylistic space somewhere be- visiting Shelley’s and Byron’s haunts, And all who watch at the midnight hour,
tween late Turner and Holman Hunt—a Greek shores and Italian lakes, and he From Hall or Terrace, or lofty Tower,
Turner-like love of light efects mar- patronized the same class of locals, but Cry, as they trace the Meteor bright,
ried to a Pre-Raphaelite conscientious- he did it in a spirit that was self-con- Moving along through the dreary night,—
“This is the hour when forth he goes,
ness about details. sciously comical, rather than defiantly The Dong with a luminous Nose!”
Nothing in the pictures would make adventurous. This immersion inspired
you think that the two Edward Lears, his deeper art. By recalling the Roman- It is significant that the luminous nose
picturesque and parodic, were related. tic voyaging that had preceded him, he of the Dong is not biological, like Ru-
If Victorian history were as muddled could evade the straitlaced Victorian- dolph’s. It is hand-tooled, like a steam-
as that of early Renaissance art, gen- ism that surrounded him. If Victorian punk machine,
erations of scholars would be puzzling nonsense was a response to unbending And tied with cords to the back of his head.
their way through the coexistence of Victorian sense, the forms it borrowed —In a hollow rounded space it ended
two distinct Lears. Occasionally, in the for this mockery were typically Roman- With a luminous Lamp within suspended,
more exotic reaches of his travels—as tic. Carroll takes Wordsworth’s impos- All fenced about
in a beautiful view of Ceylon that he ing poem “Resolution and Indepen- With a bandage stout
To prevent the wind from blowing it out.
painted in the eighteen-seventies— dence” as his model for the White
some small note of significant strange- Knight’s song, from “Through the His nose is not his wound but his bow—
ness intrudes, ravishing color and Looking-Glass,” and Lear uses the leg- an up-to-date device, like an iPhone flash-
80 THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 23, 2018
light, for finding Jumbly Girls in the dark. limericks instead always insist on a re- absurd results, Lear’s is a mockery of
Victorian nonsense showed that par- petitive last line: Victorian natural science, particularly
ody can be a vehicle for the renewal of the life sciences. Taxonomy, naming
There was an Old Man on a hill,
feeling. The Dong is in one way a mock- Who seldom, if ever, stood still;
new species, domesticating the wild—
ery of all those other lonely Byronic He ran up and down, that’s the ground of his joking. When
wanderers. Yet his pathos and his per- In his Grandmother’s gown, Carroll deploys the White Knight or
sistence are meant to touch us, and they Which adorned that Old Man on a hill. Humpty Dumpty, he is mocking the
do. This is not merely mock-Romantic intellectual’s habit of trying to think
verse; it is, in its own way, very good The joke is always on the dignity of through things that you can’t really think
Romantic verse, comparable to Byron’s the formal designation. Someone is, in- through. (“But I was thinking of a
“So We’ll Go No More a Roving,” which sistently, something, usually a very par- plan/To dye one’s whiskers green,/And
must have been one of its inspirations. ticular if not terribly distinguished always use so large a fan / That they
The Dong, longing for his Jumbly Girl, something—an Old Man on a hill, a could not be seen.”) When Lear invents
is certainly a more persuasive, and pen- young person of Smyrna, an old lady the Pobble Who Has No Toes, he is
sively dignified, image of longing than of Chertsey, a man with a beard. (They mocking the naturalist’s need to give a
Tennyson’s poet moaning maudlinly for would have a diferent efect if they name to each new thing. (As with his
his Maud. Mockery cleanses clichés, were more glamorous: it’s never, in Lear, parrots; Lear gave a new Latin name to
and then restores emotion. a young person of Venice, or an old lady at least two.) Carroll is obsessed with
of Rome, or a man with a goatee.) Then un-naming, with showing us how odd
ear was a funny man from early something bizarre happens to or is made names are. (“‘The name of the song is
L on, entertaining with songs even
the family of the Earl of Derby, whose
to happen by that person—he is hor-
ribly bored by a bee, or she sinks un-
called “Haddocks’ Eyes.”’ ‘Oh, that’s the
name of the song, is it?’ Alice said, try-
son later served three separate terms derground, or he runs up and down in ing to feel interested. ‘No, you don’t un-
as the British Prime Minister. (His res- his grandmother’s gown—and yet there derstand,’ the Knight said, a little vexed.
idency began after he was commis- they are, these people, at the end, still ‘That’s what the name is called. The
sioned to paint creatures in the Earl’s of Smyrna or Chertsey or just old. The name really is, “The Aged, Aged Man.”’”)
personal zoo.) But Lear didn’t publish activity may alter their life but it doesn’t Lear is obsessed with the power of nam-
his “Book of Nonsense” until he was alter their designation. Even threats of ing, with sticking a tag on a thing which
thirty-three, and it was more for the burning can’t change them. A name, gives it a place at, and on, the table.
amusement of his friends than as a se- once fixed, is fixed for good. Like Trol-
rious money-making enterprise. lope’s Phineas Finn, the characters have he nonsense in Lear is suggestive
With the book’s hard-contoured,
deliberately naïve sketches, he found a
experiences without arcs.
Lear’s verse also reflects the natural-
T of new sense, more than cracking
wise at the old kind. It is not an acci-
second manner of drawing that was ist’s turn of mind. If Carroll’s nonsense dent of the language that some of Lear’s
more potent than his first. Lear, the satirizes the rise of philosophical ideal- terms, read today, have erotic-slang
consummate insider, became his own ism and the university, mocking people overtones: “What a beautiful Pussy”;
outsider artist. This was in part a Vic- who think for a living and end up with the Dong. Not that he intended those
torian pattern: Arthur Sullivan wrote
cantatas to Longfellow’s verse and the
airs for “The Mikado.” But no one was
quite so extreme as Lear when it came
to practicing the same art in a com-
pletely diferent mode.
The book worked. He eventually be-
came famous for his limericks—though
the term didn’t exist until much later—
but he disarmed the limerick, so to speak,
before he fired it. The classic dirty-joke
limerick depends on a twist or turn in
the last line. One famous limerick of
this kind is attributed to Lear:
There was a young lady of Niger
Who smiled as she rode on a tiger;
They returned from the ride
With the lady inside,
And the smile on the face of the tiger.
shore, his Terrible Demon arose / Over ating pathos without sacrificing absur- SCOTT PRUITT’S
his shoulder; he wept to himself in the dity is what makes “The Owl and the DIRTY POLITICS
night,/ A dirty landscape-painter who Pussycat” one of the greatest love poems How the Environmental Protection Agency
hated his nose.” Lear becomes one of in the language, of a kind that even Car- became the fossil-fuel industry’s best friend.
Auden’s furtive masters, remaking the roll could never write. (When Carroll By Margaret Talbot
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“This is the last time I cover your shift.” “We can take this and transfer to the B.L.T. at Forty-second.”
Isabelle Carter, Evanston, Ill. Craig Troyer, Denver, Colo.
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Photo by Andrew Harper Editor