Disquiet, Please!
by David Remnick
The New Yorker is, of course, a bastion of superb essays, influential investigative journalism, and insightful arts criticism. But for eighty years, it's also been a hoot. In fact, when Harold Ross founded the legendary magazine in 1925, he called it "a comic weekly," and while it has grown into much more, it has also remained true to its original mission. Now an uproarious sampling of its funny writings can be found in a hilarious new collection, one as satirical and witty, misanthropic and menacing, as the first, Fierce Pajamas. From the 1920s onward--but with a special focus on the latest generation--here are the humorists who set the pace and stirred the pot, pulled the leg and pinched the behind of America. S. J. Perelman unearths the furious letters of a foreign correspondent in India to the laundry he insists on using in Paris ("Who charges six francs to wash a cummerbund?!"). Woody Allen recalls the "Whore of Mensa," who excites her...