I used to say that I would never subscribe to any magazine/journal/whatever that wouldn't have me.

I won't list off "the untouchables" here, but suffice it to say, The New Yorker is among them. Then, a few months ago, I received a solicitation to subscribe to said magazine. The subscription was going to run about twenty bucks. I figured, I pay that much at the newsstand for four or five issues each year; I might as well break my own rule and subscribe.

The first issue that arrived in the mail contained a story by Nadine Gordimer that I have yet to read. The second issue contained "Puppy" by George Saunders. When I opened the magazine and scanned the table of contents to see what fiction was in it, I literally smiled. I figured the twenty bucks I plunked down on the subscription was well spent.

If you haven't read Saunders' story yet, you can check it out here. Or, you know, you can always subscribe.

N.B. I don't mean to diss Nadine Gordimer here. I plan on getting to that story tomorrow. I remember reading a collection of her stories in a guard shack just north of Denton, Texas, a number of years back that I really loved.

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