“The Lede contains profiles . . . that are acknowledged classics of the form and will be studied until A.I. makes hash out of all of us.”—Dwight Garner, The New York Times
I’ve been writing about the press almost as long as I’ve been in the game. At some point, it occurred to me that disparate pieces from various places in various styles amounted to a picture from multiple angles of what the press has been like over the years since I became a practitioner and an observer.
Calvin Trillin has reported serious pieces across America for The New Yorker, covered the civil rights movement in the South for Time, and written comic verse for The Nation. But one of his favorite subjects over the years—a superb fit for his unique combination of reportage and humor—has been his own professional environment: the American press.
In The Lede, Trillin gathers his incisive, often hilarious writing on reporting, reporters, and the media world that is their orbit. He writes about a legendary crime reporter in Miami, a swashbuckling New York Times reporter, and an erudite film critic in Dallas who once a week transformed himself from an appreciator of the French nouvelle vague into a crude connoisseur of movies like Mother Riley Meets the Vampire. There are pieces on the House of Lords aspirations of a North American press baron, the paucity of gossip columns in Russia, the embroilment of a weekly newspaper in a missing person case, and the founding of a publication called Beautiful Spot: A Magazine of Parking.
Uniting all of this is Trillin’s signature combination of empathy, humor, and graceful prose. The Lede is an unparalleled portrait of one of our fundamental American institutions from a master journalist.
“The Lede contains profiles . . . that are acknowledged classics of the form and will be studied until A.I. makes hash out of all of us.”—Dwight Garner, The New York Times
I’ve been writing about the press almost as long as I’ve been in the game. At some point, it occurred to me that disparate pieces from various places in various styles amounted to a picture from multiple angles of what the press has been like over the years since I became a practitioner and an observer.
Calvin Trillin has reported serious pieces across America for The New Yorker, covered the civil rights movement in the South for Time, and written comic verse for The Nation. But one of his favorite subjects over the years—a superb fit for his unique combination of reportage and humor—has been his own professional environment: the American press.
In The Lede, Trillin gathers his incisive, often hilarious writing on reporting, reporters, and the media world that is their orbit. He writes about a legendary crime reporter in Miami, a swashbuckling New York Times reporter, and an erudite film critic in Dallas who once a week transformed himself from an appreciator of the French nouvelle vague into a crude connoisseur of movies like Mother Riley Meets the Vampire. There are pieces on the House of Lords aspirations of a North American press baron, the paucity of gossip columns in Russia, the embroilment of a weekly newspaper in a missing person case, and the founding of a publication called Beautiful Spot: A Magazine of Parking.
Uniting all of this is Trillin’s signature combination of empathy, humor, and graceful prose. The Lede is an unparalleled portrait of one of our fundamental American institutions from a master journalist.
Critiques-
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September 1, 2023
In The Lede, the inimitable Trillin offers a portrait of journalism and its practitioners by drawing on six decades' worth of pieces. Prepub Alert.
Copyright 2023 Library Journal
Copyright 2023 Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.
