No personage is too big, no nuance too small, no subject too far out for Groucho's spontaneous, hilarious, and ferocious typewriter. He writes to comics, corporations, children, presidents, and even his daughter's boyfriend. Here is Groucho swapping photos with T. S. Eliot (”I had no idea you were so handsome!”); advising his son on courting a rich dame (”Don't come out bluntly and say, 'How much dough have you got?' That wouldn't be the Marxian way”); crisply declining membership in a Hollywood club (”I don't care to belong to any social organization that will accept me as a member”); reacting with utmost composure when informed that he has been made into a verb by James Joyce (”There's no reason why I shouldn't appear in Finnegans Wake . I'm certainly as bewildered about life as Joyce was”); responding to a scandal sheet (”Gentleman: If you continue to publish slanderous pieces about me, I shall feel compelled to cancel my subscription”); describing himself to the Lunts (”I eat like a vulture. Unfortunately the resemblance doesn't end there”); 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.
"It is hard to keep from reading bits of this aloud to friends and relations. Groucho in letters is just as devastatingly witty as he was in the movies, to say nothing of other media."
-- Publishers Weekly
"...these letters are good reading, for out of the book Groucho emerges, eyebrows bounding, eyes rolling, cigar jauntily clamped between his teeth, the wisecracks coming a mile a minute. Even Calvin Coolidge might have smiled."
-- Book Week
"Written...with the impudence, irreverence and general lunacy that made Groucho the immortal wise guy of the American screen."