In this edition: January begins, finding beauty, powerful blues, toxic water, and begonia batons.
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The Top 5 Longreads of the Week
Showcasing stories from Nicholas Hune-Brown, Nick Sturm, Samanth Subramanian, Kristin Idaszak, and Sy Safransky.
When Baking and Real Estate Collide
For The New Yorker, Anna Wiener explores the cuisine-real-estate business model and traces the rise of Tartine, the artisanal San Francisco bakery known for its delicious breads and pastries and hip, airy spaces. How did this beloved spot in the Mission become a world-renowned brand? And is this food empire really what it seems? Certain […]
The Shadow and The Ghost
“In interwar Brooklyn, a woman who called herself Reverend Mother claimed that she could perform miracles. The price was her followers’ adoration and obedience — and in some cases their lives.”
How to Scam Like a Celebrity
“His alleged victims say he bribed New York Police Department officials, stole millions in diamonds, and persuaded Floyd Mayweather Jr. and Kim Kardashian to shill for a scam cryptocurrency. So why is Jona Rechnitz still free?”
My Grandmother’s Dark Secret
The music emanating from a storefront church in Brooklyn was a death knell: Once my grandmother heard it, her childhood was over.
The Top 5 Longreads of the Week
Recommending notable stories by Kori Suzuki, D. Watkins, Mike Scalise, Emily Polk, and Vassi Chamberlain.
Into the Devil’s Jaw
How a a wrong turn led to the largest peacetime disaster in American naval history.
The Longreads Questionnaire, Featuring Neal Allen and Anne Lamott
The authors of the new book Good Writing share their insights on reading, writing, and their day-to-day life.
Loneliness, Power, and the Top 5 of the Week
“I want to be left alone, but I don’t want to be lonely.” Hanif Abdurraqib writes this about a tension that dominated the career of singer Phyllis Hyman—but it also feels like a familiar plea in this dim, early-January week, when many of us leave the chaos of extended family and drift back into our own homes, our own jobs, and perhaps our own small pockets of solitude.


