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New Yorkers

New Yorkers

4.0 20
by Cathleen Schine, Leanne Shapton (Illustrator)

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A New York Times Book Review Editors' Choice

Inspired by her account in The New Yorker of adopting a profoundly troubled dog named Buster, acclaimed author Cathleen Schine's The New Yorkers is a brilliantly funny story of love, longing, and overcoming the shyness that leashes us. On a quiet little block near Central Park, five lonely


A New York Times Book Review Editors' Choice

Inspired by her account in The New Yorker of adopting a profoundly troubled dog named Buster, acclaimed author Cathleen Schine's The New Yorkers is a brilliantly funny story of love, longing, and overcoming the shyness that leashes us. On a quiet little block near Central Park, five lonely New Yorkers find one another, compelled to meet by their canine companions. Over the course of four seasons, they emerge from their apartments, in snow, rain, or glorious sunshine to make friends and sometimes fall in love. A love letter to a city full of surprises, The New Yorkers is an enchanting comedy of manners (with dogs!) from one of our most treasured writers.

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher

“Sprightly, romantic, occasionally sad but always diverting . . . The New Yorkers will inspire you to sit, stay, and beg for more.” —Connie Ogle, The Miami Herald

“Schine is a sly writer with considerable dog and people skills. . . . Fine and precise [in] execution . . . Filled with a sweetness of life.” —The Boston Globe

“Poignant and frankly funny. Schine has a gift for illuminating wholly believable yet somehow unexpected characters with a single line.” —Chicago Tribune

“Schine writes about her characters with affection and humor . . . and has created a love letter to the city that even a rural cat fancier could enjoy.” —The Christian Science Monitor

“There's plenty of unexpected romance, but it would be a mistake to think that this is merely a love story about dogs or their people. It's really about Schine's love for the city that contains them--a Manhattan of the not-so-distant past. . . . [A] rich snapshot of urban life.” —Time Out (New York)

“Schine's sleek little parable about love and loss in the big city is neatly layered with intersecting stories of each character. A sweetly savvy paean to dogs and the people who love them.” —Baltimore Sun

Publishers Weekly

Just as the Upper East Side of Manhattan is the setting for stories about rich and evil rich women who oppress and depress everyone around them, the Upper West Side is the scene for romances that bud in the park or neighborhood cafes. Schine's frothy novel is Harry meets Sally and Rover. Walking her pit bull, Jody falls for Everett, even though he sometimes sports a pink umbrella, which Jody decides is a sign of masculine security. Polly forms a triangle with her mutt and her brother, George, who is a bit of a puppy himself. Nicole Roberts reads this romantic comedy with enthusiasm, but she isn't very strong on character voices. Polly sounds identical to Jody. George, Everett, Simon and the other male characters also sound pretty much alike. Only Doris, a local with a sharp tongue, has a suitable voice. Despite the lack of the true performance that this novel deserves, the sitcom cast and quick pace of Roberts's reading make this an amusing summer listen. Simultaneous release with the Sarah Crichton Books hardcover (Reviews, Feb. 26). (May)

Copyright 2007 Reed Business Information
Library Journal
The author of Rameau's Niece writes about a modest little corner of New York where people are brought together and their lives changed by their dogs. Copyright 2007 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
"Love me, love my dog" might be the mantra of Schine's warm and fuzzy seventh novel (She Is Me, 2003, etc.). It's a romantic-comic roundelay set on and near a quiet, genteel street in New York City's Upper West Side, near Central Park. An amiable omniscient narrator introduces us to a neighborhood populated by urban professionals and students and favored by canines and their owners and "walkers." We first meet music teacher Jody, who deals with the approach of her 40th year and her loneliness by adopting a gentle part-pit bull whom she names Beatrice. Enter Everett, a recently divorced, dashing 50 year old burdened by fraying relationships with his ex-wife and college student daughter-and almost awoken from his lethargic egoism by Jody's obvious crush on him. Other humans appear, meet, mix, pair up, argue and fight, variously get together or break apart: handsome underachiever George, and his high-energy sister Polly (whose mutt Howdy is employed by George as a chick magnet); "asocial" social worker Simon, whose fixation on fox hunting (in Virginia) slowly yields to his love for Jody; gay restaurateur Jamie, who's supporting five kids and several ex-boyfriends; intemperate guidance counselor Doris, aflame with plans for "canine reform." So it goes, a kind of Midsummer Night's Dream minus the energy and charm. Most of the aforementioned urbanites are moderately interesting people, though none has a tenth of the personality exhibited by Beatrice and Howdy. The novel basically spins its wheels, even during the 2003 blackout, which you'd expect might rouse its characters to some kind of action. Everett does a passable imitation of Jack Nicholson's character in As Good as It Gets, but thenarrative is otherwise very nearly as generic as it gets. Comfy and inoffensive, but lacks bite. Agent: Molly Friedrich/Aaron M. Priest Literary Agency

