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?
