The Art of Rejection

Celebrating 100 years of The New Yorker

Dear Sir,

Thank you for submitting your cartoons to our editorial department for review. Since The New Yorker does not consider unsolicited material, it takes us many months to process thousands of submissions before we respond to each artist’s inquiry with a generic letter of rejection.

Yes, I said generic. I know because I drafted that letter myself. Do you know how long it took? Two days. I’m proud of how it turned out—proud because I was careful not to offend anyone while maintaining firm opposition.

A good generic rejection letter is a work of art. It’s literature. It’s psychology. It’s humanity. How does one utter the simplest word in English—no—without sounding harsh? It’s poetry, I tell you. It is a sonnet.

By now you’ve noticed, Sir, that you have not received such a letter from us. No letter praising your valiant efforts, encouraging your draftsmanship, or offering suggestions on how to translate your observations into witty, relatable cartooning. No such letter was ever sent.

Instead, I’m taking the extra time from my editorial duties to write you this personalized missive.

You, Sir, are a complete imbecile. You have no faculty whatsoever for recognizing irony, whimsy, or paradox. There is no trace of quirkiness in your doodles, nor the slightest understanding of what a cartoon is. The cretinous trifles you’ve submitted are not only unfunny—they are insultingly crude.

Here at The New Yorker, we look for inclusiveness and diversity—sensitivity to the underprivileged and the marginalized. We’ve forged a new paradigm of sophistication while keeping our finger on America’s pulse. We speak to the country in a crisp voice of reason. We make a difference. And you, Sir, are a menace to everything we stand for.

Cease and desist, please.

Or, in a word I abhor: NO.

Regrettably,

(unintelligible)