Product Details

Publication date:
Edition description:
First Edition
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Product dimensions:
5.54(w) x 8.25(h) x 0.86(d)

Read an Excerpt


"I live here! I live here!"

We’ll begin our story with Jody. She had lived on the block in her studio apartment since college, a luxurious accommodation at the time, certainly when compared to the dorm room she was leaving. After twenty years, the one room no longer struck her as luxurious, but the morning light was still lovely, the stabilized rent remained artificially low, and the large room with its beautiful bay window, high ceiling, and molding in the shape of twisted rope continued to be her home.

In the back of the room there was a step up into a doll-size kitchen, and behind that another step led to the bathroom. Jody had recently painted the apartment herself—a soft yellow color called Nigerian Peony. The moldings and the ceiling, of which she was particularly proud, were white and glossy. Whenever the room glowed in the sunlight from the big bay window, Jody congratulated herself on the serenity of her well-ordered existence, reassured that the weekends spent atop a tall ladder had been worth the effort. She kept the ladder in the linen closet with her expensive and carefully folded sheets. Jody was frugal in general, buying her clothes at reasonably priced chain stores, but sheets were in an entirely different category. Sheets were sacrificial objects offered with fear and humility to the gods of the night. Each night, Jody stretched out beneath the smooth Egyptian cotton not as a sybarite, but as a penitent, a pilgrim, a seeker, and what she sought was sleep.

In the middle of the night on which our story begins, as in the middle of most nights, Jody lay in bed and worried. She was a cheerful person by day, almost to the point of officious-ness, but at night she suffered. The fragments of her busy life loomed above her like ghosts, like the IRS, like mothers-in-law. She stared into the darkness and faced her faults and her omissions. It was a heavy darkness that surrounded her at these times, both hot and close, the breath of recrimination, and, at the same time, vast, icy, and uncaring. She tried counting, of course, and counting backward, as if she were about to undergo an operation and had just been administered the anesthetic. She tried singing, sometimes the tune of a piece she was practicing, sometimes Gilbert and Sullivan songs, a staple of her household growing up, to which she knew all the lyrics. Sometimes she would have the impulse to sing the most melodic bits loud and clear, letting her voice ring out in the dark bedroom. But she would stop herself. Even if no one was beside her, and it was usually the case that no one was beside her, the sound of her voice among the demons of her sleeplessness was jarring and ridiculous.

She would tell people at school the next day that she hadn’t slept a wink. This was one of the few compensations for her insomnia: the other teachers nodded not with sympathy, exactly, but with understanding and, most important, with respect. They, too, had known sleepless nights, but they had eventually come to admit that Jody was the most sleepless of them all. It conveyed upon her a certain status that she had come almost to treasure.

Jody always smiled as she described her battle to fall asleep. Her habitual and sincere modesty fell away and she became positively smug. Perhaps she would have behaved differently if she had looked as sleepless as she was. But Jody’s eyes were clear and bright and no dark circles swelled beneath them. With her short blonde hair, and dressed in crisp ironed blouses and tight-fitting pants, she was pretty in an open, sunny way. She smelled fresh and clean and moved with a soft, invigorated energy. The children loved her, she worked hard, and people were grateful to her. They turned to her when they needed assistance or counsel on the job, and though she was only thirty-nine years old and looked younger, she was referred to affectionately as "Good Old Jody."

Her colleagues respected her and they were friendly to her, but not one of them was her friend. Jody sometimes wondered if this was her fault. But then, who else’s fault could it be? It’s not the mailman’s fault, she would remind herself. It’s not the vice principal’s fault. It’s not even the Republicans’ fault. Wherein, then, did her own fault lie? This was a mystery to Jody, one she pondered at night in bed.

