Book Description
Each week about fifty New Yorker cartoonists submit ten ideas, yielding five hundred cartoons for no more than twenty spots in the magazine. Arguably the most brilliant single-panel-gag cartoonists in the world create a bunch of cartoons every week that never see the light of day.
These rejects were piling up in the dusty corners of studios all over the country. Sam Gross, who has been contributing since 1962, has more than 12,000 rejected cartoons. (Seriously. He's been numbering every single cartoon he's ever submitted to The New Yorker since the very beginning.) Enter editor Matthew Diffee. He tapped his fellow cartoonists, asking them to rescue these hilarious lost gems. From the artists' stacks of all-time favorite rejects, Diffee handpicked the standouts -- the cream of the crap -- and created The Rejection Collection, a place where good ideas go when they die. Too risqué, silly, or weird for The New Yorker, the cartoons in this book offer something no other collection has: They have never been seen in print until now.
With a foreword by New Yorker cartoon editor Robert Mankoff that explains the sound judgment, respectability, and scruples not found anywhere in these pages, and handwritten questionnaires that introduce the quirky character of each artist, The Rejection Collection will appeal to fans of The New Yorker...and to anyone with a slightly sick sense of humor.
Customer Reviews:
Fabulous!.......2007-09-27
This book is a must have for those who love New Yorker cartoons. They are even more amusing than some cartoons that are published, however, they are definitely not appropriate for all magazine viewers!!!
Rejected With Good Reason.......2007-09-23
I'm a fan of New Yorker cartoons and would be the first to congratulate the editorial staff on the fine job it's done these eighty years in discovering new talent, employing recognized masters like Charles Addams and Peter Arno, and knowing which cartoons fit the style and tone of the celebrated publication. The editors were wise to give most of the cartoons here in The Rejection Collection a big thumbs down. Sure, there are some concepts in this collection I liked and was surprised they weren't included in the magazine (Pat Byrnes' material most of all, the Marchetto quip on page 95, which was hilarious, and the Tom Cheney illustration on page 114, too) but mostly what's here is a gathering of gross, unfunny, perverse and mocking drawings that the readers of the New Yorker did fine without seeing at all. A much better collection would have dug into the vaults and let us see some rejected pieces that went back decades instead of just the 2000's. I understand a second volume of rejects is coming out this year and I hope it's not the letdown this one was.
You MUST have this book!.......2007-09-19
This is a hilarious and sometimes screamingly funny collection of cartoons that were deemed "too resque, silly, or weird" for publication. In other words, right up my alley.
As big as this volume is, it represents a small percentage of the thousands of brilliant items not fit for the New Yorker, and is absolutely over-the-top funny!
Not to be read in public..........2007-09-05
....unless you don't mind being seen cackling, gasping for breath with beer
running out of your nose.
You already know that these are cartoons by New Yorker cartoonists that were
rejected by that magazine. If you're a regular reader of the New Yorker, this book
will be a revelation: the difference between these cartoons and the ones that get
published is not just that these are much funnier. The difference lies in the
exuberance and boundary-pushing that's the hallmark or true art. Or at least
true cartoons. There's less of the insider-joke smarminess that congratulates you
for being hip enough to get what the joke is. Seeing what the magazine didn't
want to publish has diminished my respect for it just a bit. (I'm not cancelling my
subscription though.)
There's the cartoon of the couple sitting on a couch. Through the window, we see
the full moon. The man is visibly turning into a werewolf. The woman observes:
"You're lucky. I'm turning into my mother." Then there's the Roadkill Zoo and the
Santa with a craving for venison and the ventriloquist who getting drunk while
his dummy barfs and. . . . . . .
_Lynn Hoffman, author of bang BANG, which was rejected once or twice itself
A Funny Twist on the Usual New Yorker Cartoons.......2007-08-01
The New Yorker cartoons are always fun to read. This book of rejects contains many that can be categorized as "Things you think about but would never dare put on paper." They are laugh-out-loud funny. In addition to the rejected cartoons, each cartoonist was asked to complete a questionnaire, including his/her explanation of what an ink blob reminded him/her of. A most enjoyable read.
