Judge, 1929-06-29 · page 8 of 37
Judge — June 29, 1929 — page 8: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis of "Judge" Page This satirical piece by S.J. Perelman mocks literary criticism and the pretensions of both young writers and their reviewers. The article features **Joan Perelsman**, a 19-year-old girl author who attacks critics of her book "Leave Fifty Pounds Today, Please" by arriving at their offices with an icebox—literally delivering "cold" reviews back to them. The humor operates on multiple levels: it satirizes precious young writers, the harshness of book reviewers, and the absurdity of literal interpretations of figurative language. The accompanying cartoon depicts an intellectual gathering disrupted by this literal delivery, suggesting the chaos caused by her unconventional protest. The piece parodies both literary pretension and the gendered dynamics of criticism in 1920s publishing.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Joan Prretman Famous girl adventuress- authoress in her seaworthy icebor yawl, “Leave Fifty Pounds Today, Please. New York, June Arriving yesterday in New York harbor in her sea sing icebox, “Leave Fifty inds Today, Please.” Joan Perelman, nineteen- year-old girl author, today defied critics of her book with smouldering ey “The rotten old sis she grated with ill- constrained furore. “They brand my book a pack of lies and not or ves. of them has ever been inside an icebox, let alone put to sea in one!” 1 had foreed my way into her lavish apartment at the exclusive Feinberg-Carteret Hotel on Colum bus Circle despite the protests of Phobia, her col- ored maid, and found the insouciant miss, who has spent most of her life in iceboxes at sea, scantily clad. The blood mounted to her temples when st heard my footsteps, but quickly dismounted when JUDG Noted Girl Writer Flays Carping Reviewers! Landlubbers Ignorant of Iceboxes, Claim! By S. J. Perelman she saw it was me. T hastily threw a robe about her exquisite form replete with all sorts of girl- hood and allure. “Tam covering this for Juncr, Miss Joan.” I explained, lighting re CWI to the reviewers who attacked of the Deep “Please vt smoke those cigars,” “They get in the curtains. Here's a whole box [ shook out of the curtains this morning.” “You shook all these out of the curtains?” I said narrowly, “Well—er—not exactly,” she replied widely. “But what is it you want to know?” “We want your life story, Miss Joan.’ [ said. “And please leave is your reply he Refrigerator now in its seventy-fourth thousand 2” ut all the clean parts.” “With pleasure.” she smiled. her nimble tingers busily shelling the glib caviar, “My stepfather, Irving Leebe came from an old line of Jewish salts and seafaring men. ‘They had gone down to the sea in ice-boxes as far as one could remem ber. My first recollection is of Captain leeberg as Hoorwalker on an Electrolux mounting twenty two guns in Frisco bay. When Twas « I could already spit a curve in’ the win year old When T was two T could spit two curves in the wind. And by the time Twas five T could spit tive curves Ovr Virwace A soirée was recently given fora number of our intelligentsia to meet ai H-known poet. comicbooks.com