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Life, 1927-01-13 · page 36 of 39

Life — January 13, 1927 — page 36: what you’re looking at

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Life — January 13, 1927 — page 36: Life, 1927-01-13

What you’re looking at

This page mixes advertisements with satirical fiction. The ads promote Reynmer's candy, Havana tourism, and the Sevilla Biltmore hotel—typical 1920s luxury marketing. The satirical content comprises two interconnected short stories mocking pretentious young intellectuals. "The Adolescent Odyssey" ridicules a self-important youth who affects philosophical seriousness, frantically reads canonical authors (Shaw, Ibsen, Conrad, Dostoevsky) to seem cultured, and romanticizes his alienation from "crude" practical parents—only to be locked out by his exasperated mother. "The Russian Translation" escalates the satire by parodying Russian literary conventions and characters with deliberately absurd Russian names. It mocks readers who admire Russian literature's supposed sophistication, suggesting they're gulled by obscure names and affected philosophical discourse about "mutual aid" and progressive theory. Together, these pieces satirize American intellectual pretension: the assumption that literary sophistication equals depth, and that citing European authors demonstrates intelligence rather than mere affectation.

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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

that little extra touch of enchanting quality choose i) mi 101 "That Good Pittsburgh Candy” Stores approved as Reymer Agencies are supplied direct from Reymers’— ensuring freshness and careful hand- ling. Dealer in- quiries invited. MADE BY REYMER & BROTHERS INCORPORATED. PITT! “Gurcpe over Sporiy set Loo BY train or steamship the trip is delightful and at the Sevilla Biltmore you taste the charm of Havana life. Here is the gayety of Paris within easy reach. Cuba’s delightful climate inten- sifies your enjoyment of outdoor sports. There are delightful shops, historic places to visit, the Opera, racing and Jai-Alai for your en- tertainment. For reservations cable or write the Sevilla Biltmore, Havana, Americans require no passports. 3? SEVILLA: BilTMORE oO ON THE PRADO Al Bowman Biltmore Institution JOHN McENTEE BOWMAN~Free EBJOUFFRET~ Vice, Short-Order Fiction The Adolescent Odyssey I. O it came to this; life had a meaning only when you S exalted it beyond mere breath, mere earthliness; when you made of it a symbol and a goal; when you personalized it and identified it with the throbbing ‘ego within you. “For,” he told himself, “we live fully and significantly only when we know we 1 The majority of mankind is irrational; he who refuses to accept life in isolated fragments, who blends it all into a reasoned, compact entity, holds the secrct of happiness within him.” He told himself a great deal more. He was an excel- lent listener. Il. and furthermore, Bernard Shaw s: ” the young girl was saying. Shaw? Who was that? She had mentioned a number of other authors equally foreign to him. He felt ashamed of his ignorance. That year he read Shaw, Ibsen, Hardy, Conrad, Gals- worthy, Maugham, Maeterlinck, Dostoevsky, Gogol, Phillips, and anybody else that will make this sound like an authentic literary autobiography. Ill, No, there was no sympathy to be gained from his parents. Both wanted him to be a business man, prac- | tical. Practical! They were fools, crude fools who | could not understand him. like a fine What Outside the dusk fell, softly, insinuatingly, rain of powder. Yes, he would go for a walk. else was there to do? He went out. His mother bolted the door behind him three times, and clamped the windows tight. Now he could never get in again. The Russian Translation Acexts Daurrovitcu Kirisienkov thrust open the moldy door of Katerina Ivanovna Prokofieff’s damp rooms and met the sneering eyes of Lyov Pavlovyef (who had only two names and was accordingly held in low repute). His thin lips held a wry smile. ou might have knocked at the door,” he said acidly. “The door?” muttered Alexis in confusion. “Oh, the door—there. Well, then. So. The central character in a Russian novel never knocks at doors. He runs in and out of houses without order. So. Now. Didn't you know that, you earless loon?” he screamed, by now thoroughly € ed. > here, I want you to listen. brief story, illustrating Kropotkin’ ‘s—or is it Turgene ?—theory that progressive life is founded on mutual aid. Well, I was watching a little boy near Kosciusko Square kicking about a bright pebble, and I asked him, ?’ Now listen. He looked F Aven so. little father.” Do 3 ? ‘Even so, little father!’ ” By now Alexis was in a perfect frer Where is Rinushka?’ The sneer on Lyov Pavlo' 's face deepened. “Do you mean Katerina Ivanovna Prokofieff? So. Well, then. How is the reader to understand your quaint abbreviation?” The question sent Kirishenkov into a raving fury. With a hoarse muffled ery he leapt forward, and seizing Lyov by the throat, swiftly strangled him. The bedroom door opened and Katerina Ivanovna peered anxiously in. “Oh, have you killed him?” she called gaily. “Thank Heaven. These Slavonic stories never get really interesting until an inexplicable murder occurs—afterwards, of course, to be elucidated by subtle psychological processes. See here. Well, then. So. Who is your next prey?” Simonetta. comicbooks.com