Amazon.com
Brendan Gill sold his first story to the New Yorker in 1936, when he was 21, and has worked there ever since. When his irreverent memoir appeared in 1975, it caused the most delightful of frissons, because the outside world then knew little about his workplace. Gill declares that "in the old Ross-Shawn days, what hadn't happened at the magazine was more worthy of note than what had." In reality, of course, a great deal was happening, and Gill seems to have heard and remembered it all. (This edition also contains a 1997 introduction, complete with acute and politic comments on the Bob Gottlieb and Tina Brown regimes.) But Here at the New Yorker is far from an exposé, consisting instead of the recollections of a lucky man who loves his work and many of his fellows.
Each reader will have his or her favorite anecdotes. Gill remembers taking the subway with Marianne Moore, who was squeezed next to two high school musicians. "Miss Moore stared with admiration at the drum, then said to the boy holding the drumsticks, 'Sonny, when the time comes, give it a big bang just for me.'" And, speaking of big bangs, the old New Yorker was far more squeamish--an organ in which bare nipples were nowhere to be found. Its first editor, Harold Ross, shown a cartoon complete with one such entity, growled: "Take that goddam tit up to Mrs. White and ask her what to do about it." His successor, William Shawn, shared his modesty though not his speech patterns. When Mr. Shawn asked the novelist Henry Green what led him to write Loving, Green's reply wasn't quite what he had expected. Alas, readers, you must turn to page 386 of this endlessly charming book for the offending response.
Customer Reviews:
A Wonderful Golden Anniversary Edition!.......2007-05-29
The New Yorker magazine is an acquired taste. It does have plenty of advertisements but the founding and the development of this timeless magazine over the first 50 years since it's inception in February 1921 is an historical and amazing accomplishment. To know the New Yorker, you must learn to love the New Yorker. We look forward to those Letters from Paris, London, Rome, Warsaw, Cologne, Cracow, Naples, Milan whenever we can since many of us don't get to go there often enough. Contributors have become literary phenomenon's like J.D. Salinger, Charles Addams, Janet "Genet" Flanner, E.B. White, James Thurber, William Shawn, John Updike, Harold W. Ross, Robert Benchley, Truman Capote, Dorothy Parker, Brendan Gill, and many more to mention. Brenda Gill's book is a testament to his devotion and adoration of the New Yorker when magazines were major reading source of enlightenment, entertainment, and information all rolled into one.
Excellent b.g. information on everyone's favorite magazine.......2001-07-14
It was interesting to read about the writers and editors who helped make The New Yorker a magazine of such distinction. I bought this book during that whole rage of last year when "Gone: The Last Days of The New Yorker" was all over the place. In the time since I read this book, I resubscribed to the magazine. Periodically, I read glimpses of the magazine's former glory in its pages. I don't think I could read "Gone," though. Even though I know The New Yorker is not as good as it once was, that doesn't mean I have to take a broom handle to it. That's why I found "Here at The New Yorker" great, pricisely because of its balance.
A fine companion to "About Town".......2000-08-22
Having just read the new "About Town The New Yorker and the World it Made" I felt compelled to go back and reread Brendan Gill's memoirs of his days working for Harold Ross and William Shawn.
Some critic called "Here at the New Yorker" "wonderful entertainment". That is wrong--this book does not entertain it probes. Granted there are some funny anecdotes and glances of writers like Scott Fitzgerald. But the book has a darker more serious side as well.
I imagine that Brendan Gill has made many enemies with his book. He talked about Editor Harold Ross's racism and William Shawn's phobias. Of many he writers he either praises them or he says they did not produce much legible writing at all.
But these dark character portraits are wonderfully written and penetrate deep. After reading Gill I think I can more carefully size up my peers. This one is a drunk never-do-well. That one works all day to keep away from his wife. Brendan Gill has the novelist's eye for detail.
Amazon.com
As John Cheever's stories from the New Yorker magazine demonstrate, in the upper-crust Northeast in midcentury, when divorce simply wasn't done, adultery was not exactly unheard of. But Lillian Ross's exposé of her own decades of adultery with her sainted boss, New Yorker editor William Shawn, still comes as a shock. It's doubly shocking because he was uniquely revered and had an upright if not asexual reputation and because members of the New Yorker family seldom spill the beans.
