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Here Is New York
E.B. White's love letter to New York City
54 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1948
303 people are currently reading
13419 people want to read
About the author
E.B. White
193 books3,303 followersElwyn Brooks White was a leading American essayist, author, humorist, poet and literary stylist and author of such beloved children's classics as Charlotte's Web, Stuart Little, and The Trumpet of the Swan. He graduated from Cornell University in 1921 and, five or six years later, joined the staff of The New Yorker magazine. He authored over seventeen books of prose and poetry and was elected to the American Academy of Arts and Letters in 1973.
White always said that he found writing difficult and bad for one's disposition.
Mr. White has won countless awards, including the 1971 National Medal for Literature and the Laura Ingalls Wilder Medal, which commended him for making “a substantial and lasting contribution to literature for children.”
White always said that he found writing difficult and bad for one's disposition.
Mr. White has won countless awards, including the 1971 National Medal for Literature and the Laura Ingalls Wilder Medal, which commended him for making “a substantial and lasting contribution to literature for children.”
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 1,103 reviews
November 13, 2022
3 "observant and lyrical reflections stars !!
Fourth Most Fun Review Written in 2018 Award
For the past thirteen days we wandered NYC. This was my first trip and my partner's third. I was saturated with art, musicals, opera, piano bars and even went to see some obscure metal. We explored two beautiful botanical gardens and went to all the large art galleries, museums and of course I had to see Lady Liberty. I loved exploring Hasidic neighbourhoods in Brooklyn, ate delicious Greek and Italian in Queens and tasty Asian and French in Chelsea and Soho.
In our little rented apartment we cooked breakfasts, listened to Bach, Coltrane and Lana Del Rey. I watched Shark Tank and Beachfront Bargain Hunt to excess. I chatted with New Yorkers of many stripes, genders, ethnicities and sexual orientations. An upper East Jewish woman who tried to pick me up until my partner came out with teas, a young black woman doing her masters in museum administration, a puerto rican lawyer just to name a few. They all shared parts of themselves and their relationship to New York. They asked me no questions and through them, my lengthy walks through all boroughs (except Staten Island) I began to get a glimmer of understanding of what makes New York great but also highly flawed. Throughout each day I vacillated between wanting to extend my stay here to wanting to hop on the next plane, grab my kitty and escape to our quiet country home on the lake.
I read zero on this trip and I posted this on Goodreads and Julie G, a vivacious GR friend DEMANDED I read this lengthy essay by E.B. White (of Charlotte's Web and Trumpet of the Swan) fame. He wrote this essay in 1949 and he wrote about New York of his youth in the 1920s and how it had changed when he went back for a commissioned visit in 1949.
This essay is beautifully written and much of it especially in terms of the inequalities, the diversities, the wonderful and rotten of New York come shining through. What I most related to was the ambivalence the author felt as this was something I struggled a great deal with. I was overstimulated much of the time and could feel not just excitement but a great deal of irritability, disdain and distance. I told my partner that nowhere else have I felt like I was in a bubble that was disconcerting and de-realizing as well as in a strange way soothing. New York made me both happy and sad and very often both at the same time.
Here is a bit of strange foreshadowing (remember this was written in 1949)
"The subtlest change in New York is something people don't speak much about but that is in everyone's mind. The city, for the first time in its long history, is destructible. A single flight of planes no bigger than a wedge of geese can quickly end this island fantasy, burn the towers, crumble the bridges, turn the underground passages into lethal chambers, cremate the millions."
I very much enjoyed my trip to the Big Apple but I am in no hurry to go back.
Fourth Most Fun Review Written in 2018 Award
For the past thirteen days we wandered NYC. This was my first trip and my partner's third. I was saturated with art, musicals, opera, piano bars and even went to see some obscure metal. We explored two beautiful botanical gardens and went to all the large art galleries, museums and of course I had to see Lady Liberty. I loved exploring Hasidic neighbourhoods in Brooklyn, ate delicious Greek and Italian in Queens and tasty Asian and French in Chelsea and Soho.
In our little rented apartment we cooked breakfasts, listened to Bach, Coltrane and Lana Del Rey. I watched Shark Tank and Beachfront Bargain Hunt to excess. I chatted with New Yorkers of many stripes, genders, ethnicities and sexual orientations. An upper East Jewish woman who tried to pick me up until my partner came out with teas, a young black woman doing her masters in museum administration, a puerto rican lawyer just to name a few. They all shared parts of themselves and their relationship to New York. They asked me no questions and through them, my lengthy walks through all boroughs (except Staten Island) I began to get a glimmer of understanding of what makes New York great but also highly flawed. Throughout each day I vacillated between wanting to extend my stay here to wanting to hop on the next plane, grab my kitty and escape to our quiet country home on the lake.
I read zero on this trip and I posted this on Goodreads and Julie G, a vivacious GR friend DEMANDED I read this lengthy essay by E.B. White (of Charlotte's Web and Trumpet of the Swan) fame. He wrote this essay in 1949 and he wrote about New York of his youth in the 1920s and how it had changed when he went back for a commissioned visit in 1949.
This essay is beautifully written and much of it especially in terms of the inequalities, the diversities, the wonderful and rotten of New York come shining through. What I most related to was the ambivalence the author felt as this was something I struggled a great deal with. I was overstimulated much of the time and could feel not just excitement but a great deal of irritability, disdain and distance. I told my partner that nowhere else have I felt like I was in a bubble that was disconcerting and de-realizing as well as in a strange way soothing. New York made me both happy and sad and very often both at the same time.
Here is a bit of strange foreshadowing (remember this was written in 1949)
"The subtlest change in New York is something people don't speak much about but that is in everyone's mind. The city, for the first time in its long history, is destructible. A single flight of planes no bigger than a wedge of geese can quickly end this island fantasy, burn the towers, crumble the bridges, turn the underground passages into lethal chambers, cremate the millions."
I very much enjoyed my trip to the Big Apple but I am in no hurry to go back.
December 29, 2017
I've had a mad crush on E.B. White my entire life, and his books have followed me like a frisky shadow throughout my childhood, adolescence and adulthood.
And now, I've found him here again, in my middle age and his middle age (circa 1948), each of us part-optimist, part-curmudgeon. . . arms not necessarily outstretched, but lovers of humanity both (as long as we're mostly shielded from it).
His assignment here? To leave the peace of his domesticated bliss in North Brooklin, Maine and return to New York City to write a travel article for his stepson's then-magazine, Holiday. White, as described in the introduction, was an "inveterate non-traveler" and no longer a city boy, but he agreed to do the article for, most likely, the advancement of his stepson's career.
So, he's reluctant, and it's hot, and he's walking the streets of the new New York (he had lived there 20 years prior), and he's hoping to get inspired just taking in what's familiar and what's old, and he's just. . . you know. . . jotting down observations, not taking himself too seriously.
And he's observing things like:
Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness; natives give it solidity and continuity; but the settlers give it passion.
And:
The island of Manhattan is without any doubt the greatest human concentrate on earth, the poem whose magic is comprehensible to millions of permanent residents but whose full meaning will always remain elusive.
And I'm outside on my porch, on a stunning fall day, almost an entire nation's distance away from New York City and nowhere near E.B. White, who passed away in 1985. . . and all I can think is. . . I just want to take this little 56 page poetry-in-prose hardbound essay and pop it in my mouth and eat it.
Delicious.
And now, I've found him here again, in my middle age and his middle age (circa 1948), each of us part-optimist, part-curmudgeon. . . arms not necessarily outstretched, but lovers of humanity both (as long as we're mostly shielded from it).
His assignment here? To leave the peace of his domesticated bliss in North Brooklin, Maine and return to New York City to write a travel article for his stepson's then-magazine, Holiday. White, as described in the introduction, was an "inveterate non-traveler" and no longer a city boy, but he agreed to do the article for, most likely, the advancement of his stepson's career.
So, he's reluctant, and it's hot, and he's walking the streets of the new New York (he had lived there 20 years prior), and he's hoping to get inspired just taking in what's familiar and what's old, and he's just. . . you know. . . jotting down observations, not taking himself too seriously.
And he's observing things like:
Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness; natives give it solidity and continuity; but the settlers give it passion.
