I've never had an editor; I subscribe to the Kantian standard you so aptly described. Just have to say how much I enjoy needing a dictionary to read your essays. Not many things make me feel young and inexperienced and curious in my middle age.
What a wonderful tribute! What makes it wonderful is that, somehow, without knowing your step father, you managed to create very lively scenes of a witty personality, make me laugh and feel the joy of it all. Love how you recall the puns with your unique style!
As an editor myself, or at least a person who is employed as one, I appreciated this reflection, and appreciated even more not getting name checked in this particular context by the author.
Though I wasn’t exactly fishing for that compliment, I appreciate the kindness. But what I was trying to express was that I too have developed over time a skepticism of the whole enterprise — or at least a more critical understanding of what we do when we edit. I think there are practical/pragmatic modes (“this is what your essay must say or do or not say or do in order to be published in the New Yorker or Atlantic or The NY Times — there are three editors yet to review this and I have to help you avoid their possible objections or guess their moves ”) and the nurturing/artistic modes (“this is what I think you can do to make this actual thing better, a more compelling expression of your idea or artistic impulse“). The former is a professional concern, the latter an artistic one. The ideal of course is when both of those things are the same. And those publications do exist but not so much in a heavily policed and managed mainstream media, where the underlying intention is always making a piece appetizing, palatable and digestible for the largest possible audience — not an unreasonable goal for a large for profit publication. But When I recently found myself casually giving advice to writers (informal friendly advice outside my employment) that I thought would increase their chances of publication but would actually make their pieces worse, I knew I was onto something troubling and weird. A better understanding of what we are doing when we “edit.” And of when the best editing one can offer involves no editing at all.
To another, more important point, I also thank you for the reflection on your stepfather and send my condolences.
What I liked about your approach to editing at the Times is that you were always clear on the fact that there was a practical job to do, and that your part of it was to mediate between a writer with a strong attachment to his own way of expressing things, on the one hand, and a publication with very strict and inflexible stylistic imperatives on the other. You never took those imperatives for an absolute standard.
I'm sorry for your loss, Justin. That was a beautiful tribute.
Earlier this month, I found not one but two typos in my print version of the New Yorker. It really knocked my world off its axis. You calling it perfect reminded me. I'm still shocked!
First, I had to look up 'hapax' - thanks for that. Any essay of yours will contain a number of interesting hapaxes (cf. 'coquilles'). But since you finished with a mention of owls, I'll point out that the Hebrew word 'קִפוֹז' ('kippoz') is given as an example of a Biblical hapax and is sometimes translated as 'owl'.
A heart symbol can mean so many things. From now on, for purposes of brevity, as one of your many readers in training, my pressing the heart button means “I like this simply,” and also that "I simply like it.” Additionally, “I love this.” The heart also says iconographically, “Thanks for the fun.” So, put simplistically, the “heart” button is like a pun, and from me, henceforth, multitudinous encouragement to the digressive nature of your writing which usually, ultimately comes to a point, like an arrow through the heart.
I would never, Justin Smith-Ryui! Trammel your calembours? Quelle horreur! Mind, there are other authors here on substack, less dense in neuronal interconnections, more so in the general sense, who veritably cry out for this advice, like the one whose divagatations on the subject of the recent oeuvre of Taylor Swift I alas recently indulged. Still, this is the Proustian bargain of this brave new world: you gotta take the good with the bad amiright? Every auteur's director's cut, every time. Who am I to complain?
What I love about this particular post, aside from the lovely tribute, is that he seems to have willfully taken it up to 11 as a deliberate provocation.
I've never had an editor; I subscribe to the Kantian standard you so aptly described. Just have to say how much I enjoy needing a dictionary to read your essays. Not many things make me feel young and inexperienced and curious in my middle age.
“You must be so, you cannot flee yourself
Thus sybils long ago pronounced, thus prophets,
And neither time nor any power can dismember
Characteristic form, living, self-developing”.
Orphic Primal Words. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
What a wonderful tribute! What makes it wonderful is that, somehow, without knowing your step father, you managed to create very lively scenes of a witty personality, make me laugh and feel the joy of it all. Love how you recall the puns with your unique style!
As an editor myself, or at least a person who is employed as one, I appreciated this reflection, and appreciated even more not getting name checked in this particular context by the author.
You’re a great editor Peter!
Though I wasn’t exactly fishing for that compliment, I appreciate the kindness. But what I was trying to express was that I too have developed over time a skepticism of the whole enterprise — or at least a more critical understanding of what we do when we edit. I think there are practical/pragmatic modes (“this is what your essay must say or do or not say or do in order to be published in the New Yorker or Atlantic or The NY Times — there are three editors yet to review this and I have to help you avoid their possible objections or guess their moves ”) and the nurturing/artistic modes (“this is what I think you can do to make this actual thing better, a more compelling expression of your idea or artistic impulse“). The former is a professional concern, the latter an artistic one. The ideal of course is when both of those things are the same. And those publications do exist but not so much in a heavily policed and managed mainstream media, where the underlying intention is always making a piece appetizing, palatable and digestible for the largest possible audience — not an unreasonable goal for a large for profit publication. But When I recently found myself casually giving advice to writers (informal friendly advice outside my employment) that I thought would increase their chances of publication but would actually make their pieces worse, I knew I was onto something troubling and weird. A better understanding of what we are doing when we “edit.” And of when the best editing one can offer involves no editing at all.
To another, more important point, I also thank you for the reflection on your stepfather and send my condolences.
What I liked about your approach to editing at the Times is that you were always clear on the fact that there was a practical job to do, and that your part of it was to mediate between a writer with a strong attachment to his own way of expressing things, on the one hand, and a publication with very strict and inflexible stylistic imperatives on the other. You never took those imperatives for an absolute standard.
I'm sorry for your loss, Justin. That was a beautiful tribute.
Earlier this month, I found not one but two typos in my print version of the New Yorker. It really knocked my world off its axis. You calling it perfect reminded me. I'm still shocked!
I have to say thank you to the person who criticized JSR because it produced this wonderful piece.
First, I had to look up 'hapax' - thanks for that. Any essay of yours will contain a number of interesting hapaxes (cf. 'coquilles'). But since you finished with a mention of owls, I'll point out that the Hebrew word 'קִפוֹז' ('kippoz') is given as an example of a Biblical hapax and is sometimes translated as 'owl'.
A heart symbol can mean so many things. From now on, for purposes of brevity, as one of your many readers in training, my pressing the heart button means “I like this simply,” and also that "I simply like it.” Additionally, “I love this.” The heart also says iconographically, “Thanks for the fun.” So, put simplistically, the “heart” button is like a pun, and from me, henceforth, multitudinous encouragement to the digressive nature of your writing which usually, ultimately comes to a point, like an arrow through the heart.
This is a good and underappreciated point about editing, although you may be overextrapolating based on your own skill as a writer.
I love Stereolab. Great song
I would never, Justin Smith-Ryui! Trammel your calembours? Quelle horreur! Mind, there are other authors here on substack, less dense in neuronal interconnections, more so in the general sense, who veritably cry out for this advice, like the one whose divagatations on the subject of the recent oeuvre of Taylor Swift I alas recently indulged. Still, this is the Proustian bargain of this brave new world: you gotta take the good with the bad amiright? Every auteur's director's cut, every time. Who am I to complain?
Thank you.
"Out of the crooked timber of humanity, no straight thing was ever made"- Kant.
I agree with your premise but you, you specifically are a rambling maniac and must be stopped
What I love about this particular post, aside from the lovely tribute, is that he seems to have willfully taken it up to 11 as a deliberate provocation.