Genius in Disguise:: Harold Ross of the New Yorker

by Thomas Kunkel

Book Overview

This hugely entertaining biography of the founding editor of The New Yorker tells the diverting story of how Ross and the brilliant group of people he gathered around him--including James Thurber,... This description may be from another edition of this product.

• Format: Hardcover
• Language: English
• ISBN: 0679418377
• ISBN13: 9780679418375
• Release Date: March 1995
• Publisher: Random House (NY)
• Length: 497 Pages
• Weight: 2.06 lbs.
• Dimensions: 1.6" x 6.7" x 9.6"

Customer Reviews

Genial and engrossing biography.

Genius in Disguise is the kind of biography which is entertaining beyond the limits of its subject matter. Even someone who would not think that they would enjoy a biography of a media figure should find a lot to like in this engaging book. Using anecdote, history, and a wide range of sources, Kunkel paints a picture of Ross as a man, which in turn teaches us a lot about the New Yorker and the magazine industry. It is published with The New Yorker Prospectus, an article called "Theory and Practice of Editing New Yorker Articles", and Ross Query Sheets as appendices. Additionally, Kunkel provides a selected bibliography with helpful pointers to further reading. This book would make a good companion piece to Remembering Mr. Shawn's New Yorker by Ved Mehta. I would recommend it for fans of The New Yorker, people interested in the Algonquin Round Table, or simply for anyone with an appreciation for well-written literary biography.

Enjoyed Every Word

This wonderful biography tells the story of Harold Ross, The New Yorker's founding editor, and his making and management of this magazine from 1925 until his death in 1951. In the book, Kunkel often takes the position, popular in Ross's time, that Ross's success was improbable, since he was, basically, a tramp newspaperman with a poor education, before he came to New York to build his career in publishing. But throughout his life, Ross made great professional (not personal) choices. And, he had a formidable intellect and curiosity, terrific taste, integrity, and an eye for talent.In part, Ross was underestimated in his lifetime because he had the unfashionable style in the office of a neurotic worrier. Here's Ogden Nash describing the publisher on the job: "His expression is always that of a man who has just swallowed a bug. Once a day at least he calls you into his office and says, "This magazine is going to hell." He never varies the phrase. Then he says, "We haven't got any organization. I'm licked. We've got too many geniuses around and nobody to take any responsibility. He has smoked five cigarettes while saying that. Then he takes a drink of water, prowls up and down, cries "My God!" loudly and rapidly, and you go out and try to do some work." A captivating book.

"We're a family magazine, goddammit."

This book is a solid and readable biography not only of a man but of a magazine, for The New Yorker strikes many of us as a living entity in an age in which most magazines are stiffs. The most interesting part of it is the actual creation of the magazine, from the initial prospectus (still accurate of the current mag in many ways) to the gradual assembling of a poorly-paid but nonpareil team of writers nurtured by one of the most eccentric editors ever to helm a major publication. The rest is also interesting, if ultimately rather sad. Ross came from a modest background and got his feet wet in military publications. He was never easy to be around, and often bullied writers and friends and wives (several became ex-writers, -friends and -wives) over the course of his life. He struggled financially most of his life, and was cheated out of a fair amount of money by a personal secretary who committed suicide rather than face the truth. Yet he brought out the best in a cadre of brilliant writers and artists (Ross never thought of cartoonists who did interior drawings and covers as less than that), and the magazine, no matter what you think of it, changed what one can do and be. By the time that Ross died, he had become a legend. Kunkel does a fair amount of debunking of that legend, while making clear why Ross accomplished what he did. The overall view is one of guarded admiration of its central figure. The development is thematic rather than strictly chronological, so there are variations on certain themes as the story progresses, but I wasn't bothered by it. The book doesn't seem long despite its length. I recommend it for anyone interested in the people behind one of the publishing phenomenons of the modern era. (My subject line is something Ross said when complaints surfaced that The New Yorker was getting too liberal in its epithets. It's related to the statement in the original prospectus that The New Yorker is "not for the old lady from Dubuque".)

Comprehensive look at the inventor of the modern magazine...

Harold Ross, a mostly forgotten man, gave his heart and soul to The NewYorker, and ultimately, to all of us. In this well-researched biography, we get a first-hand tour through the mind of Ross, a visionary/pessimist, described by James Thurber as "a man capable of mood-swings...from the wildest flights of fancy, to the darkest pessimism." It would almost seem Kunkel had ridden the rails with this "hobo", or had been a short-lived employee, perhaps one of "The Miracle Men." Ross's life was wonderful, full of the humanity of the day, and the pathos, the tragedy and heartache, the love and respect he enjoyed; albeit with great discomofort. Kunkel, himself a newspaperman, does not treat the editor with kid gloves, but with an honesty that is neither sensational, nor bludgeoning. Kunkel triumphs...

This book should be required reading in journalism school.

This book has been a oasis of pleasure. I feel that I gained an insider's view into the fascinating interactions of personalities involved in the creation of The New Yorker. Ross was a thoroughly intriguing person and unsurpassed writer/editor. The book is exceptionally well researched and written. Thank you! Margaret Benefield Bohn