And:
The island of Manhattan is without any doubt the greatest human concentrate on earth, the poem whose magic is comprehensible to millions of permanent residents but whose full meaning will always remain elusive.
And I'm outside on my porch, on a stunning fall day, almost an entire nation's distance away from New York City and nowhere near E.B. White, who passed away in 1985. . . and all I can think is. . . I just want to take this little 56 page poetry-in-prose hardbound essay and pop it in my mouth and eat it.
Delicious.
November 8, 2022
A love letter to NY - but the speculation about planes hitting buildings will haunt you; almost as if he could see something coming years before it happened on 9-11. Still find it hard to believe this is the same author of Charlotte's Web...so many versatile writers of the past that have been forgotten by the general public.
July 1, 2024
There’s a newish independent bookshop not far from me. I’ve decided to do my little part in helping to keep it open. (If you know me well at all, you’ll know that’s not an onerous task in the least!) The first time I stepped through the door, the satisfying scent of fresh wood made me instantly content. An adorable Double Doodle named Vera greeted me and occasionally rubbed her wet nose in my palm while I was browsing. The owners have an intriguing history, having left a flourishing bookshop behind in Hong Kong to open this one a couple of towns over from my own. The only thing I worry about is whether it will thrive out in the suburbs. I can imagine such a store being successful in my ramblings throughout New York City though. So, it was fortuitous that I found this little hardback-bound essay by E.B. White on its shelves. It turns out I’ve read Here is New York before, in a collection titled The Essays of E.B. White. A wannabe New Yorker like me can’t get enough of this bit of yummy writing though, so it’s fitting that I have this particular essay as its very own little book.
“On any person who desires such queer prizes, New York will bestow the gift of loneliness and the gift of privacy. It is this largess that accounts for the presence within the city’s walls of a considerable section of the population; for the residents of Manhattan are to a large extent strangers who have pulled up stakes somewhere and come to town, seeking sanctuary or fulfillment or some greater or lesser grail… No one should come to New York to live unless he is willing to be lucky.”
I, for one, have my eyes on the prize. Bring on the luck!
Read this if you adore New York City or if you revere evocative prose like this: “I heard the Queen Mary blow one midnight, though, and the sound carried the whole history of departure and longing and loss.”
My review of the collection The Essays of E.B. White can be found here
“On any person who desires such queer prizes, New York will bestow the gift of loneliness and the gift of privacy. It is this largess that accounts for the presence within the city’s walls of a considerable section of the population; for the residents of Manhattan are to a large extent strangers who have pulled up stakes somewhere and come to town, seeking sanctuary or fulfillment or some greater or lesser grail… No one should come to New York to live unless he is willing to be lucky.”
I, for one, have my eyes on the prize. Bring on the luck!
Read this if you adore New York City or if you revere evocative prose like this: “I heard the Queen Mary blow one midnight, though, and the sound carried the whole history of departure and longing and loss.”
My review of the collection The Essays of E.B. White can be found here
April 15, 2019
I was born in New York City in 1951, moved out when I was two, and grew up in what at the time was a sleepy little village half an hour north, instantly turning my father into a member of what E. B. White calls the “second New York”—there are three New Yorks (pp. 25-26)—a commuter. In 1972, I moved back permanently, becoming a member of what E. B. (Andy) White calls the “third New York,” made up of people from somewhere else in a quest for something. I came to be an actor and evolved, out of frustration and exhaustion, into a writer and a member of White’s “first New York”: “the man or woman who was born here, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size and its turbulence as natural and inevitable.”
“By rights New York should have destroyed itself long ago,” he writes. And, toward the end of this essay, in a stroke of prescience that gives me goose bumps:
How did he see this in 1948? (But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. His collection of essays One Man’s Meat is full of such foresight.) But since 9/11 didn’t end us, my guess is nothing can.
Although Here is New York was written seventy-one years ago, White still describes my beloved hometown perfectly. You can be alone here if you choose, and everything possible is available for your enjoyment or ire. New York is a massive global city, yet there are tiny neighborhoods every bit as distinct as in small towns (daily, when I am coming home from my early-morning Central Park dog walks, I wave to one of my neighbors through his second-floor window where he sits and draws). Perhaps landmarks have changed since 1948, but the essence of New York could not be better expressed or more beautifully written than it is in this little masterpiece of an essay.
A postscript: In the 1999 edition of this book, there is an introduction by White’s stepson, renowned writer Roger Angell. Remarking on some of the changes White would have seen had he visited the city then, he says, “Fifth Avenue, he would find, has been Trumped . . .” This sounds so innocent to my ear now in 2019 when the country and, indeed, the whole world has been Trumped.
New York City is a place for everyone—even con artists like Trump; he belonged here. Everyone who did business with him knew he lied and cheated. Banks refused to make him loans. Contractors worked at their peril because he was famous for refusing to pay people. But he belongs to New York City because everybody belongs here. And even in 1948, E. B. White communicated that—we are a kind of wild Noah’s Arc of humanity:
“By rights New York should have destroyed itself long ago,” he writes. And, toward the end of this essay, in a stroke of prescience that gives me goose bumps:
The city, for the first time in its long history, is destructible. A single flight of planes no bigger than a wedge of geese can quickly end this island fantasy, burn the towers, crumble the bridges, turn the underground passages into lethal chambers, cremate the millions. The intimation of mortality is part of New York now: in the sound of jets overhead, in the black headline of the latest edition. (54)
How did he see this in 1948? (But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. His collection of essays One Man’s Meat is full of such foresight.) But since 9/11 didn’t end us, my guess is nothing can.
Although Here is New York was written seventy-one years ago, White still describes my beloved hometown perfectly. You can be alone here if you choose, and everything possible is available for your enjoyment or ire. New York is a massive global city, yet there are tiny neighborhoods every bit as distinct as in small towns (daily, when I am coming home from my early-morning Central Park dog walks, I wave to one of my neighbors through his second-floor window where he sits and draws). Perhaps landmarks have changed since 1948, but the essence of New York could not be better expressed or more beautifully written than it is in this little masterpiece of an essay.
A postscript: In the 1999 edition of this book, there is an introduction by White’s stepson, renowned writer Roger Angell. Remarking on some of the changes White would have seen had he visited the city then, he says, “Fifth Avenue, he would find, has been Trumped . . .” This sounds so innocent to my ear now in 2019 when the country and, indeed, the whole world has been Trumped.
New York City is a place for everyone—even con artists like Trump; he belonged here. Everyone who did business with him knew he lied and cheated. Banks refused to make him loans. Contractors worked at their peril because he was famous for refusing to pay people. But he belongs to New York City because everybody belongs here. And even in 1948, E. B. White communicated that—we are a kind of wild Noah’s Arc of humanity:
The collision and the intermingling of these millions of foreign-born people representing so many races and creeds make New York a permanent exhibit of the phenomenon of one world. (47)That our diversity can be so rich and delicious, yet it foisted upon the nation a man who would now call that diversity dangerous . . . I just don’t understand. I wonder what Andy White would write now. Oh, how I miss him.
October 19, 2016
I have a fascination with NYC. It started as a small child, wanting to live there. I don't want to live there anymore but I try to visit as much as I can. This book is the perfect book to give me my fix. It's truly shows the authors love of New York. I've always felt New Yorkers were a different kind of person and this book brings that to life. It talks about all the odd, wonderful things that make NYC what it is. This is the authors love letter to New York.
Thanks to Stephanie for getting me to read this one. After reading her wonderful review I knew I had to check this one out.
Thanks to Stephanie for getting me to read this one. After reading her wonderful review I knew I had to check this one out.
October 12, 2018
"On any person who desires such queer prizes, New York will bestow the gift of loneliness and the gift of privacy."
There's the first glorious sentence of the greatest New York book ever written. Yes, the competition is stiff, but this is it. You could underline this entire book, and I very nearly did.
I've lived in several cities, and come to the conclusion that they're all more or less alike. As homes for many different people, they must do many different things; there is no room for a city with a distinct personality, because there is no identifiable personality within it. Attempts to force personalities onto cities are reductive. They have many stores and many streets and many people.
But New York is different, and here's E.B. White on why.
