July 1961
‘Writers of comedy have outlook whereas writers of tragedy have, according to them, insight’. This remark of Mr. Thurber’s, which might be described as a lance with a lantern bobbing at its end, occurs in one of his more serious moments in this newest collection of twenty-four pieces, and to me, one of the most fascinating aspects of the book is the range displayed in it, so that one would not - like the lady in Iowa - dream of asked Mr. Thurber ‘how do you get through the day?’ The truth is that he does get through the day without contriving to bypass it - as he feels she may be suggesting - and not only his day, but his nights as well, although the latter involved insomniac preoccupations with the private and public lives of most of the alphabet. In view of these, this book can only be described as a bedside book for those who a) cannot sleep at all anyway, or b) can’t keep awake and are willing to try anything, as the night life of Thurber’s mind’s eye is far from soporific. For him, words, and the letters of which they are composed have a kind of physical life where their appearance as well as their meaning is taken passionately into account; he has muscles for the exercise which generally speaking are only acquired by poets, and although it seems a doubtful form of relaxation for Mr. Thurber, it must be marvellously restful for the words: word-watching does give the word every chance to get away unscathed, whereas shooting off your mouth simply murders the poor things before one has seen the dots of their i’s.
There are also many interesting reflections upon time: a delicious fable about a clock-eating ogre (I don’t think anyone has succeeded with fables since Stevenson) and an anxious prognostication of future dolphinity - their schools, as he points out, unlike ours, are on the increase, and he foresees a thoughtful and brilliant dolphin writing about The Decline and Fall of Man. There is a dazzling essay on Henry James, which like all proper appreciation, really attracts the reader to its subject, and there are many conversation pieces of the kind we have so luckily come to expect. He seems unlucky in birds, cats, and casual female acquaintances at cocktail parties - on the other hand, dog’s best friend is clearly Thurber; he has also a kindly, if resigned understanding of his own species, and he certainly keeps the figures out of speech.