Life, 1917-01-04 · page 24 of 38
Life — January 4, 1917 — page 24: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page presents reader submissions for *Life* magazine's criticism contest (prize: $500). Rather than external commentary, these are letters *about* the magazine itself. **No. 7** (Washington, Pa.): A nostalgic, affectionate critique addressing *Life* as an old friend. The writer acknowledges its faults—some jokes are ancient, some crude—but praises its purity of thought and moral aim. The message: *Life* is imperfect like life itself, yet valuable for those who read it with humor and perspective. **No. 8** (Red Hook, N.Y.): A satirical self-description claiming the editor is paranoid, the staff has "paresis" (neurosyphilis), and the magazine attacks everything indiscriminately. It mocks the medical advice column, notes the editor's bitterness toward women (from jilting), yet credits the publication's artistic quality and occasional lucidity on international affairs. **No. 9** (Milwaukee, Wis.): Demands *Life* be funnier. The writer complains the magazine is "tragically gloomerous" and wants more humor, fewer melancholy pieces—essentially requesting *Life* live up to its satirical mission.
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el Life’s Contest in Criticism $500. Reward Offered for the Best Criticism of Life (Note: The Criticism Contest is now closed. The award of the prize will be announced in the issue of January 18. We shall endeavor to print as many contributions as possible before that date) No. 7 IFE, Washington, Pa. Friend of my boyhood, Comrade of my youth, And now Companion of my years which face the downward slope, Fain would I tell thee of all thy faults Some of thy jokes are old as Father Adam, Or, e’en that fearsome shape, Forerunner of our race, Which swung by hairy paw from branch to branch, And gibbere’ as it swung; Some are stale and flat, not many; Some, for this we thank thee, Draw but near to that faint line, Where meet the pure and vile. But all these things thou knowest ; none better. Perfection even thou hast not attained. Nor ever shalt. Since such is life. Yet excellencies many thine, as, Purity of thought, High aim in thine own realm, Desire, by thy keen shaft, To pierce the evil, Yet not leave within the wound a barb To pain and torture. Lire is neither bad nor yet all good, As life is neither bad nor good. And yet the sum of both doth make for good To such as can read Lire and life, And take with twinkling eye and shak- ing sides, Or, ev'n with sober, unseen joy, All that Lire and life do bring. Lire, Remain life. Seek not to be another or —. Nor one of that foul breed, Whose fun, Like wine of yestereve, Leaves in the mouth a brown and fuzzy taste. Oh! Lire, Our Lire, Remain thyself, Our friend. We curse, Revile thee; Call thee stupid; But, Still read and love. No. 8 tee IFE is a funny paper. Its editor-in-chief is a paranoiac, and the rest of the staff have pare: The aim of the paper is to hit every- body—and it does. Its moral tone is so high that an old society campaigner can scan some of its pages without blushing. It treats in a flippant manner all the fundamen- tal virtues—excepting punctuality on ly caustic in its criticisms of woman. This is because the editor was frequently jilted in his younger days and he is now trying to get hunk. It has a regular medical department, and the editor of this is Esculapius himself, or some other antediluvian saw-bones four thousand years behind the times; for the paper advocates nos- trums, love potions, rabbits’ feet and highway quackery in general. Between brain-storms, the editors have some lucid intervals, chiefly shown in their views on international affairs and in their devotion to child- welfare. Like many other defectives, the edi- tors have a_ well-developed artistic sense; and in its art the paper is the best of its kind in any land. Lire prides itself upon its broad- mindedness, by which it means a man should be as much a devil as a saint, or, to be on the safe side, a little more so. Yes, Lire is certainly a funny paper —yet, somehow, Tuesday scems an es- pecially bright day in the week! No. 9 Milwaukee, Wis. OU want Lire criticised? Well, I can do it, In metre, witticised, (Though you may rue it!) You'd give your readers, Lirr, More for their money, By filling more of Lr With something funny! A magazine supposedly humorous, Should not be tragically gloomerous? But give the folks once in a while An opportunity to smile! T aim to be just; (You concede it, I trust) But I enter a solemn protest Against stuff melancholy; I want something jolly, That will cause me to laugh till I’m ready to bust, For I've wept till my tear-ducts are caverns of dust, O’er the asinine folly, The dope melancholy, Of Lir last few numbers, and groaned in disgust! Your political dope is unspeakably sad, And your stories and jokes—they are all of them bad; They really ought to be printed in bli And yet, I must e’en give the devil his due, For you have one department I’m not criticising ; You've an excellent line of high-class advertising! Oh, yes! I most forgot (I'm glad that I did not) While “knocking,” to bestow a word of praise! That baby fund—that’s fine! So here’s a hearty line To say, that’s decent, Lire, you'll find it pays To give a fighting chance To orphaned tots of France, and— The thing you're doing’s too big to be put into a phrase! So we won't fight! Lire, you're all right! comichooks, t 1 1