It's New York's status as "the city that is a goal" that makes it different. You walk down the street and nearly everyone you pass came here on purpose - not to any city but to this one, the big one. They chose not to make it anywhere, but to make it here. When you see images like this recent, viral one:
This is precisely New York. Which is of course not to say that either of these people weren't born in New York - how would I know? - just that they both belong here. (PS pop quiz, which of these people is least likely to stand up for a pregnant lady? A: trick question, the answer is the suited douchebag sitting next to them playing Temple Run on his phone.)
The wonderful thing about Here is New York, written in 1948, is that it still perfectly describes New York today. It still operates - surprisingly to some - as "a composite of tens of thousands of tiny neighborhood units." I think about that every time I walk to the bodega (almost daily), where Sandra complains that my serious son refuses to smile at her.
This, too, is more true than ever: "The city has never been so uncomfortable, so crowded, so tense. Money has been plentiful and New York has responded. Restaurants are hard to get into; businessmen stand in line for a Schraff's luncheon as meekly as idle men used to stand in soup lines." I don't know what the hell Schraff's is - now it's fucking Ramen burgers or whatever - but the lines are still there. BTW Ramen burgers are bullshit.
And then there's this, from the very last page: "All dwellers in cities must live with the stubborn fact of annihilation; in New York the fact is somewhat more concentrated because of the concentration of the city itself, and because, of all targets, new York has a certain clear priority. In the mind of whatever perverted dreamer might loose the lightning, New York must hold a steady, irresistible charm." Oof.
I'm originally from Boston, so I've spent most of my life talking shit about New York. (NYC is also the greatest city in the world to talk shit about!) But then I came here, because I was in search of something. I've found it* and someday I might leave with it; New York is a city of arrivals but also of departures. It's been a very special time in my life, and I've learned something valuable from it: the Yankees still suck.
* "it" = a girl
There's the first glorious sentence of the greatest New York book ever written. Yes, the competition is stiff, but this is it. You could underline this entire book, and I very nearly did.
I've lived in several cities, and come to the conclusion that they're all more or less alike. As homes for many different people, they must do many different things; there is no room for a city with a distinct personality, because there is no identifiable personality within it. Attempts to force personalities onto cities are reductive. They have many stores and many streets and many people.
But New York is different, and here's E.B. White on why.
There are roughly three New Yorks:
There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born here, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size and its turbulence as natural and inevitable.
Second, there is the New York of the commuter — the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night.
Third, there is the New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in search of something.
Of these three trembling cities the greatest is the last - the city of final destination, the city that is a goal. It is this third city that accounts for New York's high-strung disposition, its poetical deportment, its dedication to the arts, and its incomparable achievements.
It's New York's status as "the city that is a goal" that makes it different. You walk down the street and nearly everyone you pass came here on purpose - not to any city but to this one, the big one. They chose not to make it anywhere, but to make it here. When you see images like this recent, viral one:
This is precisely New York. Which is of course not to say that either of these people weren't born in New York - how would I know? - just that they both belong here. (PS pop quiz, which of these people is least likely to stand up for a pregnant lady? A: trick question, the answer is the suited douchebag sitting next to them playing Temple Run on his phone.)
The wonderful thing about Here is New York, written in 1948, is that it still perfectly describes New York today. It still operates - surprisingly to some - as "a composite of tens of thousands of tiny neighborhood units." I think about that every time I walk to the bodega (almost daily), where Sandra complains that my serious son refuses to smile at her.
This, too, is more true than ever: "The city has never been so uncomfortable, so crowded, so tense. Money has been plentiful and New York has responded. Restaurants are hard to get into; businessmen stand in line for a Schraff's luncheon as meekly as idle men used to stand in soup lines." I don't know what the hell Schraff's is - now it's fucking Ramen burgers or whatever - but the lines are still there. BTW Ramen burgers are bullshit.
And then there's this, from the very last page: "All dwellers in cities must live with the stubborn fact of annihilation; in New York the fact is somewhat more concentrated because of the concentration of the city itself, and because, of all targets, new York has a certain clear priority. In the mind of whatever perverted dreamer might loose the lightning, New York must hold a steady, irresistible charm." Oof.
I'm originally from Boston, so I've spent most of my life talking shit about New York. (NYC is also the greatest city in the world to talk shit about!) But then I came here, because I was in search of something. I've found it* and someday I might leave with it; New York is a city of arrivals but also of departures. It's been a very special time in my life, and I've learned something valuable from it: the Yankees still suck.
* "it" = a girl
February 25, 2021
Truth telling - I didn't read this edition. After reading Betsy Robinson's wonderful - and personal - review of the book (https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...), I pulled Essays of E.B. White off the shelf where it's been sitting for too many years and read this essay. (Thanks for the kick in the pants, Betsy.)
I can't add much of any importance or grace to Betsy's review. I'm basically a small town guy who can't take the rush and bustle of New York (Manhattan, anyway) for any length of time. BUT I do like reading about New York, and I especially enjoyed reading this piece.
There are more gem-like anecdotes and insights on any one page of this essay than you'll find in any ten pages of most essays.
As I wrote, I'm not a New Yorker, but I do have a short tale which in some way may tie in with Mr. White's essay.
About ten years ago, my wife and I were in Manhattan for a few days. One afternoon, we left our hotel and walked to the American Museum of Folk Art (when it was at a former location near MOMA) to see an exhibition of Ulysses Davis' carved sculptures. When we left the museum, my wife was tired so I hailed a cab to go back to the hotel. The driver seemed as if he were having a bad day. My wife asked him where he was from, and he only replied, "Mali". He was playing some recorded music which sounded very familiar to me, and I asked him if it were Baaba Maal. His eyes lit up, and a smile immediately took over his previously glum face. "Man, You know him? He's my MAN. I saw him in concert last year." The rest of our ride had an entirely different atmosphere - the magical quality of music to change and unite people, even if it's only for a few moments. When we reached our destination, I gave the man from Mali a generous tip and, more importantly to me, we exchanged a handshake. He left my wife and myself with a good memory. I hope that he was left with the same.
If my memory hasn't failed me, this is the music that was playing in the taxi back when:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UPiAS...
I can't add much of any importance or grace to Betsy's review. I'm basically a small town guy who can't take the rush and bustle of New York (Manhattan, anyway) for any length of time. BUT I do like reading about New York, and I especially enjoyed reading this piece.
There are more gem-like anecdotes and insights on any one page of this essay than you'll find in any ten pages of most essays.
As I wrote, I'm not a New Yorker, but I do have a short tale which in some way may tie in with Mr. White's essay.
About ten years ago, my wife and I were in Manhattan for a few days. One afternoon, we left our hotel and walked to the American Museum of Folk Art (when it was at a former location near MOMA) to see an exhibition of Ulysses Davis' carved sculptures. When we left the museum, my wife was tired so I hailed a cab to go back to the hotel. The driver seemed as if he were having a bad day. My wife asked him where he was from, and he only replied, "Mali". He was playing some recorded music which sounded very familiar to me, and I asked him if it were Baaba Maal. His eyes lit up, and a smile immediately took over his previously glum face. "Man, You know him? He's my MAN. I saw him in concert last year." The rest of our ride had an entirely different atmosphere - the magical quality of music to change and unite people, even if it's only for a few moments. When we reached our destination, I gave the man from Mali a generous tip and, more importantly to me, we exchanged a handshake. He left my wife and myself with a good memory. I hope that he was left with the same.
If my memory hasn't failed me, this is the music that was playing in the taxi back when:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UPiAS...
December 31, 2021
For an essay written in a hotel room during the hot summer of 1948, this slim book really captures a New York of post-WWII. Yes, it’s the same writer who wrote ‘Stuart Little’ and ‘Charlotte’s Web’. But on to the essay, a love letter to the city, with a view of it filled sometimes with nostalgia (remembering his own time there some years earlier, when he still was new to it, and not living in Maine), sometimes noticing the changes, sometimes celebrating the present greatness within it. Readers can add their things to it, and see what lasts, what really matters.
Some of the places and things mentioned there are gone now. He covers mostly the area of Manhattan, but does mention a few others. The introduction writer here, Roger Angell, comments that White would no doubt hate how New York is in 1999, in many ways, but that he could be introduced to many of the good ones too, and some things have become much better.
