George Saunders's must-read story in the current New Yorker

I've long been an admirer of George Saunders's short stories; his story in the current New Yorker, Love Letter, is a must-read, and differs somewhat from the typical GS story of the past. He's best known for his imaginative, often funny, often scary stories from sometime the indefinite future, into an era in which social norms are warped and frightfully credible extensions and exaggerations of our current social norms: For example, from my memory, a story about living human beings as part of the exhibits or dioramas in a natural history or a historical museum/theme part (Civilwarland, et al.); or, a world in which the wealthy buy groups of third-world women to exhibit as part of their lawn-displays (Semplica Girls). The current story is also a message from the future, a letter from a 70ish man to his grandson - but it's so close to our present reality as to be even more scary than his more fantastical stories. He writes from a time when the US is (even more) of a police state, and it's terrifying how close it feels to reality - you don't need a weatherman to make sense of this story and to see it as prophetic rather than dystopian. That said, it's still written in GS's witty, playful style - so it's by no means a screed, a rant, or a Cassandra-cry. Rather, it's both touching and dire, a story very much of this moment; sadly, one of his best.