The Groucho Letters: Letters from and to Groucho Marx

No personage is too big, no nuance too small, no subject too far out for Grouchoâ s spontaneous, hilarious, and ferocious typewriter. He writes to comics, corporations, children, presidents, and even his daughterâ s boyfriend. Here is Groucho swapping photos with T. S. Eliot (â I had no idea you were so handsome!â ); advising his son on courting a rich dame (â Donâ t come out bluntly and say, â How much dough have you got?â That wouldnâ t be the Marxian wayâ ); crisply declining membership in a Hollywood club (â I donâ t care to belong to any social organization that will accept me as a memberâ ); reacting with utmost composure when informed that he has been made into a verb by James Joyce (â Thereâ s no reason why I shouldnâ t appear in Finnegans Wake. Iâ m certainly as bewildered about life as Joyce wasâ ); responding to a scandal sheet (â Gentleman: If you continue to publish slanderous pieces about me, I shall feel compelled to cancel my subscriptionâ ); describing himself to the Lunts (â I eat like a vulture. Unfortunately the resemblance doesnâ t end thereâ ); and much, much more. That mobile visage, that look of wild amazement, and that weaving cigar are wholly captured, bound but untamed, in The Groucho Letters.