The very first sentence reminded me of Olivia Laing’s “The Lonely City”: “On any person who desires such queer prizes, New York will bestow the gift of loneliness and the gift of privacy.”
I love how the author described the vibes and the moods of the city, the neighborhoods. How you could keep a distance to events happening elsewhere in the city so easy then. How there’s three cities: those who live in it, those who come daily to work in it, and the newcomers/tourists. He sees buildings expanding upwards, wonders how to city can work (electricity, the pipes). He notices the UN headquarters being built (where slaughterhouses used to be), which is largely finished in 1952.
He also seems sometimes prophetic towards the end of the essay: seeing the tension escalating (thinking about crimes in the future decades here, rising until end of 1980s). Housing projects being built in the slums (started just after war). And the chilling one was his talk of the planes: he does mention the one who crashed into the Empire State Building; but then there’s the mention of ‘the cold shadow of planes’ and ‘the destroying planes’, the latter repeated a few times… he’s probably talking about their noise, but it still chills me, as I think about 9/11.
But he brings things to a quiet end with an image of an old willow tree in Turtle Bay neighborhood, eastern Midtown Manhattan (where the UN building also is). I searched a bit about more information on the tree and found this: “…in 2009, the tree had been rotted through from the inside and was chopped down. There was a small ceremony held at sunset. Fortunately, several clippings were taken from the tree by Bill Logan of Urban Arborists in Red Hook, Brooklyn. Today, the children of E.B. White’s willow have grown over 30 feet tall and will eventually be planted in parks across New York City.”
What a good extra ending for this essay!
Some of the places and things mentioned there are gone now. He covers mostly the area of Manhattan, but does mention a few others. The introduction writer here, Roger Angell, comments that White would no doubt hate how New York is in 1999, in many ways, but that he could be introduced to many of the good ones too, and some things have become much better.
The very first sentence reminded me of Olivia Laing’s “The Lonely City”: “On any person who desires such queer prizes, New York will bestow the gift of loneliness and the gift of privacy.”
I love how the author described the vibes and the moods of the city, the neighborhoods. How you could keep a distance to events happening elsewhere in the city so easy then. How there’s three cities: those who live in it, those who come daily to work in it, and the newcomers/tourists. He sees buildings expanding upwards, wonders how to city can work (electricity, the pipes). He notices the UN headquarters being built (where slaughterhouses used to be), which is largely finished in 1952.
He also seems sometimes prophetic towards the end of the essay: seeing the tension escalating (thinking about crimes in the future decades here, rising until end of 1980s). Housing projects being built in the slums (started just after war). And the chilling one was his talk of the planes: he does mention the one who crashed into the Empire State Building; but then there’s the mention of ‘the cold shadow of planes’ and ‘the destroying planes’, the latter repeated a few times… he’s probably talking about their noise, but it still chills me, as I think about 9/11.
But he brings things to a quiet end with an image of an old willow tree in Turtle Bay neighborhood, eastern Midtown Manhattan (where the UN building also is). I searched a bit about more information on the tree and found this: “…in 2009, the tree had been rotted through from the inside and was chopped down. There was a small ceremony held at sunset. Fortunately, several clippings were taken from the tree by Bill Logan of Urban Arborists in Red Hook, Brooklyn. Today, the children of E.B. White’s willow have grown over 30 feet tall and will eventually be planted in parks across New York City.”
What a good extra ending for this essay!
January 2, 2022
An amazing small book. Highly readable and something to think about in our time of Covid and general discord. E. B. White, who we normally associate with Charlotte’s Web and Stuart Little, was asked by Horizon Magazine, an upscale travel magazine of the time, to write a piece about New York City. The result was no piece of fluff. By 1947 when he spent the summer researching his piece he was a permanent resident of Maine. The essay was first published in 1949. It has the slightly melancholy tone of an older person who remembers NYC in it journalism heyday but is not dismissive of the present. To him, NYC endures despite all the issues and turbulence.
White says there are three kinds of New Yorkers: ones born there, commuters, and those born elsewhere who were looking for something more. Those types exist today. The conclusion is stunningly prescient. His worries about the future can still be ours 70 years on. No doubt he was thinking about what happened to cities like London and Dresden in WWII and the use of new atomic weapons at the end of that war, but it is chilling for someone to read today. I can’t help but think of 9/11 and the often violent discord of our times when I read “the city, for the first time in its long history, is destructible. A single flight of planes no bigger than a wedge of geese can quickly end this fantasy, burn the towers, crumble the bridges, turn underground passages into lethal chambers…in the mind of whatever perverted dreamer might loose the lightening, New York must hold a steady, irresistible charm.” And still, New York City endures.
White says there are three kinds of New Yorkers: ones born there, commuters, and those born elsewhere who were looking for something more. Those types exist today. The conclusion is stunningly prescient. His worries about the future can still be ours 70 years on. No doubt he was thinking about what happened to cities like London and Dresden in WWII and the use of new atomic weapons at the end of that war, but it is chilling for someone to read today. I can’t help but think of 9/11 and the often violent discord of our times when I read “the city, for the first time in its long history, is destructible. A single flight of planes no bigger than a wedge of geese can quickly end this fantasy, burn the towers, crumble the bridges, turn underground passages into lethal chambers…in the mind of whatever perverted dreamer might loose the lightening, New York must hold a steady, irresistible charm.” And still, New York City endures.
February 23, 2016
It's easy to see in these words Whites love for New York City. Although much has changed, many of the things he writes about still exist today. The diversity, a melding of races, nationalities, and languages, all co-existing in a mutual truce, and all held together by the common understanding that to do otherwise would be disaster.
4+ stars.
4+ stars.
August 23, 2025
E.B. White’s valentine to New York City remains fresh even 75 years after he wrote it. As White’s stepson, Roger Angell, notes in his introduction, even in 1949, when this slim book was released:
Since then, much more of White’s beloved New York has disappeared: Scribner’s Bookstore, Mama Leone’s, Horn & Hardart, Schrafft’s, Gimbels, the Rialto, B. Altman and Alexander’s. The World Trade Center would appear on the skyline and then disappear. So why does Here Is New York remain so poignant?
Because White was correct that New York is, in essence, a dream and a poem:
As White notes, New Yorkers, both those born and those self-made by emigrating from elsewhere, are surrounded by greatness. Every day has the promise of magic. White “burned with a low steady fever just because I was on the same island with Don Marquis, Heywood Broun, Christopher Morley, Franklin P. Adams, Robert C. Benchley, Frank Sullivan, Dorothy Parker, Alexander Woollcott, Ring Lardner and Stephen Vincent Benét…. This excitation (nearness of giants) is a continuing thing. The city is always full of young worshipful beginners—young actors, young aspiring poets, ballerinas, painters, reporters, singers—each depending on his own brand of tonic to stay alive, each with his own stable of giants.”
To which every New Yorker can relate. Woody Allen shot a movie at Columbia University while I was a student there, so I got to see him. I stood in line at Macy’s behind Chaka Khan. Jacqueline Onassis and Caroline Kennedy were at the Metropolitan Museum of Art for an exhibition of Russian imperial clothing and kindly spoke to my uncle and me. Philip Roosevelt (yes, of those Roosevelts) was my classmate. Comedian David Brenner was on a date at One Fifth Avenue while I was there with my classmates; unfortunately, he left early because we were too rowdy. Every New Yorker can relate stories about — as White phrases it — being 18 inches from greatness and the ensuing excitement.
Albert Camus called Paris the greatest city in the world because its denizens knew that every day could yield something wonderful. New Yorkers know that’s even more so in the Big Apple.
Many of White’s places and references in Here is New York are long gone. The Third Avenue Elevated, the neighborhood ice-coal-and-wood cellars, Schrafft’s restaurant on Fifth Avenue, the ancient book elevators at the Public Library, the old Metropolitan Opera, the Queen Mary and her mournful horn, and the dock from which she departed—all have vanished from sight and almost from memory. The thought occurs that this book should now be called Here Was New York, except that White himself has foreseen this dilemma.
