Russell Jacoby on the New York Review of Books

… Robert Silvers is regularly celebrated as a ruthless line editor who excises fat and clichés. Several contributors report being chased down at distant removes by messages from Silvers. One author feared a death in his family when, during a cruise in the Aegean, the boat’s captain interrupted him with news of an urgent call. It turned out to be Silvers, questioning the use of one word in a submission.

To an outsider, however, the NYRB does not seem especially well edited. “I enjoyed The Climate Casino, and felt that I learned a lot from it” is a sentence from a recent review. A review of Malcolm Gladwell’s new book on underdogs, after tacking about, summarizes the content and offers no judgment, except to say that Gladwell focuses on “real people” and “brings them wonderfully to life.” Many of the reviews seem too long by half and meander without an argument. Moreover the emotional register of the magazine hardly varies from one piece to another. It is consistently poker-faced, circumspect, and humorless.

The coverage, of course, reflects the interests of the editors. Still, what the NYRB did not address over the years is conspicuous. Marxism and the Frankfurt School hardly appeared in its pages. Giants of post-World War II Germany such as Theodor Adorno did not exist—except for discussions about music. Anglo Marxists like Perry Anderson: ignored, except for one review almost 40 years ago. Critical theory, postmodern and recent French thought, which swept the universities: virtually nothing. Conversely, political-legal theorizing anchored at Harvard and Yale: endlessly pursued …