Bizarre — Reading Notes

Domestic Absurdities and Mechanical Misadventures

Several essays in Bizarre turn on the frustrations of household objects and personal adornments. In 'Unsolicited Personal Adornments,' Mackall recounts the horror of discovering a spot on one's coat after a round of calls, imagining the judgments of relatives and acquaintances. The humor lies in the escalation of social anxiety over a trivial blemish. Similarly, 'The Care of the Husband' and 'The Art of Packing' likely extend this theme of domestic struggle, though the excerpts do not include their full texts.

A more elaborate example is 'My Museum,' where Mackall describes his second-hand car, Plury (short for E. Pluribus Unum), assembled from mismatched parts. He writes that 'individually Fords, Buicks, Overlands... were too expensive for me; but collectively... I could afford them all.' The vehicle's international components—Italian rear axle, French steering wheel, Austrian magneto—become a metaphor for mechanical and political discord, as 'a German cogwheel that clutched with an English one... kept the gear box in a constant state of friction.' This essay exemplifies Mackall's ability to find comedy in mechanical failure while subtly critiquing nationalism and consumer culture.

Architectural Disguises and Urban Change

In 'All, All Are Gone, The Old Familiar Façades,' Mackall turns his eye to the built environment, observing how buildings in the city are 'disguising their age' through renovations. He notes that Victorian brownstone mansions 'now renew their youth as the "Rubens Studios" or "Haddon Chambers,"' while drab office buildings 'take on new complexions as talcumy white as those of the flappers passing by.' The essay personifies architecture, describing 'beauty doctoring' that eliminates 'dark lines under tired window sills' and lifts 'sagging balconies.'

Mackall's tone is wryly critical of this commercial transformation. He remarks that formerly sedate houses now 'shamelessly come forward as close to the line as they dare, meeting the idle stroller half-way... with broad plate-glass assurance.' The essay concludes with a punchline about real estate values, undercutting nostalgia with economic reality: 'Would it be as dear? Oh, much dearer!—as the real estate agent will tell you.' This piece showcases Mackall's skill at blending social observation with humor, though the catalog subject 'American wit and humor' underplays its commentary on urban development and consumerism.

The Authorial Persona and the Preface's Irony

The preface of Bizarre establishes a playful, self-deprecating persona that carries through the essays. Mackall thanks his dentist, tailor, stationer, and grocers for their 'stimulus,' noting that they 'neither "corrected the proofs" of my book nor "saw it through the press," nor allowed me access to rare documents.' This mock-acknowledgment parodies the conventions of authorial gratitude, suggesting that the book's inspiration came from mundane commercial transactions rather than scholarly research.

This ironic stance is consistent with the essays' focus on everyday life. The author presents himself as a flâneur and amateur observer, prone to mishaps—like losing his slippers in a goldfish bowl while visiting the Cholmondeley-Browdens. Yet the excerpts also reveal a writer attentive to detail and social nuance. The catalog subjects do not fully capture this blend of humor and social critique; the work is as much about the absurdities of modern American life as it is about wit for its own sake.

Readers approaching Bizarre should expect a series of loosely connected sketches rather than a unified narrative. The essays reward attention to Mackall's precise language and his ability to find humor in the mundane—from a malfunctioning car to a stained coat. The illustrations by Lauren Stout, though not excerpted here, likely complement the text's whimsical tone. This collection offers a window into early twentieth-century American humor and the everyday concerns of its author, without the grand claims of literary importance that later anthologies might impose.

Flipping through Bizarre, I paused at Mackall’s gentle mockery of our restless striving—the way we dress up our little routines. It reminded me, unexpectedly, of older questions about what lies beneath all that surface noise. The Buried Temple — Background and Themes has that same quiet patience, unearthing foundations rather than decorations. I found myself lingering there longer than I’d planned, just thinking.