"The noblest study of mankind is Man, says Man," says Thurber. But anyway he (Thurber, that is) here continues the study, fooling no one by putting it in the form of fables. People who already know everything there is to know about people shouldn't bother reading this book. Others need it badly.
Thurber was born in Columbus, Ohio to Charles L. Thurber and Mary Agnes (Mame) Fisher Thurber. Both of his parents greatly influenced his work. His father, a sporadically employed clerk and minor politician who dreamed of being a lawyer or an actor, is said to have been the inspiration for the small, timid protagonist typical of many of his stories. Thurber described his mother as a "born comedienne" and "one of the finest comic talents I think I have ever known." She was a practical joker, on one occasion pretending to be crippled and attending a faith healer revival, only to jump up and proclaim herself healed.
Thurber had two brothers, William and Robert. Once, while playing a game of William Tell, his brother William shot James in the eye with an arrow. Because of the lack of medical technology, Thurber lost his eye. This injury would later cause him to be almost entirely blind. During his childhood he was unable to participate in sports and activities because of his injury, and instead developed a creative imagination, which he shared in his writings.
From 1913 to 1918, Thurber attended The Ohio State University, where he was a member of the Phi Kappa Psi Fraternity. He never graduated from the University because his poor eyesight prevented him from taking a mandatory ROTC course. In 1995 he was posthumously awarded a degree.
From 1918 to 1920, at the close of World War I, Thurber worked as a code clerk for the Department of State, first in Washington, D.C. and then at the American Embassy in Paris, France. After this Thurber returned to Columbus, where he began his writing career as a reporter for the Columbus Dispatch from 1921 to 1924. During part of this time, he reviewed current books, films, and plays in a weekly column called "Credos and Curios," a title that later would be given to a posthumous collection of his work. Thurber also returned to Paris in this period, where he wrote for the Chicago Tribune and other newspapers.
In 1925, he moved to Greenwich Village in New York City, getting a job as a reporter for the New York Evening Post. He joined the staff of The New Yorker in 1927 as an editor with the help of his friend and fellow New Yorker contributor, E.B. White. His career as a cartoonist began in 1930 when White found some of Thurber's drawings in a trash can and submitted them for publication. Thurber would contribute both his writings and his drawings to The New Yorker until the 1950s.
Thurber was married twice. In 1922, Thurber married Althea Adams. The marriage was troubled and ended in divorce in May 1935. Adams gave Thurber his only child, his daughter Rosemary. Thurber remarried in June, 1935 to Helen Wismer. His second marriage lasted until he died in 1961, at the age of 66, due to complications from pneumonia, which followed upon a stroke suffered at his home. His last words, aside from the repeated word "God," were "God bless... God damn," according to Helen Thurber.
Anyone who has ever read anything by Thurber knows that he is perfect. If you haven't read him, here is a short sample of his lovely quirky style:
The Weaver and the Worm A weaver watched in wide-eyed wonder a silkworm spinning its cocoon in a white mulberry tree.
"Where do you get that stuff?" asked the admiring weaver. "Do you want to make something out of it?" inquired the silkworm, eagerly.
Then the weaver and the silkworm went their separate ways, for each thought the other had insulted him. We live, man and worm, in a time when almost everything can mean almost anything, for this is the age of gobbledygook, doubletalk, and gudda.
MORAL: A word to the wise is not sufficient if it doesn't make any sense.
Modern day Aesop's with an intellectual bent. (Modern in this case being 1954 and intellectual being those who recognize both French and Latin quips). So...not very modern, and only the stuffy, over-educated, clubby, prep-school style of intelligence. Still fun, though.
Best read in short bursts, this collection of Thurber's fables, some more sincere than others, is certainly worthwhile. I think my favorite part might be how modern these lessons are, even after 50 years. It's helpful to know that he found language in his time to be doubletalk, suspicious of truth. He also found pacifism, anti-nationalism, and individuality challenges that deserved comment. They still do. It is good for me to read the urgent wisdom of the recent past to make the stresses of the current day seem less unique.
Highly recommended if you've been reading this kind of older satire, or if you grew up loving Thurber, or if you appreciate the biting wit of Mark Twain. I read a fair bit of Thurber when I was a young girl hunting the shelves of my tiny city library and am glad to see that, for the most part, his work holds up very well.
Not recommended if you're terribly sensitive to sexism or stereotypical animal behavior.
But do bear in mind they are fables, not meant literally.
This is typical Thurber, at his witty best while writing and illustrating very brief, animal-rich fables. It's both comforting and alarming how many of them ring true 60 years after their first publication, like "The Peacelike Mongoose," in which a mongoose who doesn't want to fight cobras is called "crazy," "sick," "a coward," and "a mongoosexual." Also, the moral to "The Turtle Who Conquered Time" is a stand-alone amazing line. You'll have to read the book to find out what it is.
This book has several different short stories which allows the reader to not get bored with just one story. This book would be best for the intermediate and middle school grades and great for a read out loud during snack time. There is a moral at the end of each fable which would make for a great whole class discussion!
After the all the Freemasonry and antisemitism of The Prague Cemetery, I'm moving in a decidedly lighter direction with these fables by James Thurber...