Word: blurbs
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...From blurb to backflap, P. G. never misses a Wodehouse trick. His names ("Oofy" Prosser is the villain, J. Sheringham Adair is the private eye) are felicitously goofy. His "floaters" ("I wouldn't kiss her with a ten-foot pole!") are a caution. His puns ("A fete worse than death") are outrageous. His hyperbole ("Carpets of so thick a nap that midgets would get lost in them and have to be rescued by dogs") is ingenious. His clichés ("The shot's not on the board, old dear") click with an exquisite remoteness in the modern...
...current publishing mania for Day books. He parodies the pompous epiphenomena that accompany such ventures, including the introductory note of martyred scholarship, the bow of punctilio to humble assistants ("My thanks to Mr. F. L. Peters at the Information Booth at Grand Central"). And there is the jacket blurb from a fellow authority in the field: "'The most exciting twenty-four hours since the day I shot Jim Bishop'-A. Lincoln...
...overabundance of copy is particularly striking in the section on the dormitories. In truth, there is very little to say about the difference in "character" among the dorms, even less than among the Harvard Houses. A lengthy blurb on each dorm is bound to deteriorate into a few private jokes or a questionable attempt to attach cliches to each one--Briggs: "cool, self-assured sophistication;" Eliot: "talkative;" Holmes: "musical, spirited, homey;" Whitman: "slightly mad potpourri...
Along with the poetry, Identity features illustrations by Kaffe Fassett (who, says the accompanying blurb, loathes milk that boils over.) Mr. Fassett's drawings, while sometimes competent, look somewhat like a cross between Aubrey Beardsley and Basil Wolverton, and add little to the total effort...
Today's dean of British humorists is a 77-year-old U.S. citizen who has lived in America on and off for half a century and now resides permanently at Remsenberg, L.I. The blurb to his new book of ten short stories suggests that "the sound of [his] clicking typewriter keys beats a gentle staccato against the roar of the ocean surf." The volume is recognizable Wodehouse, gently satirical, its barbs wielded with whimsy. But the more remarkable thing about Pelham Grenville Wodehouse in his twilight years is the way the decades of ocean-hopping have scrambled his language...