D. B. Wyndham-Lewis (1891–1969)

This is a classic, and very funny, anthology of found humour in the form of bad poetry, ranging from errors by major poets -- Dryden, Wordsworth, Byron, and Tennyson all show up, and the title is that of a Wordsworth sonnet ("Yet, helped by Genius -- untired Comforter,/ The presence even of a stuffed Owl for her / Can cheat the time") -- to those who are famous precisely as bad poets, with Julia Moore in pride of place, and a fair selection of Pope's dunces. (As Hugh Kenner pointed out, Pope show more himself had too keen an ear and too precise a sense of what he is doing to drop to this level: but the book can be considered in some sense a supplement to Pope's Peri Bathous.) Well worth keeping on one's shelves to dip into from time to time (a straight read-through would be like overdosing on a heavy dessert). show less

One of the finest Christmas anthologies. Published between the wars, this is a collection for moderns rather than by moderns (though one or two appear). Put simply, this anthology eschews the standard 19th century fare of Dickens, Mendelssohn in favour of earlier celebrations of Christmas. One or two comparative contemporaries are thrown in for good measure (and, in the case of Henry James, mocked). Even if you don't hate Victoriana as much as the editors, this is still a wonderful anthology show more – with nothing twee or cutesy in sight. It is also worth noting that the book's design and typography is superb. show less

Strangely lacking in modulation. Characters' emotions barely flutter when they or their loved ones are threatened. Even a massive shootout is just a dragged out series of intermittent shots -- no escalation, no buildup; every once in a while someone drops dead. The 1956 version isn't my favorite Hitchcock, but it's a thousand times more kinetic.

There are some truly amazing and hilarious examples of bad verse in this book — and some of the worst offenders have familiar names (I'm looking at you, Wordsworth!). It has made me want to seek out the book by Julia Moore, the Sweet Singer of Michigan, that gave such pleasure to Mark Twain. The book suffers a bit from the attitude and style of the editors, especially their assumption that all readers have the educational background of an upper-class Englishman of the 1930s-40s, leaving show more some of the humor impenetrable to me. But overall it is funny and enjoyable, and will enjoy a place of honor near my McGonagall collection. show less