| | | | | Adrian Fisher has devoted the past four decades to bringing back mazes, long regarded as historical curiosities. He has created more than seven hundred, in forty-two countries. I cannot recommend attempting an Adrian Fisher maze in the company of its designer. At Escot, a country house and estate in Devon, England, we spent a full hour lost within a hedge maze just half the size of an American-football field. On a Wednesday afternoon in early September, a handful of families were also crunching through its wide gravel paths, between well-maintained beechwood hedges that turn from verdant lime green to autumnal rust as the seasons change. Small kids raced ahead in twos and threes, shouting confidently that they knew the way. Their mothers and grandmothers moved at a more leisurely pace, carrying sweaters and snacks. And, as I became hopelessly lost, Fisher provided a teasing commentary in the old-fashioned tones of a zany children’s-TV presenter. “Which way should we go?” he asked at a four-way junction under a pergola. “I don’t know! We are spoiled for choice.” As I returned to the entrance for the third time in thirty minutes, he asked me whether I’d noticed that we’d probably already walked twice the length of the maze. And, when I foolishly dared to speculate that I’d finally found the right path, only to end up on the other side of the hedge from the goal, he gaily pretended to commiserate: “Who would have guessed? What a beastly joke!” Most enraging of all, he swore that he also had no idea of the correct route, having designed the maze way back in 2004. —Nicola Twilley, from “How the World’s Foremost Maze-Maker Leads People Astray” Read the rest of the story here. | | | | From the News Desk | Our Columnists Elon Musk and the Dangers of Another Stock BubbleThe current mania for electric-vehicle makers, from Tesla to Lucid to Rivian, is reminiscent of the dot-com boom and bust. By John Cassidy | | Office Space The Great Cubicle EscapeWhat happens when daydreams about moving to the country suddenly become possible? By Cal Newport | | Letter from Europe The Uncertain Fate of an Alpine Mountain LodgeBecause of melting glaciers, the Rifugio Guide del Cervino, a rustic hangout for skiers and mountaineers, may be located in Italy, Switzerland, or both. By Zoey Poll | | | | | Editor’s Pick |  Poems “Work Lunch”A poet’s freewheeling odyssey through American appetites inspires meditations on labor, loss, and the collective costs of our daily bread. By Lee Bains | | | | | Culture Dept. | Cultural Comment The Pointless End of Legacy AdmissionsWhenever a major reform is announced from within the admissions world, it’s a good idea to ask yourself what new powers the admissions department has given itself. By Matt Feeney | | The Front Row “House of Gucci”: Lady Gaga Steals a Style-Challenged Yarn of the Fashion WorldIn spite of his superb cast, Ridley Scott reduces a fascinating real-life story of family conflict, financial chicanery, and revenge into mere anecdotes. By Richard Brody | | Grownup in the Room Never Tweet, Unless You’re Dionne WarwickThe singer, just shy of her eighty-first birthday, visits a gallery show in Newark, called “Dionne Warwick: Queen of Twitter,” dedicated to her digital barbs. By Bruce Handy | | | | | Fun & Games Dept. |  Name Drop Play Today’s Quiz Can you guess the notable person in six clues or fewer? By Andy Kravis |  Daily Shouts If You Ask Me: Timothée Chalamet Saves the Universe Because the Future Needs Great Hair There are lots of approaches to fantasy material, and I’m keen on both classic grandeur and furrowed-brow insanity. By Libby Gelman-Waxner | |  Sketchbook “A New York City Field Trip” Two cartoonists walk into a bar. By Roz Chast and Emily Flake |  Daily Cartoon Tuesday, November 23rd By Farley Katz | | | | | - P.S. The World Chess Championship starts tomorrow, and Magnus Carlsen will be defending his title as world champion. Carlsen didn’t start playing chess regularly until he was almost eight years old, as D. T. Max wrote in a Profile, but he soon began playing competitions: “Carlsen was small and cute, with candid eyes and uncombed hair. He brought along HobNobs and comic books. The combination of his cherubic face, dangling legs, and Donald Duck lulled his opponents. It felt like competing against the boy in ‘The Red Balloon.’ ” Carlsen’s father recalls that, at a 2002 championship, one player exclaimed in disgust, “I lost to that little prick?”
| | | | Today’s newsletter was written by Jessie Li. | | | | | | | |
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