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Starred review from October 15, 2023
An invaluable collection of observations about journalism authored by a beloved American reporter and humorist. Best known as a veteran staff writer for the New Yorker, Trillin gathers columns, long-form pieces, and vignettes about the mechanics and practices of the American press and its subjects, yielded from his six decades in the profession, during which he also worked as a correspondent and columnist for outlets such as Time, the Nation, and Brill's Content. His profile of the late New York Times journalist R.W. "Johnny" Apple Jr. is as expansive and thorough as Apple himself ("his form reflects the eating habits of someone who has been called Three Lunches Apple, a nickname he likes"). Trillin's pieces, which range appealingly, include a 1986 profile of the incomparable Miami Herald police reporter Edna Buchanan; an absorbing account of the mysterious circumstances surrounding the disappearance and murder of a scion of a prominent family in Savannah, Georgia; an explanation of how Texas Monthly magazine selected the state's best BBQ joints in 2008; and a poem about Al Gore's weight gain. Much of this book is hilarious, and it seems impossible to suppress a grin even when reading essays about the most serious of subjects, particularly Trillin's elegant tributes to fallen colleagues and friends like Molly Ivins, Russell Baker, and Morley Safer. The author saves his best for last: a piece about the commemorations of the Freedom Rides in the South in 1961, which he covered when Atlanta bureau chief for Time. Trillin's writing about the various people who marked the anniversary is the author at his finest, mixing his wit, sharp observational powers and recall, reporting skills, and poignancy. This book should be savored by admirers, critics, and practitioners of journalism and journalists, as well as anyone who appreciates first-rate writing, humor, and engaging reporting. A brilliant compilation.COPYRIGHT(2023) Kirkus Reviews, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
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December 18, 2023
This entertaining collection from longtime New Yorker contributor Trillin (Jackson, 1964) collects previously published writings reflecting on his trade. The title essay celebrates the art of the lede, breaking down the brilliance of one written by reporter James Edmund describing a woman who bit a camel “after it sat on her when she and her husband entered its enclosure to retrieve their deaf dog.” In “This Story Just Won’t Write,” Trillin discusses the “group journalism” practiced at Time when he wrote for the magazine in the early 1960s, telling how a team of editors, field correspondents, and fact-checkers synthesized original reporting and background research into 70-line articles. Other pieces sing the praises of fellow reporters, such as “Covering the Cops,” in which Trillin examines how crime reporter Edna Buchanan’s eye for detail (she was notorious among police for asking such apparently trivial questions as “What did they have in their pockets? What was cooking on the stove?”) added depth and humanity to her coverage. The consistently strong selections showcase Trillin’s intelligence and wit, though the humor pieces have lost some of their initial punch. For instance, the wry poem “On the Assumption That Al Gore Will Slim Down If He’s Intending to Run for President, a Political Reporter Is Assigned to Watch Gore’s Waistline” probably landed better when it first appeared in 2007. Still, it’s a spirited look at how the news is made. Agent: Eric Simonoff, WME. -
January 19, 2024
Renowned for his particular style of wry humor, journalist Trillin has had a six-decade career, including his work at the New Yorker, Time and The Nation. Here, in a collection of 42 pieces written between 1970 and 2021, Trillin engages readers through a veritable history of journalism that meanders through decades, subjects, and personalities. The pieces span journalistic controversies, including those about the handling of language and sexuality, to personalities such as Al Gore (who gets his own poem), to beloved journalist Edna Buchanan, whose famous lede "Gary Robinson died hungry" is one of Trillin's favorites. A few of the pieces were also published in Trillin's 2012 book Quite Enough of Calvin Trillin: Forty Years of Funny Stuff, but overall, the selection of works is solid and novel, and Trillin's talent shines through. Of particular interest are "The Lede" (2021), "No Gossip in Russia" (1988), "Alternatives" (1978), "Out of Style" (1994), and "Back on the Bus" (2011). One downside is that the humor from some of the earlier pieces doesn't translate well to 2024. VERDICT Perfect for those interested in journalism and readers of the New Yorker. This work also offers older readers and Trillin's longtime fans a chance to reminisce.--Holly Hebert
Copyright 2024 Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.
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Starred review from January 1, 2024
Contrary to the opinion of paranoid politicians, the press is not the enemy of the people. In Trillin's worldview, the press is the people--people such as veteran Miami Herald crime reporter Edna Buchanan, legendary Texas political observer Molly Ivins, and even that Everyman of film critics, Joe Bob Briggs (real name, John Bloom). Trillin profiles these journeymen journalists and countless others he has worked with, for, and sometimes against during his storied career as a staff writer at the New Yorker and elsewhere, celebrating their creativity and tenacity, commitment and perceptiveness. The institution may have changed, the definition of news cycle may have exploded, and the ranks of reporters may have diminished. No matter. With the need for information and opinion ever relevant, Trillin views his "role as a jester among the jackals among the press," and jester he is. In this collection of short and long pieces culled from more than 50 years of reporting, Trillin presents a clever, wry, piercing, and even poetic love song to journalism and the writers, editors, columnists, and readers who show, with every word, that they are the people's champions.COPYRIGHT(2024) Booklist, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
