Word: yorkers
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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When he is not cartooning for The New Yorker, James Stevenson draws for children: nine of his own, plus the thousands of Stevensonians who fell in love with more than a dozen previous books. For The Baby Uggs Are Hatching (Greenwillow; $9.50) he adds a dash of Lear to Jack Prelutsky's hilarious nonsense verse about the Sneepies ("... lying in a pile,/ are still and silent all the while./ They stay beside my underwear .../ I wonder why they like it there."), the Smasheroo, the Dreary Dreeze, the Flotterzott and other beings unmentioned by zoologists but familiar to any child...
...famous near martyr who passes himself off as an Israeli pushing on a confused public a book of arrant nonsense. More saddening still because Jacobo Timerman's The Longest War, Israel on Lebanon was brought to light by two of the most respected institution in American letters The New Yorker and the publishing house of Alfred A Knopf...
...rushed to press, first in The New Yorker (the magazine which is so circumspect it begins its baseball coverage in Novembers--seven weeks ago and now in book form (Knopf even managed to squeeze in a three-and-a-half page postscript dated September 21 on the refugee camp massacre in a frenzy of greedy haste. One expects this sort of thing from the cheapest of publishers, those who catalogue the incineration of every organ of every boy of the men who died in the Iranian hostage rescue mission for consumption three days after the fact. Not two firms with...
...Feiffer's witty, ironic insights but also for its telling social history. By mixing Bernard and Huey--and a host of other unnamed husbands, wives, lovers, and children--with Ike, Jack, Lyndon, Dick, Jerry, Jimmy, and Ronald, Feiffer's collection uniquely bridges the gap between the timeless New Yorker genre of cartoon and the dated, sharply topical political humor of a Herblock or an Oliphant. The combination effectively gives Feiffer's particular perspective on how one segment of the country lives, and how it has transformed...
...Colchie, consists entirely of what its author felicitously calls fetes accomplies. Her book presents dishes that need "no last-minute fussing. Turning on the oven and setting a tinier, heating a soup, tossing a salad are tolerable tasks." Laboring over a hot stove in party finery is out. New Yorker Colchie arranges her 32 menus by seasons but appends a number of ad hoc niceties like a Sensuous Birthday Dinner, the Last Outdoor Supper and a Valentine Weekend for Two, including love feast buns and amuse-bouche (tease the mouth) canapes...