The New Yorker, 2007-08-13

"Closer Look Dept.: Botanists on Park" / Oliver Sacks
__ When he was asked if ferns show signs of age, he hesitated; the answer is not clear. A fern tends to keep growing, until it outruns its food supply, is ousted by competitors, or (as will happen sooner or later with the Woodsia) becomes so heavy that it falls to the ground. Death is not built in to these plants as it is for us more specialized life forms, with the ticking clocks of our telomeres, our liability to mutations, our running-down metabolisms. But youth is apparent, even in ferns. The young Woodsia are charming: a bright spring green; tiny, like babies' toes; and very soft and vulnerable.

Articles skipped: {Must be a record.}
Richard Preston "An Error In the Code" - What can a rare disorder tell us about human behavior?
Tom Mueller "Slippery Business" - The trade in adulterated olive oil
Jane Mayer "The Black Sites" - A look inside the C.I.A.'s secret interrogation program.
Burkhard Bilger "Falling" - Can you parachute twenty-five miles and survive?

"Man with a Plan: Herbert Spencer's theory of everything" / Steven Shapin
__ Watching Spencer derive concrete social policies from his theory of evolution is like trying to deduce whether to send the kids to private school from a theory of justice. The sledgehammer cracks the nut, but it makes a mess.

"Exit Wounds: The legacy of Indian partition" / Pankaj Mishra
__ Lord Linlithgow, who, as viceroy of India in the crucial period from 1936 to 1943, liked to be accompanied into dinner every evening by a band playing "The Roast Beef of Old England"—a tactless choice of preprandial music in the land of the holy cow.