Naturally, she had gotten herself a dog. She originally set out to get a cat, thinking that as she seemed to be moving headlong into eccentric spinsterhood, she should begin collecting some of its accoutrements. But when she arrived at the ASPCA, she saw an elderly dog, an oversize pit bull mix so white it was almost pink, a female, who wagged her tail with such stately pessimism that Jody took the huge beast home. She named the dog Beatrice, though she had sworn not to give her new pet a person’s name, thinking it faddish and particularly pathetic for a childless woman. But the dog seemed to her to deserve a real name. Beatrice was not a youngster. The ASPCA had picked her up wandering the streets of the Bronx. Half starved and covered with ticks, she had obviously survived a harsh and difficult existence. Beatrice was a name with inherent dignity. Jody felt the old dog deserved that.

Fattened up and well groomed now, Beatrice was a noble-looking animal with enigmatic blue eyes that constantly sought out Jody’s with measured determination. She moved slowly, and though she was not playful, she was amiable and particularly loved strangers, throwing her great weight at them in a joyful greeting, unaware, presumably, that such a welcome might not always be, in fact, welcome. She trusted everyone, which was a testament to her gentle nature, as no one until now had ever earned her trust. But Beatrice seemed to be above the failures of the world, and they far beneath her. She had seen a lot, she seemed to be saying, and so nothing surprised her, nothing frightened her, nothing fazed her. She was lucky to be alive, and she seemed to know it.

Jody turned on the light and looked at Beatrice sprawled on the rug beside the bed. She petted the dog’s wide forehead. Beatrice’s head was big and boxy, like a child’s drawing of a dog’s head. She seemed to grin, her mouth and jaw were so wide. Her tongue lolled out like a great pink washcloth. Then Beatrice lifted her square head and licked Jody’s hand. Jody scratched the dog’s ragged ears and thought, I have become an eccentric music teacher with a dog instead of an eccentric music teacher with a cat. I take brisk walks in the rain with my dog by my side instead of curling up by the electric fire with a cup of tea and my cat on my lap. Although maybe, she thought, as Beatrice heaved her pale bulk onto the bed, there’s not all that much difference. And she smiled at her fate. She had gotten Beatrice eight months ago, eight months of blissful, energetic adoration and companionship on both sides. When she was lonely, she would glance at Beatrice. When she needed someone to talk to, she would talk to Beatrice. Jody felt that her life, though hardly complete by customary standards, would do very well.

Then, Jody met Everett and fell in love. This occurred just two days after the sleepless night described above. Jody, after a long week teaching small children to sing in harmony and tap wooden blocks to a 3/4 beat, had set out for a leisurely weekend walk with Beatrice. It was February and the sky was getting lighter each evening, but this particular afternoon it was snowing lightly, and the world was gray. In the park, Beatrice was as excited as a child, pushing her nose along the thin white film on the grass, rolling wildly, her muscular legs kicking the air. Amused and touched, Jody stayed even longer than usual, though it began snowing in earnest and she was wet through by the time they hea

Meet the Author

Cathleen Schine is the author of The Love Letter and Rameau's Niece, among other novels. She has contributed to The New Yorker, The New York Review of Books, The New York Times Magazine, and The New York Times Book Review.

Brief Biography

New York, New York, and Venice, California
Date of Birth:
Place of Birth:
Bridgeport, Connecticut
B.A., Barnard College, 1976