Since then, much more of White’s beloved New York has disappeared: Scribner’s Bookstore, Mama Leone’s, Horn & Hardart, Schrafft’s, Gimbels, the Rialto, B. Altman and Alexander’s. The World Trade Center would appear on the skyline and then disappear. So why does Here Is New York remain so poignant?
Because White was correct that New York is, in essence, a dream and a poem:
The island of Manhattan is without any doubt the greatest human concentrate on earth, the poem whose magic is comprehensible to millions of permanent residents but whose full meaning will always remain elusive. At the feet of the tallest and plushiest offices lie the crummiest slums. The genteel mysteries housed in the Riverside Church are only a few blocks from the voodoo charms of Harlem. The merchant princes, riding to Wall Street in their limousines down the East River Drive, pass within a few hundred yards of the gypsy kings; but the princes do not know they are passing kings, and the kings are not up yet anyway—they live a more leisurely life than the princes and get drunk more consistently.
As White notes, New Yorkers, both those born and those self-made by emigrating from elsewhere, are surrounded by greatness. Every day has the promise of magic. White “burned with a low steady fever just because I was on the same island with Don Marquis, Heywood Broun, Christopher Morley, Franklin P. Adams, Robert C. Benchley, Frank Sullivan, Dorothy Parker, Alexander Woollcott, Ring Lardner and Stephen Vincent Benét…. This excitation (nearness of giants) is a continuing thing. The city is always full of young worshipful beginners—young actors, young aspiring poets, ballerinas, painters, reporters, singers—each depending on his own brand of tonic to stay alive, each with his own stable of giants.”
To which every New Yorker can relate. Woody Allen shot a movie at Columbia University while I was a student there, so I got to see him. I stood in line at Macy’s behind Chaka Khan. Jacqueline Onassis and Caroline Kennedy were at the Metropolitan Museum of Art for an exhibition of Russian imperial clothing and kindly spoke to my uncle and me. Philip Roosevelt (yes, of those Roosevelts) was my classmate. Comedian David Brenner was on a date at One Fifth Avenue while I was there with my classmates; unfortunately, he left early because we were too rowdy. Every New Yorker can relate stories about — as White phrases it — being 18 inches from greatness and the ensuing excitement.
Albert Camus called Paris the greatest city in the world because its denizens knew that every day could yield something wonderful. New Yorkers know that’s even more so in the Big Apple.
July 26, 2010
Don't tell New Yorkers I said so, but... I think I might like this book more than the city itself. Through E.B. White's eyes, NYC is a magical, romantic place. OK, OK--it is in real life too, but his words lend a certain amount of mystique that I haven't quite uncovered in the city itself. (Leave me alone. I'm a Bama girl and I like it.) I read the final pages of this book while sitting under a tree in Central Park, just as it started to rain. What could be better, seriously?!
June 16, 2023
A tour-de-force travelogue
If you’re a writer, editor, teacher or parent, then you know either the E.B. White of “The Elements of Style” or the E.B. White of “Stuart Little” and “Charlotte’s Web.” I’ve been doing quite a bit of reading about the U.S. Armed Forces Services Editions books published during and slightly after World War II and the role that program played in American literacy. Curiously, four little-known White books were distributed to GIs worldwide in that series, mainly focused on humor, including the droll classic “Is Sex Necessary?,” which he co-authored with James Thurber and others.
No question: E.B. White was a man of many, many talents.
I had never read his “Here Is New York” until this week. It’s really a small-book reprint of a travel piece he wrote for the now-legendary Holiday magazine. The magazine sprang up in 1946 to encourage Americans to travel by paying generous freelance rates to famous writers to write about America. It really took off when Ted Patrick took over. I’m mentioning Ted’s name because I’m now the editor of a publishing house and such editors generally are nameless folks whose vocation is serving our authors. Ted had a wonderfully creative career at Holiday, including the publication of this now-classic piece about New York City by White in 1949. In fact, it was Holiday staffer Roger Angell, much better known for his baseball writing and his later work at The New Yorker (and who was White’s stepson) who connected White and New York City and Patrick and Holiday.
This piece took on a national life of its own, back in the day, because it was chosen as a Book of the Month Club selection and, many years later, after the attacks on 9/11, it was republished to show New York City’s resilience to the world.
What amazes me about this kaleidoscope of journalistic effects is how well it serves as an alternative to White’s “Elements of Style” in showing students and even other writers in “writers’ groups” how a symphony of such techniques can produce a timeless portrait.
What am I referencing here?
There are so many techniques that could be counted in these pages that I won’t detail all of them, but they include describing the city’s soundscape and observing corners of the city through the lens of time.
One of the most memorable examples is White’s clever use of the “listing” technique that’s taught in Writing 101 and Journalism 101. There are several brilliantly sketched lists in this book, but the best is a technique that I know I’m going to borrow. In that particular passage, he begins with a list of famous events in New York City, then he unfolds a street map and counts the city blocks from where he is sitting to the site of each event. The result is a whole page of these events listed with a visual reference in words to how far each one is from his location as a writer. It’s vivid and unforgettable.
Another example flips geography on its head and, instead, switches to describing New York City as what Bill Joel called “a state of mind” in the ‘70s. Thirty years before Joel’s turn of phrase, White did the same thing and described New York City not as an arrangement of neighborhoods, streets and waterways, but as three basic states of mind.
Want to know what three he chose? Read the book. You’ll enjoy it. I know I’m going to keep this book handy on my library shelf and it’ll be fun to use in future seminars, workshops and retreats with writers.
If you’re a writer, editor, teacher or parent, then you know either the E.B. White of “The Elements of Style” or the E.B. White of “Stuart Little” and “Charlotte’s Web.” I’ve been doing quite a bit of reading about the U.S. Armed Forces Services Editions books published during and slightly after World War II and the role that program played in American literacy. Curiously, four little-known White books were distributed to GIs worldwide in that series, mainly focused on humor, including the droll classic “Is Sex Necessary?,” which he co-authored with James Thurber and others.
No question: E.B. White was a man of many, many talents.
I had never read his “Here Is New York” until this week. It’s really a small-book reprint of a travel piece he wrote for the now-legendary Holiday magazine. The magazine sprang up in 1946 to encourage Americans to travel by paying generous freelance rates to famous writers to write about America. It really took off when Ted Patrick took over. I’m mentioning Ted’s name because I’m now the editor of a publishing house and such editors generally are nameless folks whose vocation is serving our authors. Ted had a wonderfully creative career at Holiday, including the publication of this now-classic piece about New York City by White in 1949. In fact, it was Holiday staffer Roger Angell, much better known for his baseball writing and his later work at The New Yorker (and who was White’s stepson) who connected White and New York City and Patrick and Holiday.
This piece took on a national life of its own, back in the day, because it was chosen as a Book of the Month Club selection and, many years later, after the attacks on 9/11, it was republished to show New York City’s resilience to the world.
What amazes me about this kaleidoscope of journalistic effects is how well it serves as an alternative to White’s “Elements of Style” in showing students and even other writers in “writers’ groups” how a symphony of such techniques can produce a timeless portrait.
What am I referencing here?
There are so many techniques that could be counted in these pages that I won’t detail all of them, but they include describing the city’s soundscape and observing corners of the city through the lens of time.
One of the most memorable examples is White’s clever use of the “listing” technique that’s taught in Writing 101 and Journalism 101. There are several brilliantly sketched lists in this book, but the best is a technique that I know I’m going to borrow. In that particular passage, he begins with a list of famous events in New York City, then he unfolds a street map and counts the city blocks from where he is sitting to the site of each event. The result is a whole page of these events listed with a visual reference in words to how far each one is from his location as a writer. It’s vivid and unforgettable.
Another example flips geography on its head and, instead, switches to describing New York City as what Bill Joel called “a state of mind” in the ‘70s. Thirty years before Joel’s turn of phrase, White did the same thing and described New York City not as an arrangement of neighborhoods, streets and waterways, but as three basic states of mind.
Want to know what three he chose? Read the book. You’ll enjoy it. I know I’m going to keep this book handy on my library shelf and it’ll be fun to use in future seminars, workshops and retreats with writers.
