I felt vindicated, of course–here was my idea, inscribed like law onto the very pages of the beloved object itself! Also, I felt a bit deflated: oh, that’s the point; all I did was correctly interpret their intentions. I’ve uncovered nothing novel, drawn no fresh perspective about the content I am receiving. I get it, clearly, but I don’t get it in a way unique unto myself (see, again: egotism).

Even if (when?) you stop reading The New Yorker for content, though, the content will seep in. An article about collapsing birth rates colored my understanding of modern Korea so strongly—without this context, I don’t think I would have understood the basic premise of Apartment Women in the same way.

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