As my overfull bookcases can attest to, I'm a voracious reader. I also tear through magazines as often as I can, and, in my not-so-humble opinion, the New Yorker is the best magazine there is. I've been an off-and-on subscriber for the last 15 years, only halting my subscription when the stack of backissues starts to tower over me (24 cover-to-cover issues annually can tax the most speedy of readers).
The highest compliment I can pay the magazine is that I cannot recall ever finding a single copy error: spelling, punctuation, or otherwise. However, beyond their magnificent copy staff, they write about simply every topic under the sun, and they write it well. They also eschew the "continued on page X" abominations that pepper most periodicals. Everyone should read their weekly Talk of the Town segment.
For two wildly disparate examples of their journalistic prose, check out two of my favorite pieces of the decade: David Remnick's "The Experiment" on democracy in Turkey and Louis Menand's "Cat People" on Dr. Seuss.
Enjoy.
Talking to yourself is a sign of impending mental collapse.
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