In times of upheaval, I lean on touchstones–works of art that have shaped me and the continue to be sources of inspiration, influence, and solace. It might be rereading a favorite novel, a cherished poem, a movie, or (especially often) a favorite album with a good pair of headphones.
I’ve had a subscription to The New Yorker since I started college. Before that, I read my dad’s copy – starting young with the cartoons, then adding Shouts & Murmurs and Talk of the Town before just starting to take on whole issues. It’s been a constant companion, though I confess to being unable to devour issues now the way I used to before I had three kids and so many hats to wear.
What makes The New Yorker my sine qua non of magazines? Its urbanity. Its wit. Its willingness to dig deep to find truth inside an obscure story. Its bookending of every issue with deep and broad arts coverage (not to mention beautiful cover art). In my college years, one of the first places I would flip to was the Jazz & Standards club listings, so I could envy New Yorkers who could hear the most amazing musicians, week after week. Now I often check first to see if the great Alex Ross has written a piece on music, or if there’s a good theatre or book review to inspire.
Their lineup of authors is remarkable, and the writing they publish is always fascinating and often revelatory. The attention to detail is legendary, and the art uplifts the entire operation.
The magazine has helped shape who I am as a human, as a writer, and as a consumer of art. That’s what makes it a personal touchstone for me. (And the cartoons still make me laugh, particularly my favorite, George Booth.)
Touchstones is an ongoing series of posts I’ll be writing during the COVID-19 season, reflecting on the works of art that support me in times of upheaval. I encourage you to make a list of your own “touchstones” and if you like, share them with me to publish here.