Here at the New Yorker by Brendan GillHere at the New Yorker by Brendan Gill

Here at the New Yorker

byBrendan Gill

Paperback | August 22, 1997

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For over sixty years Brendan Gill has been a contented inmate of the singular institution known as the New Yorker. This affectionate account of the magazine, long known as a home for congenital unemployables, is a celebration of its wards and attendants—William Shawn, Harold Ross's gentle and courtly successor as editor; the incorrigible mischief-maker James Thurber; the two Whites, Katherine and E. B.; John O'Hara, "master of the fancied slight"; and, among a hundred others, Peter Arno, Saul Steinberg, Edmund Wilson, and Lewis Mumford. Brendan Gill has known them all, and by virtue of his virtually total recall, keen eye, and impeccable prose, his diverting portraits of these eccentrics in rage and repose are amply supplied with both dimples and warts. Here at the New Yorker—now updated with a new introduction detailing the reigns of Robert Gottlieb and Tina Brown—is a delightful tour of New York's most glorious madhouse.
Brendan Gill (1914–1997) was a staff writer for theNew Yorker for over sixty years. He was the author of over twenty books, including his memoir, Here at the New Yorker (also available from Da Capo Press/Perseus Books Group), three works of fiction, and biographies of Cole Porter, Tallulah Bankhead, and Charles Lindbergh.
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Title:Here at the New YorkerFormat:PaperbackDimensions:440 pages, 8.42 × 5.42 × 1.09 inPublished:August 22, 1997Publisher:Da Capo Press

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:0306808102

ISBN - 13:9780306808104

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For more than 60 years, Brendan Gill has been a contented inmate of the singular institution known as The New Yorker. This affectionate account of the magazine, long known as a home for congenital unemployables, is a celebration of its wards and attendants - William Shawn, the incorrigible mischief-maker James Thurber and Pauline Kael. Gill has known them all and by virtue of his virtually total recall, keen eye and impeccable prose, his diverting portraits of these eccentrics in rage and repose are amply supplied with both dimples and warts. Here at The New Yorker, now updated with an introduction detailing the reigns of Robert Gottlieb and Tina Brown - is a delightful tour of New York's most glorious madhouse magazine.