Gossip connoisseurs will gorge on Ross's tasty tidbits. As a child in Chicago, Bill Shawn narrowly escaped murder by renowned thrill killers Leopold and Loeb, who left Bill's house and kidnapped Bobby Franks instead. Bobby died and Bill became a famously shy victim of phobias--blood, violence, heights, confinement, or darkness could make him, in his own self-imploding way, go postal. When Bill's mom hired a nurse to save him from scarlet fever, the nurse "decided he needed, in addition to nursing, some sexual education. 'To my astonishment, she provided both, but I don't think it did me any harm,' Bill told me."
He was then a child of 12. It does not occur to Ross that sex might have long-term effects of any consequence. She feels zero guilt that she set up a love nest in Marlene Dietrich's old apartment 10 blocks from Shawn's family, and adopted a child, and had a phone put in by Shawn's bed, and spent Christmases with him, leaving Thanksgivings free for Shawn to spend with his wife and biological children. "Bill assured me that Cecille was going along with our arrangements. From time to time, I would think: Maybe she loves him so much she wants him to have what keeps him alive." Meow!
Mrs. Shawn, as Ved Mehta notes in his 1998 book, Remembering Mr. Shawn's New Yorker, was a reporter who supported her husband when they got to New York, and even got him his fateful job at the magazine, prior to devoting herself to their family. Ross got assignments from Shawn that made her famous, but she notes, "We never experienced even a moment of 'conflict of interest' problems, for the simple reason that we never had any conflict of interest.... If I wanted to see Bill in his office, I called his secretary, like everyone else."
"I have always been less inclined than most people I know to indulge in self-analysis," writes Ross. She may be a renowned reporter, but her own mind is one subject that entirely escapes her notice.
Annoyed that romantic emotions were spoiling her mood when her career took off in 1950 ("I felt I should have been having a lot of fun. Instead, I was being emotionally distracted and drained"), Ross did what any disgruntled journalist would do. She spent a year and a half at company expense in Hollywood, playing tennis with Charlie and Oona Chaplin, bonding with Bogart and Bacall, and writing the classic book Picture about her dear friend John Huston's movie The Red Badge of Courage. Ross became an A-list partygoer, the first major showbiz reporter with highbrow credentials, and Huston and company handed her a story much better than the movie in question. "I thought I was the luckiest reporter in the history of journalism," writes Ross, who may be right. And no wonder she was such a hit: cute, connected, willing to listen to egomaniacs and let subjects read her drafts before publication, Ross was, like the showbiz-titan pals of Carrie Fisher that are celebrated in her Hollywood roman à clef Delusions of Grandma, "ruthless and glad."
But Ross's impersonal journalism method works better with big, showy subjects such as Huston or Ernest Hemingway. Faced with the elusive Mr. Shawn, who practically had the power to cloud men's minds so that they could not see him, she fails to illuminate his heart for the reader, despite all the fascinating facts at her command. And does she know how classically, rascally masculine a lot of Shawn's lines sound? Many of them boil down to "My staff doesn't understand me."
Ross notes that William Shawn's brother Mike wrote the Doublemint ad jingle "Double Your Pleasure, Double Your Fun." William clearly doubled Lillian's fun. But with Mr. Shawn, doubleness wasn't the half of it. --Tim Appelo
Book Description
"Miss Ross's unexpected reporting from home buries once and for all the mild, prudish, eccentrically mannered 'Mr. Shawn' of legend and ridicule, restoring to life a Bill Shawn who is far more complex, romantic, earthy, masculine, and human. He lives in these pages as he has nowhere before." David Michaelis, New York Observer
In Here But Not Here, Lillian Ross, a renowned journalist, tells the remarkable story of the life she shared for forty years with William Shawn, legendary editor of The New Yorker.
"An enduring love between two people, however startling or unconventional, feels unalterable, predestined, compelling, and intrinsically normal to the couple immersed in it," Ross says, "so I would have to say that I had an intrinsically normal life for over four decades with William Shawn. I have a lasting sense of the normalcy of it all. It was a normalcy that Bill Shawn was able to create for himself and for me against all normal odds."
William Shawn was married, yet he and Ross created a home together a dozen blocks south of the Shawns' apartment, raised a child, and lived discretely. Their lives intertwined from the 1950's until Shawn's death, in 1992. Ross describes how they met and the intense connection between them; how Shawn worked with the best writers of the period; how, to escape their developing liaison, Ross moved to Hollywood-only to return to New York and their relationship. The book is a gem, an exquisitely told real-life story more potent than fiction.
