Josh Shenk

Roger Angell is 93-years old. His body has “become sort of a table potato”. He is a “a world-class complainer”. And his essay on life as a nonagenarian is the best writing I have read in a long time. Angell gently destroys aged stereotypes about aged people, with the panache one would expect from E.B. White’s stepson. No slouch, this guy.

Beginning with his physical condition and trips to the hospital (“my human-wreckage gym”), the New Yorker writer describes life in the nineties in a way that undermines the conventional notion of ageing as decline. He is still working and, yes, loving, or at least thinking about loving. Sure, an eye is blurry and a knee is busted. But why do we think physical wear and tear means decline? Here is an old man that is living in every sense that remains possible. Decline? Try ascent.