BY JOELLEN COLLINS
I can’t break the habit of subscribing to The New Yorker, even though every time I finish an issue I feel a great sense of accomplishment. Too many recent dog-eared copies are accumulating on my bedroom nightstand where I save articles and stories (poems are read quickly and some saved for my poetry file). I know I want to read every word but usually run out of time to do so. I came across dozens of torn-out features from a couple of years ago in a file entitled “Good Reads” when I was “cleaning out”—hah—my closet and still put them away for another day. As someone who loves good writing, I think I will always keep my subscription up. However, I have another reason: two of my leaders in non-fiction at the Breadloaf Writers Conference several years ago were Susan Orleans and Alex Wilkinson, both wonderful mentors and examples of gifted writers I hope never to miss reading in a weekly copy I might never buy.
Just yesterday I received my current edition of The New Yorker and added another reason I so love the magazine… the cartoons. I usually open my copy at the back page (now occupied by a crossword puzzle I swear I will start later) and then the next page with this week’s cartoon and caption contest.
However, it took me awhile to start my usual routine with the bulk of the rest of the pieces because I was haunted by the cover created by the super-nova artist Barry Bliet. One’s admiration for his work may depend on one’s political leanings, but his cartoon could apply to those preferring either the left or right and is open to interpretation. It displays an image of a small boat holding people who are fighting with each other to go to opposite shores. Here is George Washington on the Potomac, besieged by men grabbing his leg and scarf, one struggling to hold the American flag in place, all men in a melee of violence, even hitting with an oar a child holding on to the craft. The only woman on the boat is rowing forcefully but not clearly aiming in any direction: her oar is poking a man. Several clumps of ice surround the rather flimsy boat. I laugh ruefully at the knowledge that this is a picture of our current and perilous civic voyage.
Martin Luther King said, “We may have all come on different ships, but we’re in the same boat now.” Yes, that adage still applies, but Bliet’s depiction reminds us of the conflict in what we may have believed to be our strong ship of state. This boat is still afloat despite the turmoil on it, but we don’t know if and where it will land. I would hope that maybe a quote by James Taylor may be truer than the discord portrayed here. He said, “Being on a boat that’s moving through the water, it’s so clear. Everything falls into place in terms of what’s important and what’s not.” I hope so.