Customer Reviews:
A big hat-lifter in general.......2007-10-08
Okay, let's start by saying that I'm a big fan of the New Yorker and its legendary staff from the last century. Also a big fan of Lillian Ross's PICTURE. But this book will drive you to drink, do drugs, sit in your closed garage with the car running, whatever it takes to alter your consciousness. When she sticks to briefly writing about other people - Bogart, Hemingway, Chaplin, John Huston - she's on solid ground as always - brief, effective, perceptive. When she goes back to the subject of her book - her decades-long affair with William Shawn, editor of the New Yorker - she rambles, she avoids, she loses focus, structure and sense. She keeps going on about what an animal he was in bed - you look at the pictures of him in the book and decide for yourself - while everything else she writes about him makes him sound like a whining forlorn child-man who gnashes many teeth and wrings his hands with alarming frequency. She is absolutely in denial about how carrying on this weird affair affected her emotionally - everything is always so perfect and he's so wonderful - and in denial, I think, about just who this man was and what bizarre mind games he played. I did appreciate the paragraph about how fond he was of lifting his hat (hence the name of this review, taken directly from that paragraph). This book would be stunning if it were as honest and objective as the author's other book. It's not and the fact that her talent is involved in this elaborate unformed and tortured justification makes it unbearable.
negation as the other woman..........2004-09-20
Lillian Ross was a talented even gifted writer. She comes across in this book as a intelligent charming and caring person. Yet the thrust of this book is a self conscious and self serving apologia for her life long 'relationship' with William Shawn.
Bluntly put, she was his mistress -'the other woman' (just as an aside, why do you never hear of 'the other man'?). Mr Shawn, in a controlling and manipulative way, suborned her life in a way that is both appalling and pathetic. And as much as she rationalized it - and she spends many many pages doing just that, she seemed (on some level) to be aware of the basic inequality of their 'special' relationship.
So, about the book? Mr Shawn comes across as a whining self centered egotist who somehow manages to always get his way. Ms. Ross' cavalier dismissal of his shabby treatment of his wife and children borders on the obscene. Who was Mr. Shawn? Brilliant, yes without a doubt. A gifted editor, the New Yorker magazine owes much to his dedication. But does a true genuis require such slavish devotion to his ever whim?
There are some insightful moments in the book, Ernest Hemingway, Charlie Chaplin, John Huston (and others) were personal friends, the writers and editors - the behind the scenes folks that really made the New Yorker great - are covered in a slanted and biased sort of way - somehow one doubts that Mr Shawn singled handedly made them all as good as they were. And his 'enabling' talents surely came at a terrible cost, at least for Lillian Ross.
Bottom line, this is a good book on some levels but one that I had some personal difficulty with. "Being a good little woman for her (married) man" doesn't appeal to me as a life choice regardless of the glowing personalities involved. In the end I felt no empathy for her, she was just a pathetic woman trying to justify her own self negation.
Execrable.......2003-06-30
Poor Shawn! He seems to have had impeccable taste in everything save mistresses. The misbegotten issue of their liaison is this unique instance of a grotesque lapse in editorial judgement. I cannot imagine prose as wretched as this surviving his meticulous blue pencil from anyone sufficiently detached from him to be regarded as a writer worthy of regard on the basis solely of his work.
Sad and disappointing.......2002-01-12
I looked forward to reading this book for some time but only recently had the chance but it was sad and disappointing. The disappointment came from the thin writing -- from a writer who has had such a rich a varied background. Endless repetitions of phrases (He said he was there and not there; he said I was his wife; I felt no guilt). Repetitions of situations, so on. This is a 20 page monologue carried on 20 times -- and with none of the details that one would like to hear from this very accomplished writer.
What was it like working at the New Yorker all those years? What was it like to interview and work with people like John Huston, Francois Truffaut, Charlie Chaplin, Oona O'Neil, Frederico Fellini, so on.
This book, this writer, needed an editor if anyone did.
But a sequel would be welcome by me -- one that tells the other Lillian Ross story/memoir. This 'wife's lament' is, well, not a very poetic one and not one that commends Lillian Ross as a raconteur.
