The NYT on The New Inquiry, Nov 30, 2011

… It was the weekly meeting of The New Inquiry, a scrappy online journal and roving clubhouse that functions as an Intellectuals Anonymous of sorts for desperate members of the city’s literary underclass barred from the publishing establishment. Fueled by B.Y.O.B. bourbon, impressive degrees and the angst that comes with being young and unmoored, members spend their hours filling the air with talk of Edmund Wilson and poststructuralism.
Lately, they have been catching the eye of the literary elite, earning praise that sounds as extravagantly brainy as the thesis-like articles that The New Inquiry uploads every few days.
“They’re the precursor of this kind of synthesis of extrainstitutional intellectualism, native to the Internet, native to the city dweller,” said the novelist Jonathan Lethem, an early champion.


The NYT on The Wilde Boys, Nov 2, 2011


A FEW weeks ago, a gaggle of young men gathered at a large, art-filled apartment on lower Fifth Avenue to discuss poetry. Stylishly disheveled and slimly tailored, they took stock of one another at the bar before settling into the parlor, which was tastefully furnished with books, Midcentury Modern chairs and a large painting by Jay Davis.
Every seat was filled — a common sight at this makeshift Greenwich Village salon. No fewer than six men crammed onto a beige fainting couch, cocktails in hand. Handsome waiters could no longer squeeze through, so guests passed platters of steak on toast, shrimp on skewers and salmon in cucumber cups.

Sticking to its winning formula of breathlessly fawning bitchery— whatever, I like it too!— the NYT’s Thursday Styles section has helpfully decided to publish basically the exact same story twice in one month. Oh, except for one thing. Can you spot the difference?

The NYT on The New Inquiry, Nov 30, 2011

… It was the weekly meeting of The New Inquiry, a scrappy online journal and roving clubhouse that functions as an Intellectuals Anonymous of sorts for desperate members of the city’s literary underclass barred from the publishing establishment. Fueled by B.Y.O.B. bourbon, impressive degrees and the angst that comes with being young and unmoored, members spend their hours filling the air with talk of Edmund Wilson and poststructuralism.

Lately, they have been catching the eye of the literary elite, earning praise that sounds as extravagantly brainy as the thesis-like articles that The New Inquiry uploads every few days.

“They’re the precursor of this kind of synthesis of extrainstitutional intellectualism, native to the Internet, native to the city dweller,” said the novelist Jonathan Lethem, an early champion.

The NYT on The Wilde Boys, Nov 2, 2011

A FEW weeks ago, a gaggle of young men gathered at a large, art-filled apartment on lower Fifth Avenue to discuss poetry. Stylishly disheveled and slimly tailored, they took stock of one another at the bar before settling into the parlor, which was tastefully furnished with books, Midcentury Modern chairs and a large painting by Jay Davis.

Every seat was filled — a common sight at this makeshift Greenwich Village salon. No fewer than six men crammed onto a beige fainting couch, cocktails in hand. Handsome waiters could no longer squeeze through, so guests passed platters of steak on toast, shrimp on skewers and salmon in cucumber cups.

Sticking to its winning formula of breathlessly fawning bitchery— whatever, I like it too!— the NYT’s Thursday Styles section has helpfully decided to publish basically the exact same story twice in one month. Oh, except for one thing. Can you spot the difference?

  1. fagcity reblogged this from bennettmadison
  2. thanksforsharing said: “Despite the fact that everyone was young and attractive, no one seemed to flirt or network.”
  3. ohrohin said: The idea of lit-cliques terrifies me! Writers need one another, but lol at writer cliques being written up in the “Styles” section.
  4. bobbyfinger said: yeeeeeeeeeeeeeesh
  5. bennettmadison posted this

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I'm the author of The Blonde of the Joke and other things nominally for young people.

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