1000 words

I’m not saying the current crop of New Yorker fiction writers are fit to sharpen the pencils of Whitman and Chekhov.

But you’ve got to admit, the Wordle cloud generated from the fiction dept’s RSS feed is just as interesting as the “Song of Myself” cloud–if not as sublime. The same holds true comparing the hip little Yorkers to the cloud produced from Constance Garnett’s translation of “The Lady with the Pet Dog” and a few other stories.

(Bob Dylan’s song titles beat them all.)