The title is a slight misnomer, since many of these pieces didn't appear in Gibbs' long-time home, The New Yorker, but in a selection of other magazines. But the bulk did appear there, and many do survive the test of time quite well, including the title piece, which is a brutal satire of Timespeak, the odd lingo adopted by Time Magazine in the 1920s and 1930s. The introduction is also quite interesting, in that it describes just how troubled Gibbs' life was. A good selection of material. In fine New Yorker style, many of the pieces are written in a fashion where you can hear the whetstone sharpening the steel. ( )

"Backward Ran Sentences" shows off the erudite and witty Gibbs in a fine showcase. I'm too young to have read his columns, so was delighted to find this on sale and keep it for myself. Fans of good writing will enjoy it.

Caveat: I am still devouring Backward Ran Sentences, albeit ever so slowly.

Gibbs' prose brings to mind the world of Joseph Mitchell to me. Both writers of the yesteryear of New York bring to mind such a nostalgic, memorable, and oh so forgotten moments of ourselves.

Though Gibbs may now be overlooked, his satire and literary mirth encompass a subtle humanity that our lifestyles lack today while his commentaries reflect the zeitgeist of the society that some lament. Indeed, some of his pieces are decidedly dated, but to me, it's what I feel nostalgic about most: ephemeral personalities that represent what used to be. ( )

I'm enjoying Backward Ran Sentences: The Best of Wolcott Gibbs from The New Yorker.

Given that I've been "Currently Reading" it for 6 months now, however, let the gerund form of my opening line caution anyone not otherwise put off by this door-stop of a book! DFW or Pynchon it's not; but it's still impressive, even as a softcover, and I see reason behind The New Yorker's publishing these pieces a few at a time over a span of years -- decades, even -- rather than all at once. This is the stuff of which the magazine's reputation was made.

Gibbs actually wrote a (very) few years before my time but, despite being familiar with his name, I don't recall ever before having read a piece by him. His writing is witty and intelligent, oddly and humbly admiring of his subjects, notwithstanding a cynical and satiric cast. Reading Gibbs in retrospect also affords a glimpse of the times in which he wrote -- the U.S.' outlook leading into World War II; New York's social scene, theater and literary circles in the '30s, '40s and '50s; even mundane aggravations and struggles of daily life, reflected upon in a thoughtful, humane manner. I'm not at all surprised that he was affiliated with the likes of Harold Ross, James Thurber and E.B. White; but it also tells me something that theirs are more nearly household names, even today, than is Gibbs'.

Of course, Gibbs never much expected or intended that many of these pieces would survive beyond the magazine's next issue. I suspect he would have disdained, or at least deprecated, the editorial tasks of selecting and presenting his work to new audiences more than a half-century after his passing. I, for one, am grateful for Thomas Vinciguerra's efforts in this regard, and I look forward to "Currently Reading" Backward Ran Sentences periodically until I'm done.

ETA: Thanks to Esta1923 for pointing me to this video clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hh5hFQFpup8 . And there's more where that came from!

Perhaps one way to describe Wolcott Gibbs, other than as an author of short stories, is as a blogger. The Internet didn't exist—and I have this sneaking suspicion he would have been horrified by its content, if not its actual existence—but consider the essential nature of that role: discrete, usually short, pieces providing commentary or opinion upon themes of interest to the author. If we consider American Society as a theme, then thirty-plus years of contributing essays, articles and the delightful little micro-essays known as "The Talk of the Town" to The New Yorker seem to qualify him as a mid-twentieth century variety. Even his theater reviews were occasionally more social commentary than appraisals.

Other writers for the magazine, such as E. B. White or James Thurber, are more well-known these days. One reason might be that so much of Gibbs' writing focused on the personalities and of events of his day, many of whom are no longer prominent in our social landscape. A man such as Thomas Dewey is a name from the history books rather than a presidential candidate we liked or disliked and, while Alexander Woolcott may have been one of the most quoted men of his generation, I think the general reader of today is likely to say, "Pardon me, but who?"

Yet, despite that, there is a lot of enjoyment to be found in his writing. Gibbs has a wonderful facility with the English language and is by no means shy about using it. His love for Fire Island jumps out of the pages; his amused respect for Burgess Meredith will have you laughing; his disdain for certain other authors is unambiguous. His theater reviews epitomize his blunt style and, more than likely, account for many of the animosities directed his way: "Total imbecility is something rarely achieved, even on Broadway, but I think that 'Second Best Bed'…can modestly claim to have come very close to it."

I find that Gibbs is best taken in small doses (which is why it took so long to read this Early Reviewer book). As he looks around America for what he likes (not much), his mocking tone can fatigue. It's perfect as a bedside book to dip into when something short is desired. ( )