Ruth Reichl on WQXR.......1998-12-03
The man I met for lunch at La Caravelle had been going to the restaurant since I was a child. He remembered the days of the legendary chef Roger Fessaguet. He likes to dine in the corridor as you come in to the restaurant and he remembers the days where Lillian Ross and William Shawn liked to eat there too. He pointed out their table, the one in the corner. It was swell being there with him, a bit like going back in time. But what was even nicer than that was enjoying the old-fashioned solicitude of the restaurant and the new-fashioned food. No restaurant in New York has done a better job at bridging the old and the new. La Caravelle remembers the great old days of New York's French restaurants. Many of the captains working there were working in the old places. But the food is not fusty and it's not nostalgic. La Caravelle can certainly feed you the great old dishes like Quenelles de Brochet, light fish dumplings, but it can also give you modern dishes like cured salmon wrapped around mango. What did we eat? My friend began with Billibi, the creamy saffron-laced mussel soup. I stuck to a perfect platter of clams and oysters, then he had lamb. It wasn't on the menu, but they were happy to make it for him, and I had slowly roasted halibut: it was a silky piece of fish. I followed that with a slab of perfectly cooked rosy liver and a dish of lemon sorbet, and then Petit Fours. It was a wonderful meal. The service was swell, and that pink room is done up with big vases of red autumn leaves, so it's both festive and just lightly old-fashioned. Leaving I imagined that I saw Mr. Shawn sitting in the corner. He winked at me as I passed.
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HERE AT THE NEW YORKER
Manufacturer: Random House
ProductGroup: Book
Binding: Hardcover
ASIN: B000HTL90O |
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The willy Mr. Shawn.("New Yorker" editor William Shawn)(Review): An article from: New Criterion
Brooke Allen
Manufacturer: Foundation for Cultural Review
ProductGroup: Book
Binding: Digital
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Release Date: 2005-07-28 |
Book Description
This digital document is an article from New Criterion, published by Foundation for Cultural Review on September 1, 1998. The length of the article is 2894 words. The page length shown above is based on a typical 300-word page. The article is delivered in HTML format and is available in your Amazon.com Digital Locker immediately after purchase. You can view it with any web browser.
Citation Details
Title: The willy Mr. Shawn.("New Yorker" editor William Shawn)(Review)
Author: Brooke Allen
Publication:
New Criterion (Magazine/Journal)
Date: September 1, 1998
Publisher: Foundation for Cultural Review
Volume: 17
Issue: 1
Page: 56(1)
Article Type: Book Review
Distributed by Thomson Gale
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Here at the New Yorker
Manufacturer: Berkley
ProductGroup: Book
Binding: Mass Market Paperback
ASIN: B000HYX37G |
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Out of His Skin: The John Barnes Phenomenon
Dave Hill
Manufacturer: Faber and Faber Ltd
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Binding: Paperback
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ASIN: 0571154727 |
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Out of His Skin
Dave Hill
Manufacturer: WSC Books Limited
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ASIN: 0954013417 |
Book Description
This digital document is an article from Winnipeg Free Press, published by Thomson Gale on September 4, 2007. The length of the article is 484 words. The page length shown above is based on a typical 300-word page. The article is delivered in HTML format and is available in your Amazon.com Digital Locker immediately after purchase. You can view it with any web browser.
Citation Details
Title: Geneticist lets his genome out; First to publish 'autobiography'.(Health)
Author: Gale Reference Team
Publication:
Winnipeg Free Press (Magazine/Journal)
Date: September 4, 2007
Publisher: Thomson Gale
Page: a1
Distributed by Thomson Gale
Customer Reviews:
Nicholson is enchanting.......2002-09-18
I am 19 years old now and I remember listening to this tape as a child...
I still listen to it. This is the kind of children's story that both adults and children alike will enjoy. Bobby Mc Ferrin does the background sound effects and his performance is also magical.
I also Recomend the Elephant's child read by Nicholson with Bobby doing all of the sound effects.
I love the music "MMm Kola kola kola mmmm..."
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- The Soccer War
- The Story of My Life: With Her Letters, 1887-1901 and a Supplementary Account of Her Education, Including Passages from the Reports and Letters of H
- The Twilight Before Christmas (Drake Sisters, Book 2)
- The Word Study New Testament
- Trump: Surviving at the Top
- Twice Blessed: Everything You Need To Know About Having A Second Child-- Preparing Yourself, Your Marriage, And Your Firstborn For A New Family Of Four
- Ungrateful Daughters: The Stuart Princesses Who Stole Their Father's Crown
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