Apologies if someone here has posted about this already (we’re very busy and don’t always have time to check in with each other, so we’re bound to overlap at some point). Anyway, this profile of David Remnick, editor of The New Yorker, is charming, if a bit over-the-top in its He’s Some Type of God tone. Not that he isn’t the cream of the crop, but you know; it seems like all the piece is missing is a quote from his dermatologist talking about the blinding shine of his flawless skin.
I found this paragraph funny:
The magazine’s editorial director, Henry Finder, says drily that Remnick “has something very scarce in this city: an aura of sanity. He exudes a sort of calm that most New Yorkers get to experience only with prescription medication. As an editor, I think that aura of equipoise turns out to be very helpful, because you have so many people here who are professional neurotics, always acting out, drama queens, who have one form of craziness or another. And I think he sees it as his job to be… sane.”
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