October 11, 2007
Every time I read White's gorgeous love letter to New York City, I'm filled with nostalgia for my own town and I tend to wake the next day with a honed sense of observational candor. As many have noted in recent years, his heavy observation of NYC's vulnerability can be read almost as a prophesy of September 11, 2001, though this was written in 1949 when thoughts about the end of World War II and atomic bombs were still abundant:
The city, for the first time in its long history, is destructible. A single flight of planes no bigger than a wedge of geese can quickly end this island fantasy, burn the towers, crumble the bridges, turn the underground passages into lethal chambers, cremate the millions. The intimation of mortality is part of New York now; in the sounds of jets overhead, in the black headlines of the latest editions.
It's worth noting that this edition, published in 1999, has an excellent introduction by White's stepson, Roger Angell. Also, this essay is published in its entirety in The Essays of E.B. White.
The city, for the first time in its long history, is destructible. A single flight of planes no bigger than a wedge of geese can quickly end this island fantasy, burn the towers, crumble the bridges, turn the underground passages into lethal chambers, cremate the millions. The intimation of mortality is part of New York now; in the sounds of jets overhead, in the black headlines of the latest editions.
It's worth noting that this edition, published in 1999, has an excellent introduction by White's stepson, Roger Angell. Also, this essay is published in its entirety in The Essays of E.B. White.
Read
March 31, 2021I've probably read this essay five or six times. A beautiful tribute to New York City—and to the yearning that New York City inspires.
September 7, 2022
“The quality in New York that insulates its inhabitants from life may simply weaken them as individuals.”
“Yorkers-for creation is in part d
merely the business of forgoing the great and small distractions.”
“Many people who have no real independence of spirit depend on the city's tremendous variety and sources of excitement for spiritual sustenance and maintenance of morale.”
“This is not so much personal menace as
universal”
“Yorkers-for creation is in part d
merely the business of forgoing the great and small distractions.”
“Many people who have no real independence of spirit depend on the city's tremendous variety and sources of excitement for spiritual sustenance and maintenance of morale.”
“This is not so much personal menace as
universal”
February 8, 2021
*sings out loud*
Iiiii love New York
and I cannot lie
Essentially, this is a love song in shape of a book.
Don’t read it if you have been missing New York since forever.
Iiiii love New York
and I cannot lie
Essentially, this is a love song in shape of a book.
Don’t read it if you have been missing New York since forever.
Read
December 15, 2020A brief, rapturous essay about a city that no longer exists. Sure "New York" exists, but the New York of E.B. White's imagination is barely even a memory anymore, as it was turned upside down by urban crisis, and then Giuliani'd and gentrified in a final humiliation. To the point where, when I'm in New York, every time I see a bit of that old New York of wig shops and plumbing supply warehouses and all the rest jutting through, it's like a love letter being slipped to me from between the Chipotles.
January 9, 2018
EB White knows how to write. In this short book, he details many aspects of Manhattan. The book was published mid-twentieth century, so many of his observations are now faded memories of a time that was.
His recollection of brand and building names, his comments on shows and restaurants, or where to catch a train or hitch your mare, was quite definitely before my time.
But because I am a resident of Nuuk, Greenland, I was fascinated by how many people live in that small island. Here, I occasionally see an Arctic wolf or a reindeer, but never have I viewed a Broadway show, like “Annie Get Your Gun,” with Bernadette Peters or Ethel Merman (whoever they are). I can do anything better than they can in Nuuk, so there, Mr. White.
They seem to have a million tall buildings in NYC, whereas here, each town can only build two buildings and the height is regulated to a double igloo, one on top of another. That is about six feet high, my height, when I am re-born next time.
Okay, it is noontime and it is getting darker. A ‘shout out’ to my gr friend for the recommendation. One day, if I chop enough ice, and row my boat very quickly, I want to visit this place called New York City.
Possibly I could meet a nice girl, dance to some strange music, and eat my first knish, whatever that is.
His recollection of brand and building names, his comments on shows and restaurants, or where to catch a train or hitch your mare, was quite definitely before my time.
But because I am a resident of Nuuk, Greenland, I was fascinated by how many people live in that small island. Here, I occasionally see an Arctic wolf or a reindeer, but never have I viewed a Broadway show, like “Annie Get Your Gun,” with Bernadette Peters or Ethel Merman (whoever they are). I can do anything better than they can in Nuuk, so there, Mr. White.
They seem to have a million tall buildings in NYC, whereas here, each town can only build two buildings and the height is regulated to a double igloo, one on top of another. That is about six feet high, my height, when I am re-born next time.
Okay, it is noontime and it is getting darker. A ‘shout out’ to my gr friend for the recommendation. One day, if I chop enough ice, and row my boat very quickly, I want to visit this place called New York City.
Possibly I could meet a nice girl, dance to some strange music, and eat my first knish, whatever that is.
April 6, 2023
I learned about this essay from reading my GR friend Bonnie’s excellent review. Although this essay was written 74 years ago, so much of the feelings about NYC still exist, if many of the places no longer do. “Here is New York” is E. B. White’s love letter to New York City, in which he describes how to best experience everything it has to offer.
He explains that there are the “three New York’s,” those born in New York,…who takes the city for granted and accepts its size and turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter-the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night.” Finally, the third New York, according to E.B.White is the “person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something. Of these three trembling cities the greatest is the last -the city of final destination, the city that is a goal.”
He continues discussing the many and quite distinctive neighborhoods in New York. He points out that even “shopkeepers are particularly conscious of neighborhood boundary lines.” He provides the example of a friend of his who moved to another apartment three blocks away but still went grocery shopping at the same store. The shopkeeper was thrilled she still shopped there even though she moved out of the neighborhood, which was actually only three short blocks away.
Finally, he discusses the pulse or heartbeat of NYC as a living thing. “To a New Yorker, the city is both changeless and changing.” He notes all the changes to buildings, places, and neighborhoods in his lifetime. I wonder what he would think of New York today? I am certain he would continue to marvel at New York City, as most who live and visit do, every day.
Side note: He describes the public library’s book elevator “like an old water wheel, spewing out books onto the trays.” Fascinating detail of something I wish I had seen.
Now I am off to read Charlotte’s Web, one of my favorite childhood stories.
He explains that there are the “three New York’s,” those born in New York,…who takes the city for granted and accepts its size and turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter-the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night.” Finally, the third New York, according to E.B.White is the “person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something. Of these three trembling cities the greatest is the last -the city of final destination, the city that is a goal.”
He continues discussing the many and quite distinctive neighborhoods in New York. He points out that even “shopkeepers are particularly conscious of neighborhood boundary lines.” He provides the example of a friend of his who moved to another apartment three blocks away but still went grocery shopping at the same store. The shopkeeper was thrilled she still shopped there even though she moved out of the neighborhood, which was actually only three short blocks away.
Finally, he discusses the pulse or heartbeat of NYC as a living thing. “To a New Yorker, the city is both changeless and changing.” He notes all the changes to buildings, places, and neighborhoods in his lifetime. I wonder what he would think of New York today? I am certain he would continue to marvel at New York City, as most who live and visit do, every day.
Side note: He describes the public library’s book elevator “like an old water wheel, spewing out books onto the trays.” Fascinating detail of something I wish I had seen.
Now I am off to read Charlotte’s Web, one of my favorite childhood stories.
November 3, 2021
Maza mīlestības vēstule lielai pilsētai.
“A poem compresses much in a small space and adds music, thus heightening its meaning. The city is like poetry: it compresses all life, all races and breeds, into a small island and adds music and the accompaniment of internal engines. The island of Manhattan is without any doubt the greatest human concentrate on earth, the poem whose magic is comprehensible to millions of permanent residents but whose full meaning will always remain elusive.”
“A poem compresses much in a small space and adds music, thus heightening its meaning. The city is like poetry: it compresses all life, all races and breeds, into a small island and adds music and the accompaniment of internal engines. The island of Manhattan is without any doubt the greatest human concentrate on earth, the poem whose magic is comprehensible to millions of permanent residents but whose full meaning will always remain elusive.”
