Life, 1929-05-17 · page 47 of 52
Life — May 17, 1929 — page 47: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This *Life* magazine page satirizes the exhausting, underappreciated work of book reviewers through a first-person essay by Perry (Calvin) Githens, announced as his final column. **The Main Satire:** Githens humorously chronicles how he accidentally became a paid book reviewer—starting innocently with childhood alphabet blocks, progressing to novels and port wine, then seizing the opportunity during wartime to get free books. He then deadpans the grueling reality: reading 5-6 books weekly and writing about them repeatedly without repetition, while fielding ignorant questions ("Do you really read the books?"). **The Cartoons:** The top cartoon shows embarrassed men at a formal dinner—illustrating the "Embarrassing Moments" feature about forgetting your speech, with the solution being lighting a Murad cigarette (an advertisement). The bottom cartoon depicts a man with time-wasting experiments, reinforcing the theme of impractical leisure. The piece mocks both the reviewer's thankless position and readers' dismissive attitudes toward criticism as mere paid work requiring minimal actual engagement with literature.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
BOOKS— BOOKS BOOKS Mr. GITHENS’ OWN STORY The Price in Heartaches of Being a Book Reviewer AFine Human Document By A Very Human Being— “Not often is there given us this glimpse into a man’s soul. Here we peck into the innermost depths of a poor book reviewer, and, ohl The pity of it!” Norman (Ray) Anthony by By the time oe weathes you, gentle readers, I s! ries be far, far away from both ( albin) of you. This marks the Githens last appearance in these ges. of your indefati- gable reporter and confidential guide to what's what in the A-B-C business. Being merely a reader, I had no real right to be a reviewer. It all began many, many years ago, in a little town in Massachusetts. There, I was led astray at an early age. The first slip was alphabet blocks, harmless in them- selves. Then it was but a step to cloth picture books, and from cloth picture books to “The Motor Boys,” from “The Motor Boys” to novels and a lite port wine. Ah! The pitfalls of youth, care- free, headstrong youth. Tsk-tsk! Then came the war—no, I'm wrong —then came—but, anyway, it seemed like a good chance to get a lot of free books, so I became—a reviewer. Oh, I know,—I tried to conceal it by claiming to be a reporter of books, but there’s no getting away from the fact that I was a reviewer—a paid re- viewer. The pity of it! Think what it means to have to read five or six books a week and write about them without repeating your- self more than seven or eight times in a fortnight. Think what it means to answer questions like, “Do you really read the books?” or, “What do you think of Joan Lowell?” or, “What's a good book to read?” For the benefit of my successor— Poor wretch—let me say here and now that it is practically necessary to read the books. But that is no great chore, and, after all, you get paid for just EMBARRASSING MOMENTS When you have forgotten your speech and lost your notes... be nonchalant... LIGHT A MURAD. Experimenter with lots of time on his hands, casting swine before pearls. comicbooks.com