What the New Yorker does for me is to bring into my periphery vision these people and their stories that I would not know about if I had not picked up the article.
What the New Yorker does for me is gather the most beautifully talented writers to bring these people's lives to life in a way that has me crying and cheering and rushing through while slowing down to savor the adventure, the joy and the bittersweet loss of living a real life.
I will remember Henry Worsley and his wife Joanne, his son Max and his daughter that he calls "Shrimp" although his children are both adults. These Brits, via an American magazine found their way to a small Pacific Island surrounded by our own blue Antarctica. These are the kinds of pieces that I want to use as mentor texts for my students.
Even when I do not know how I would use it except to say "let's examine the beautifully crafted writing." Let us take apart the power of multi-modal text. Let us tell the stories of those whose stories are not yet written. Let us create our own multi-modal text.
Or.
Let us just enjoy the aesthetics of reading. Let it move us. Let us talk, or not talk about what we have read.
Maybe that is enough.
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