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New Yorkers 4.1 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 20 reviews.
Guest More than 1 year ago
At first I was not sure if I would like the book,but as I read more I got caught up in these crazy dog loving New Yorkers. It made me feel like I wanted to move to new york and get a dog'which I don't like dogs'.
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Anonymous More than 1 year ago
A light read, sometimes difficult to keep the characters sorted, but overall enjoyable.
tipstopten More than 1 year ago
A light, enjoyable, easy read about strangers living on the same block in a small area in NYC who meet mostly through their dogs and interact in interesting ways. I loved it!
Mayosister More than 1 year ago
This was a light, easy book to read, and anyone who loves dogs, romance, and NYC will enjoy it. It was a great vacation book - - you could lose yourselves in the characters and intertwining stories of their lives.
kmm More than 1 year ago
This was my first but definitely not last Cathleen Shine book. Her writing flows so effortlessly just as another favorite author---Maeve Binchy---As one who walks dogs and has made so many acquaintances through our mutual past time, it's simple to relate to many of the characters.
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Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I picked this up because it talked about a dog named Buster on the back cover (my dog is a Buster). There is no 'Buster' in the book but it is a delightful story of an odd group of people who live in the same New York neighborhood -- it is the story of how their lives intermingle and how sometimes it is the 'dog' that brings out the best in people. If you are a dog owner, you'll truly enjoy this book. I don't fall in love with an author on just one read, but I'm going to read another Cathleen Schine book. She may become one of my favorites.
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GCG More than 1 year ago
I absolutely loved this story. It was, for the most part, upbeat and funny. The characters were well-rounded and thought out and could have been many of the people living in my own neighborhood. Admittedly I am a dog lover. The fact that the story was centered around how the characters interacted with their dogs and how much they loved them was very enjoyable. You don't have to love animals to appreciate the story but my guess is that you will by the time you're done reading or listening to it.
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Guest More than 1 year ago
This is a great light hearted story.It is interesting how true that dogs introduce one to so many differant people.I lived in a fantastic dog neighborhood in Sf and it kept me laughing.
Guest More than 1 year ago
Nothing makes me happier than a new novel from Cathleen Schine. Her books remind me of my favorite French movies, though this one is set in New York and called The New Yorkers. It captures the city with affection and sly humor and a cast of memorable humans and even more memorable dogs-- the perfect book to linger over in a sidewalk café. And Schine can sum up the complications of life with a marvelous light comic touch. One character¿s ¿wrathful daze¿ is attributed to the fact that ¿[s]he had pushed away the only man she had almost wanted to marry.¿
GailCooke More than 1 year ago
'New York, New York, It's a wonderful town!' Composers sing New York's praises, poets rhyme its virtues, diarists trace adventures there, and authors set tales in this iconic city. Cathleen Schine, author of The Love Letter, has written another billet-doux with The New Yorkers, a brilliant, comic take on one city block in Manhattan and those who live there. Said block is just a short stroll from Central Park which, of course, made it a favorite of dog owners and professional dog walkers. '...so the street, not distinguished by great beauty to begin with, was not terribly clean either. And yet, it was the loveliest street I have ever lived on. And the most interesting.' It is, indeed, the most interesting as it is home to school teachers, eccentrics the retired, up-and-coming wannabes, the homeless, and all manner of outre characters, each drawn with perception and precision by this accomplished author. Jody, known by her colleagues as 'Good Old Jody,' has lived in her studio apartment for 20 years. It is there that she endures sleepless nights then greets the day with a smile. A spinster, as she sometimes thinks of herself, she decides to get a cat. However, when she visits the ASPCA she finds an aged pit bull mix who had been found somewhere in the Bronx. A female, the dog is huge with a great lolling tongue and Jody names her Beatrice. On a particularly cold, icy day Jody is walking Beatrice when she sees Everett, another block dweller. He is a man of 50, divorced, bored, depressed, despite Prozac, but possessed of a stunning smile. Jody immediately falls in love, and takes to daily walks with the bow legged Beatrice past Everett's door. Polly is a young woman who, as a child was awed by the sound of her own voice. She is pretty, demanding and suffering from a love affair gone terribly wrong. She moves onto the block when she discovers an abandoned puppy in an apartment closet. It's not long before her brother, George, shares the apartment with her and the puppy, now known as Howdy. 'George, twenty-eight years old, had been a child prodigy. No one knew it. Except George.' When we meet him he still has not discovered his exact area of expertise. Then, there is Simon, who lives in a ground floor one bedroom apartment. He is 48, and takes the subway to work every day, where he labors as 'an asocial social worker in the far-off fields of Riverdale and carried a briefcase swollen with files pertaining to those whom he thought of as the unfortunate, the unhappy, and the unkempt.' There are more characters, of course, each finely painted, all memorable, and very human. As the days pass the lives of these people intersect in different ways, and we are privy to their thoughts and aspirations, their successes and their failures. The New Yorkers is fun, sophisticated, revealing. Cathleen Schine tells a doggone good story - don't miss it! - Gail Cooke