February 14, 2022
Lovers of New York must read this very short love letter to the city ❤️
January 8, 2016
"Here Is New York" is an essay E.B. White—yes, of Charlotte's Web fame—wrote in 1948 for Holiday, a long-since defunct travel magazine. The essay reads as you would expect up until its last few pages. White is crisp and concise, and, as far as essays go, "Here Is New York" is enjoyable.
It's interesting how few surprises there are throughout the essay, whether White is discussing his personal experiences of living in New York or about the tourist's, the outsider's, limited understanding of the city. At the time of White's writing, New York City was slightly less extravagant and built up (there are a million more people in the city now), but some parts of the culture remain the same.
Perhaps New York really is as unchanging as White sometimes says he thinks it is or perhaps his opinion of the Big Apple—that it is a sprawling, diverse, detached, noisy, busy, and lonesome place, all at once—has become mainstream over the decades. This complex understanding of a multifaceted, contradictory New York is what I've grown up with in music, books, and movies. I think most of us, whether we have visited the city or not, know New York is somewhat of a double-edged sword, as most big cities are. Some dreams are realized there, while others are destroyed.
It's toward the end of the essay that White takes a decidedly gloomy turn as he more critically analyzes various elements of New York (e.g., its racism) and imagines the city's future, which he sees as being overshadowed by a subtle fear of its own demise. With such a change in tone, "Here Is New York" becomes an unusual and slightly eerie tale by its closing.
White is wary of overpopulation and disturbed by the neon lights and advertising displays that are sprouting up all over the city. (If he could see it now!) Media changes before his eyes as newspapers disappear or merge with others. He senses a "greater tension, increased irritability" that is, these days, quintessentially tied to New York and the average New Yorker. "The city has never been so uncomfortable," he writes. To White, this comes down to the underlying fear of destruction, the fear that New York has grown to be so large, so important, that there are some who will want to destroy it and may even succeed in doing so. There's a reason many have said White's words seem prophetic.
I'm not sure what you can learn about New York from White's essay that you won't already know. But the writing is elegant, and the powerful closing makes up for any initial slowness. I may not "heart" New York as so many do, but E.B. White simultaneously makes me thankful for the passage of time and wistful for a younger, slightly stripped-down version of the city.
========================================
Quotes From the Book
(Apply your own positive/negative connotations.)
========================================
I think that although many persons are here from some excess of spirit (which caused them to break away from their small town), some, too, are here from a deficiency of spirit, who find in New York a protection, or an easy substitution.
---
It is a miracle that New York works at all. The whole thing is implausible. Every time the residents brush their teeth, millions of gallons of water must be drawn from the Catskills and the hills of Westchester. When a young man in Manhattan writes a letter to his girl in Brooklyn, the love message gets blown to her through a pneumatic tube—pfft—just like that.
---
All dwellers in cities must live with the stubborn fact of annihilation; in New York the fact is somewhat more concentrated because of the concentration of the city itself, and because, of all targets, New York has a certain clear priority. In the mind of whatever perverted dreamer might loose the lightning, New York must hold a steady, irresistible charm.
It's interesting how few surprises there are throughout the essay, whether White is discussing his personal experiences of living in New York or about the tourist's, the outsider's, limited understanding of the city. At the time of White's writing, New York City was slightly less extravagant and built up (there are a million more people in the city now), but some parts of the culture remain the same.
Perhaps New York really is as unchanging as White sometimes says he thinks it is or perhaps his opinion of the Big Apple—that it is a sprawling, diverse, detached, noisy, busy, and lonesome place, all at once—has become mainstream over the decades. This complex understanding of a multifaceted, contradictory New York is what I've grown up with in music, books, and movies. I think most of us, whether we have visited the city or not, know New York is somewhat of a double-edged sword, as most big cities are. Some dreams are realized there, while others are destroyed.
It's toward the end of the essay that White takes a decidedly gloomy turn as he more critically analyzes various elements of New York (e.g., its racism) and imagines the city's future, which he sees as being overshadowed by a subtle fear of its own demise. With such a change in tone, "Here Is New York" becomes an unusual and slightly eerie tale by its closing.
White is wary of overpopulation and disturbed by the neon lights and advertising displays that are sprouting up all over the city. (If he could see it now!) Media changes before his eyes as newspapers disappear or merge with others. He senses a "greater tension, increased irritability" that is, these days, quintessentially tied to New York and the average New Yorker. "The city has never been so uncomfortable," he writes. To White, this comes down to the underlying fear of destruction, the fear that New York has grown to be so large, so important, that there are some who will want to destroy it and may even succeed in doing so. There's a reason many have said White's words seem prophetic.
I'm not sure what you can learn about New York from White's essay that you won't already know. But the writing is elegant, and the powerful closing makes up for any initial slowness. I may not "heart" New York as so many do, but E.B. White simultaneously makes me thankful for the passage of time and wistful for a younger, slightly stripped-down version of the city.
========================================
Quotes From the Book
(Apply your own positive/negative connotations.)
========================================
I think that although many persons are here from some excess of spirit (which caused them to break away from their small town), some, too, are here from a deficiency of spirit, who find in New York a protection, or an easy substitution.
---
It is a miracle that New York works at all. The whole thing is implausible. Every time the residents brush their teeth, millions of gallons of water must be drawn from the Catskills and the hills of Westchester. When a young man in Manhattan writes a letter to his girl in Brooklyn, the love message gets blown to her through a pneumatic tube—pfft—just like that.
---
All dwellers in cities must live with the stubborn fact of annihilation; in New York the fact is somewhat more concentrated because of the concentration of the city itself, and because, of all targets, New York has a certain clear priority. In the mind of whatever perverted dreamer might loose the lightning, New York must hold a steady, irresistible charm.
January 10, 2018
E.B. White's Here Is New York has been described as a 'remarkable, pristine essay', and The New York Times lists it as one of the best ten books ever written about the 'grand metropolis' of the city. White's essay was originally an article written for Holiday magazine; he declined to revise it at all before it was published in book form in 1948. New York is one of my absolute favourite cities, and I have been eager to read White's essay for years; thankfully, my parents bought me a lovely slim hardback copy, introduced by Roger Angell, for Christmas.
In Here Is New York, the reader receives the privilege of going 'arm-in-arm' with White as he strolls around Manhattan. Of course, the view which we receive of the city is an antiquated one - seventy years can hardly pass without a great deal of change, after all. White himself writes of his decision not to revise the piece: 'The reader will find certain observations to be no longer true of the city, owing to the passage of time and the swing of the pendulum.' Angell justifies this lack of revision: 'The thought occurs that this book should now be called Here Was New York, except that White himself has foreseen this dilemma, The tone of his text is already valedictory, and even as he describes the city's gifts he sees alterations "in tempo and temper". Change is what this book is all about.' Angell rather touchingly adds that 'Even as he looked at the great city, [White] was missing what it had been.'
Here Is New York is not a long essay, by any means, and is made up of just 7,500 words. In his introduction, Ansell writes that whilst this book is 'of modest length... it speaks more eloquently about what lasts and what really matters than other, more expansive pieces.' White is not always complimentary about the city, although one can tell that he is impassioned of his chosen topic; rather early on in the essay, he writes: 'The capacity to make such dubious gifts is a mysterious quality of New York. It can destroy an individual, or it can fulfill him, depending a good deal on luck. No one should come to New York to live unless he is willing to be lucky.'
As a modern reader, I was obviously unfamiliar with many of the places which White mentions. However, his descriptions feel wonderfully vivid, as though one could walk around the corner and find oneself somewhere he has mentioned, which has not stood in that particular place for decades. Much of what he says, with regard to the inhabitants of the city for instance, still feels pertinent: 'Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness; natives give it solidity and continuity; but the settlers give it passion.'
Here Is New York has a wonderfully, and sometimes sadly, nostalgic feel to it, and throughout, White's writing is both measured and intelligent. New York is a character in itself throughout the essay, and it is recognised in all of its grit and beauty. I shall end my review with a gorgeous and sweeping description of the city, as White saw it all of those years ago: 'The city is like poetry: it compresses all life, all races and breeds, into a small island and adds music and the accompaniment of internal engines. The island of Manhattan is without any doubt the greatest human concentrate on earth, the poem whose magic is comprehensible to millions of permanent residents but whose full meaning will always remain elusive.'
