In the midst of packing, I came across this 1933 James Thurber autobiography, which I read for high school English Lit. Have you read it? Seriously, it is an absolutely wonderful misanthropic humorous book. Even better, every event he wrote about took place before he was 25 years old. Hey, your own 20s could be worth a book!
Thurber grew up in Columbus, Ohio, with his mom, dad, senile grandfather, two brothers, and a cousin who sleeps with camphor next to his bed in case he needs to be revived in the middle of the night. He includes stories of the night a bed fell on his father in the attic (note: it didn't really), the family dog who bit everyone except his mother, the day the dam in the city broke (note: it didn't really), and his time at Ohio State University. He's absurd, but incredibly earnest; the stories are short and giggle-worthy; and Thurber's illustrations are charming. You know he used to be a humorist for The New Yorker?
Love love LOVE Thurber! My favorite story from this book is when he and his brothers tricked their mom into thinking the engine had fallen out of the car :) Also, when they thought there was a burglar downstairs, and their mom threw a shoe through the window of the neighbors, and the cops came and found their grandpa in the attic and he stole one of their guns and shot one of them in the arm. Could all of this have actually happened??
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