The New Yorker

D. T. Max (“Life After Death,” p. 30) has been a staff writer since 2010. His books include “The Family That Couldn’t Sleep: A Medical Mystery.” Kyle Chayka (“Social Butterfly,” p. 24), a staff writer, published his most recent book, “Filterworld: How Algorithms Flattened Culture,” last year. Margaret Atwood (Takes, p. 39) is the author of “The Handmaid’s Tale” and “Burning Questions,” among other books. She received the 2019 Booker Prize for her novel “The Testaments.” Richard McGuire (Cover) has contributed writing and drawings to The New Yorker since 1993. Sophie Cabot Black (Poem, p. 58) has been contributing to the magazine since 2006. Her most recent poetry collection is “Geometry of the Restless Herd.” Brendan Loper (Sketchpad, p. 15), whose cartoons appear frequently in The New Yorker, has exhibited…

MENOPAUSE STRUGGLES I was surprised by the narrow focus of Rebecca Mead’s article about menopause (“If You Can’t Stand the Heat,” March 10th). In reviewing several recent books and mentioning others, Mead writes about the symptoms of menopause, and then goes on to concentrate almost exclusively on hormone-replacement therapy for women in their fifties and sixties. Perhaps that is indicative of the limited cultural perception of menopause. Last year, at the not so “crone” age of twenty-seven, I entered surgical menopause. Like many women, I am unable to supplement estrogen. Mead mentions only glancingly the women who might be ineligible for H.R.T.—and doesn’t mention at all those who are into menopause in their twenties, thirties, and early forties. She writes about the cancer risks of H.R.T. without mentioning the women…

APRIL 9 – 15, 2025 From the start, Dance Theatre of Harlem’s history has been a cycle of struggle and triumph. Founded by the dancer Arthur Mitchell, in 1969, the company thrived, until it didn’t, and it shut down in 2004; in 2012, Virginia Johnson led it back to stability. Now, under the artistic direction of the former D.T.H. dancer Robert Garland, the company’s season includes a 1996 work by William Forsythe, “The Vertiginous Thrill of Exactitude,” a ballet that exalts everything that the art form, and the dancers, can achieve: lightning speed, knife-edge precision, expansive physical range, rigorous geometries. Also on the program are Balanchine’s “Donizetti Variations”—a work that combines brilliance and an infectious bubbliness—and a new work from Garland, “The Cookout.” ABOUT TOWN HIP-HOP | As a teen-ager,…

In the very first paragraph of Project 2025, the Heritage Foundation’s operating manual for a second Trump Administration, battle lines over history are drawn: “America is now divided between two opposing forces: woke revolutionaries and those who believe in the ideals of the American revolution.” Three weeks after Donald Trump’s election, Mike Gonzalez, a contributor to Project 2025, and Armen Tooloee, the former chief of staff to the right-wing activist Christopher Rufo, elaborated on the new Administration’s martial maneuvers, writing in the Wall Street Journal that, in order “to put a spike through the heart of woke,” the White House was duty bound to “retake control of museums, starting with the Smithsonian Institution.” During the campaign, Trump professed ignorance of Project 2025. “I’ve never read it, and I never will,”…

Seth Rogen’s first exposure to Hollywood executives was at the age of seventeen, when he was starring on “Freaks and Geeks.” His mentor, Judd Apatow, had invited him to listen in on a notes call with the network. “Judd was, like, ‘These people are going to sound crazy, but just know that they could be fired at any second, and they’re operating from a place of sheer panic,’” Rogen recalled the other day. Over the years, he got to know this strange L.A. species. Three days into Apatow’s “The 40-Year-Old Virgin,” a Universal executive halted production because she thought that Steve Carell looked like a serial killer. Around that time, while Rogen and his writing partner, Evan Goldberg, were working on a screenplay, one suit confided, “I got into this…

A framed gold record of the J. Geils Band’s 1980 album, “Love Stinks,” hangs in the back room of McSorley’s Old Ale House, on East Seventh Street. It’s there because Peter Wolf, then the Geils Band’s lead singer, was, for decades, a Mc-Sorley’s regular who sometimes brought along his bandmates and friends. He grew up in the Bronx and took the subway down to the bar when he was a kid. “I used to come here when I was fourteen,” he said on a recent afternoon. “Because they didn’t give a fuck about your age.” Wolf, now seventy-nine, was at a table up front, presiding over a menagerie of mugs, empty and full, of ale light and dark. He’d come from the Strand, where he’d purchased two books of letters,…