In Here Is New York, the reader receives the privilege of going 'arm-in-arm' with White as he strolls around Manhattan. Of course, the view which we receive of the city is an antiquated one - seventy years can hardly pass without a great deal of change, after all. White himself writes of his decision not to revise the piece: 'The reader will find certain observations to be no longer true of the city, owing to the passage of time and the swing of the pendulum.' Angell justifies this lack of revision: 'The thought occurs that this book should now be called Here Was New York, except that White himself has foreseen this dilemma, The tone of his text is already valedictory, and even as he describes the city's gifts he sees alterations "in tempo and temper". Change is what this book is all about.' Angell rather touchingly adds that 'Even as he looked at the great city, [White] was missing what it had been.'
Here Is New York is not a long essay, by any means, and is made up of just 7,500 words. In his introduction, Ansell writes that whilst this book is 'of modest length... it speaks more eloquently about what lasts and what really matters than other, more expansive pieces.' White is not always complimentary about the city, although one can tell that he is impassioned of his chosen topic; rather early on in the essay, he writes: 'The capacity to make such dubious gifts is a mysterious quality of New York. It can destroy an individual, or it can fulfill him, depending a good deal on luck. No one should come to New York to live unless he is willing to be lucky.'
As a modern reader, I was obviously unfamiliar with many of the places which White mentions. However, his descriptions feel wonderfully vivid, as though one could walk around the corner and find oneself somewhere he has mentioned, which has not stood in that particular place for decades. Much of what he says, with regard to the inhabitants of the city for instance, still feels pertinent: 'Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness; natives give it solidity and continuity; but the settlers give it passion.'
Here Is New York has a wonderfully, and sometimes sadly, nostalgic feel to it, and throughout, White's writing is both measured and intelligent. New York is a character in itself throughout the essay, and it is recognised in all of its grit and beauty. I shall end my review with a gorgeous and sweeping description of the city, as White saw it all of those years ago: 'The city is like poetry: it compresses all life, all races and breeds, into a small island and adds music and the accompaniment of internal engines. The island of Manhattan is without any doubt the greatest human concentrate on earth, the poem whose magic is comprehensible to millions of permanent residents but whose full meaning will always remain elusive.'
June 24, 2008
What an amazing love letter to a city this is. This essay has got me pining to go back to New York, to set up shop and live in those cramped quarters with those hellish humid summers and subways (oh NOT to drive!!) And though this was written in 1949, when black people were still acceptably referred to as "Negros" and Prohibition was not so long ago, E.B. White still captures the soul of New York that has remained constant. Reading this book, though it refers to now obsolete neighborhoods that have been gentrified for ages now, I feel the familiar spirit of walking the streets, feeling the pulse and poetry of the city, that amazing sense of endless possibility that only New York can provide in its way.
And as much as it's been emphasized how quickly and utterly New York has changed and is always changing, it's incredible how much can really remain the same. Even post-9.11, which we thought would undo it all. On that note, the following passage was intensely unsettling. It is strange to me that it wasn't written in October, 2001. Keep in mind this was 1949, and E.B. White died in 1985. He had remarkable foresight:
"The subtlest change in New York is something people don't speak much about but that is in everyone's mind. The city, for the first time in its long history, is destructible. A single flight of planes no bigger than a wedge of geese can quickly end this island fantasy, burn the towers, crumble the bridges, turn the underground passages into lethal chambers, cremate the millions. The intimation of mortality is part of New York now: in the sound of jets overhead, in the black headlines of the latest edition.
All dwellers in cities must live with the stubborn fact of annihilation; in New York the fact is somewhat more concentrated because of the concentration of the city itself, and because, of all targets, New York has a certain clear priority."
Woah.
This essay was beautiful, dated in a way that doesn't really matter, that is, in fact, as E.B. White foresaw, a pleasure to update in one's own mind. It was written with love, and those who have known New York will mark what has changed and what things they too love that have remained the same. Oh, I want to go hoooooome.
And as much as it's been emphasized how quickly and utterly New York has changed and is always changing, it's incredible how much can really remain the same. Even post-9.11, which we thought would undo it all. On that note, the following passage was intensely unsettling. It is strange to me that it wasn't written in October, 2001. Keep in mind this was 1949, and E.B. White died in 1985. He had remarkable foresight:
"The subtlest change in New York is something people don't speak much about but that is in everyone's mind. The city, for the first time in its long history, is destructible. A single flight of planes no bigger than a wedge of geese can quickly end this island fantasy, burn the towers, crumble the bridges, turn the underground passages into lethal chambers, cremate the millions. The intimation of mortality is part of New York now: in the sound of jets overhead, in the black headlines of the latest edition.
All dwellers in cities must live with the stubborn fact of annihilation; in New York the fact is somewhat more concentrated because of the concentration of the city itself, and because, of all targets, New York has a certain clear priority."
Woah.
This essay was beautiful, dated in a way that doesn't really matter, that is, in fact, as E.B. White foresaw, a pleasure to update in one's own mind. It was written with love, and those who have known New York will mark what has changed and what things they too love that have remained the same. Oh, I want to go hoooooome.
January 23, 2008
A must read for any New Yorker, New York visitor, or lover of the NYC.
The dude gets it right, even 50 years later.
E.B. White's "Here is New York" is a 56 page/7500 word essay about NY.
He begins the essay "On any person who desires such queeer prizes, New York will bestow the gift of lonliness and the gift of privacy." He talks about the fact that you have anonymity in NYC, and can be a hermit, but then are immersed in a concentrated center of cultures/activities/events/people/neighborhoods, that present boundless creative outputs.
And he is very prophetic in the end of the essay, talking about the fragility/vulnerability of the city, and actually talks of attacking planes, and crumbling/destroyed buildings. Very weird. But the essay is great and on point. Must read.
The dude gets it right, even 50 years later.
E.B. White's "Here is New York" is a 56 page/7500 word essay about NY.
He begins the essay "On any person who desires such queeer prizes, New York will bestow the gift of lonliness and the gift of privacy." He talks about the fact that you have anonymity in NYC, and can be a hermit, but then are immersed in a concentrated center of cultures/activities/events/people/neighborhoods, that present boundless creative outputs.
And he is very prophetic in the end of the essay, talking about the fragility/vulnerability of the city, and actually talks of attacking planes, and crumbling/destroyed buildings. Very weird. But the essay is great and on point. Must read.
December 2, 2019
Un ultraconcentrado de impresiones sobre la ciudad y sus habitantes, muy valioso dado el momento en que el autor lo escribió (1949). Hacia el final, una especie de profecía escalofriante: «El cambio más sutil que ha experimentado Nueva York es algo de lo que la gente no habla demasiado pero que está en la imaginación de todos. La ciudad, por vez primera en su larga historia, se ha vuelto vulnerable. Una escuadrilla de aviones poco mayor que una bandada de gansos podría poner fin rápidamente a esta isla de fantasía y quemar las torres, derribar los puentes, convertir los túneles del metro en recintos mortales e incinerar a millones. La intimidad con la muerte forma ahora parte de Nueva York: está en el sonido de los reactores en el cielo y en los negros titulares de la última edición.»
February 3, 2025
February 2025 Review
The vocabulary and references are what make this essay great. I just wish it were longer and that he would discus even more NYC neighborhoods and cultural markers. My NYC days are long behind me now, but I still loved rereading this essay.
May 2018 Review
It’s incredible this essay was written in 1949. It captures the essence of New York perfectly for today. The last bit about planes flying overhead and the UN moving in is ominous in light of 9/11. White predicted far more than he could ever have known. If you have lived in New York, read this.
The vocabulary and references are what make this essay great. I just wish it were longer and that he would discus even more NYC neighborhoods and cultural markers. My NYC days are long behind me now, but I still loved rereading this essay.
May 2018 Review
It’s incredible this essay was written in 1949. It captures the essence of New York perfectly for today. The last bit about planes flying overhead and the UN moving in is ominous in light of 9/11. White predicted far more than he could ever have known. If you have lived in New York, read this.
January 31, 2023
Anyone living in or considering living in New York should view this as required reading — just so beautiful.
I really do be ❤️-ing NY.
I really do be ❤️-ing NY.
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