Recently I’ve been mired by reading “editor’s notes.” Writing one . . . why would that be any different? Don’t get me wrong, this 5th issue rages and has loads of inspiring curated sections, and god knows, tons of reviews. It’s the “editor’s note” in magazines that has been my tedium, and as I can’t seem to find anything of interest in any that I’ve read—including mine—to further benefit the publication in question, I wonder—does anybody read these things? And does it matter? El Nino, the role of the paparazzi, and a host of other different things, because of their timeliness, might come into play, regarding what might don the cover, here or anywhere else. But, why?
“. . . she let me see that sympathy, in a sense of moved understanding, had always been lacking. “But then,” she added ingenuously, “I’ve never really been sure, because I’ve never told anyone my story. Only I take it for granted that, if I haven’t, it’s their fault rather than mine . . .”
—Mrs. Lizzie Hazeldean, Edith Wharton’s “New Year’s Day,” Old New York
Fault? Mrs. Hazeldean would rather play with disinformation as an art, and reckon ignorance comes from acceptable non disclosure—or discreet disclosure: The modernity of life. The Donald does it (marry, unmarry, marry, unmarry), Rudy does it (walk, don’t walk), can zingmagazine do it? Perhaps, perhaps not. But who can resist. Lawrence Welk did it on his honeymoon night—a little of this, and none of that—and of course, Welk reported this dutifully in Wunnerful! Wunnerful! Which in fact, measures up as double cover—twice exposed: innkeeper and American autobiography—all know your secrets, Fern! Back to Mrs. Hazeldean.
“What is it there in the atmosphere of such houses that makes them so enchanting to a fastidious and imaginative youth? Why is it that those women (as the others call them) alone know how to put the awkward at ease, check the familiar, smile a little at the over-knowing, and yet encourage naturalness in all? The difference of atmosphere is felt on the very threshold. The flowers grow differently in their vases, the lamps and easy chairs have found a cleverer way of coming together, the books on the table are the very ones that one is longing to get a hold of. The most perilous coquetry may not be in a woman’s way of arranging her dress but in her way of arranging her drawing-room; and in this art Mrs. Hazeldean excelled.”
—Mr. Parrett, Edith Wharton’s “New Year’s Day,” Old New York
Mrs. Hazeldean and this issue excel.
Devon Dikeou
New York, New York
1998
