Thurber's 1945 collection transforms ordinary American life into absurdity. Walter Mitty dreams of surgical heroics while his wife drags him through errands ("'Back it up, Mac! Look out for that Buick!' Walter Mitty jammed on the brakes"). The five distinct fantasies—surgeon, accused witness, wartime pilot, patient targeted for experimental surgery, and man facing a firing squad—progressively intensify as Mitty's real-world frustrations mount, culminating in that final poignant image: "Walter Mitty the Undefeated, inscrutable to the last."
"The Catbird Seat" introduces meek Mr. Martin plotting against office-disruptor Ulgine Barrows, whose catchphrase "Are you tearing up the pea patch?" might justify homicide in courts worldwide. "The Lady on the 142" examines mistaken identity on public transportation, showcasing Thurber as Ohio's greatest literary export and America's keenest observer of neurotic behavior.
Autobiographical stories shine brightly—"The Night the Bed Fell" chronicles domestic chaos where his cousin, convinced he would stop breathing during sleep, would "sit up every hour or so during the night, and forcibly inflate his lungs". "The Dog That Bit People" presents cantankerous Muggs, who "bit everybody except mother" and whose funeral attracted "a host of friends and relatives who had been bitten by him." In "The Secret Life of James Thurber," the author confesses, "I used to insist, during a psychoanalytical phase, that I killed my brother...I now know that I never killed my brother," an admission both hilarious and telling.
"A Couple of Hamburgers" depicts marital discord when lunch becomes warfare. "Doc Marlowe" and "The Luck of Jad Peters" explore small-town American characters with anthropological precision yet comic intent.
Thurber exists as literary humor's essential voice, read globally in translation from French to Japanese. His observations equal Chekhov's insight and Gogol's strangeness—capturing specific anxieties of mid-century America yet speaking to global human experience.
"The Greatest Man in the World" satirizes celebrity worship through aviator Jacky Smurch, whose heroic feat contrasts with his unsuitable personality. "The Evening's at Seven" and "One is a Wanderer" consider time and solitude with wisdom and wit. "The Remarkable Case of Mr. Bruhl" and "The Macbeth Murder Mystery" display Thurber's literary playfulness, while "A Ride with Olympy" and "Snapshot of a Dog" contain observations about daily life funnier and wiser than entire philosophy departments.
These deceptively simple tales resonate with anyone who has ever constructed an alternate reality to escape life's disappointments—which is to say, all of us. This collection is an exploration of how imagination becomes our most precious resource when reality proves too constraining for our spirits to soar. Thurber shows us our eccentricities as badges of honor rather than failings—a gift worth all five stars.
Rating: ★★★★ 1/2 - Reading Thurber equals discovering your quirks qualify you for club membership in humanity: devastating yet consoling, exactly why cocktails exist.
"... He never killed, or even chased, a squirrel. I don’t know why. He had his own philosophy about such things. He never ran barking after wagons or automobiles. He didn’t seem to see the idea in pursuing something you couldn’t catch, or something you couldn’t do anything with, even if you did catch it. A wagon was one of the things he couldn’t tug along with his mighty jaws, and he knew it. Wagons, therefore, were not a part of his world. Swimming was his favourite recreation. The first time he ever saw a body of water (Alum Creek), he trotted nervously along the steep bank for a while, fell to barking wildly, and finally plunged in from a height of eight feet or more. I shall always remember that shining, virgin dive. Then he swam upstream and back just for the pleasure of it, like a man. It was fun to see him battle upstream against a stiff current, struggling and growling every foot of the way. He had as much fun in the water as any person I have known. You didn’t have to throw a stick in the water to get him to go in. Of course, he would bring back a stick to you if you did throw one in. He would even have brought back a piano if you had thrown one in. That reminds me of the night, way after midnight, when he went a-roving in the light of the moon and brought back a small chest of drawers that he found somewhere — how far from the house nobody ever knew; since it was Rex, it could easily have been half a mile. There were no drawers in the chest when he got it home, and it wasn’t a good one — he hadn’t taken it out of anybody’s house; it was just an old cheap piece that somebody had abandoned on a trash heap. Still, it was something he wanted, probably because it presented a nice problem in transportation. It tested his mettle..."