At the New Yorker

Therese Anderson
The following essays and letters grew from a notebook I kept while interning at The New Yorker last summer. Each night, in my room at the boardinghouse on 36th Street, I recorded the decorations of the day, like the conversation I had with a prominent writer in the lunchroom, or the sight of a startled shorebird on the front of the office building.
This data repository is not currently reporting usage information. For information on how your repository can submit usage information, please see our documentation.