Lonesome Quill

Why is there only one New Yorker? As in, why is there only one general interest magazine in which the writing is reliably strong and the topics consistently both relevant and entertaining?

I’m always trying to find another. I tried Harper’s for years, but a) they’ve never heard of women; and b) they’re interested almost exclusively in politics and war. It’s pretty astonishing: Every few years, I try another issue, hoping that things have changed. They haven’t.

Just look at the TOC! Bylines are men, men, men. Topics are war, war, war. For the record, I’ll say that I recognize that the world is awash in politics and war, and as a responsible citizen I am supposed to have a basic grasp of same. I do. I get it on NPR.

And given that I’m already doing whatever I’m going to be doing by way of activism (i.e., voting, some emailing, and contributing to causes I care about), I humbly posit that more information entering my already-rattled nervous system isn’t going to improve anything for anyone.

Then there’s the Atlantic, which seems like it should be the answer, but never is. Why is the Atlantic so boring? Why are its articles often incoherent? (Did you read the latest OMG OBESITY ALARMISM cover story? Wha?) Why is its fiction—at least in the latest fiction supplement—so grim? There’s something weird going on in editorial there. Something anti-Melissa-y.

I am a fan of The Sun, with reservations. It’s pretty one-noted. I like that one note, which is deeply felt emotional and personal exploration, usually landing at grief/wonder. But issue after issue of that tends to result in a mega-blur.

And, in addition to mockably titled environmental magazines like Home Power and Earth Island Journal, John gets Wired, which we both read cringe-ingly, absorbing the technolust and corporate cheerleading while sometimes being authentically interested in the topic.

Readers, help me out. Which magazines do you read?

I have this problem with Dwell magazine, also known as My Monthly Dose of Covetousness. I want nearly everything in it, especially the sleekly modern, architecturally inventive homes with soaring glass, rich wood, and minimalist furniture. (They always have clever nooks, too. I am a sucker for clever nooks.) Problem: I am not a rich person.

This month as I was paging through the issue, I had this thought: They should have warnings in this magazine. Every few pages, there should be some sort of caveat. Example: This home is for rich people. Following page: You are not a rich person. Next one: It is not wise for you to imagine owning this home. A few pages later: That will only cause you pain. Tear-out insert: Sorry, but it’s true. Couple of pages later: Really. Totally true. Inside of back cover: No matter what you are currently thinking.

Those warnings wouldn’t work, though. For whatever reason, I persist in the fantasy that I will some day design and build (with the help of an architect and, you know, John) a custom modern home in a lush green landscape. For this reason, I have every issue of Dwell I’ve received stacked in a bookcase in the entryway of our home. For ideas.

Help.