I picked this up to wash the bad taste of The Atlantic out of my brain, and at first I thought the New Yorker was gonna be just as bad and I'd evolved beyond magazines, which maybe wouldn't even be the worst thing, because it would give me more time to work on my spiritual development or whatever, but anyway halfway through I was like "whoa, the usual politics and some really troubling, sycophantic bullshit about Steve Jobs," and a dull article on drug decriminalization that said all the obvious things, and I was about to stop reading but then POW! POW POW POW! the crafty guys hit me with three limpid jewels--an article about the aftermath of the Fukushima disaster that made clear exactly what happened and how it maybe could but probably could not have been prevented in a way that nobody else has to my knowledge; a behind-the-scenes look at the making of the new John Carter movie that really got into what it means to create films and was as interesting as those articles usually are empty; and a thing about HG Wells and the ladies and Henry James (who didn't get close to the ladies, don't worry). Also, a lost play by Eugene O'Neill that was not stunning but was sad and dark and induced me to read the fiction section, which is a rare day. So yeah: the New Yorker was so good it played me up a string before hitting me with what's almost the last good mag journalism these days. That's really good. ( )