Dana Goodyear, a staff writer, was on the editorial staff of The New Yorker from 1999 to 2007, when she began writing full time for the magazine. She has written about the director James Cameron, the artist Michael Heizer, the mountain lions of Los Angeles, and eating bugs. She is the author of two collections of poems, “Honey and Junk” and “The Oracle of Hollywood Boulevard.” “Anything That Moves,” her book about foodie culture, was published in the fall of 2013. In 2015, Goodyear was recognized for her piece “Élite Meat” with a James Beard Foundation Journalism Award.
Since statehood, California has pitched itself as a place of reinvention, prosperity, health, and progressivism. But, in the midst of recent wildfires, this supposed Eden is looking increasingly hellish.
Forced out of my house for the first time, I caught a glimmer of what the fire refugees I’ve interviewed over the years knew fully—that eerie slip from normalcy.
Chesa Boudin, a public defender in San Francisco and the son of incarcerated radicals, calls for to-the-studs reform in his candidacy for district attorney.
“Declaration,” a twenty-five-ton sculpture in Venice Beach, is an icon in a city of few monuments. At the end of the summer, it will be broken down and removed unless someone buys it and donates it to the city.
