Art Buchwald, one of America's greatest living political satirists died January 18. He had a terminal illness and after being told he only had a couple of weeks to live, I imagine he chomped on his cigar, uttered an epithet and then went home to live much longer than those stupid doctors initially thought.
As a kid, I had no idea that Art Buchwald had a column in The New York Times. I knew him as the author of one of my favorite books. It was one of my mother's favorites, too. Irving's Delight. This short novel is a droll look at the television advertising industry. There are loveable stereotypes and laugh-out-loud humor and nobody writes books like this one anymore. It's what we in the trade call a "gentle read." The humor is old-fashioned, the pace is quick and anyone who can forget how jaded they really are will appreciate a simple, silly story about catfood, catnappers, cat detectives, cat allergies, and kittens. Oh, and The New York Times goofed. They said that Buchwald only wrote two novels. Wrong. He wrote three. They forgot this one.
Biblio-vitals: The pacing is lightning fast. The tone is slapstick comedy. What you need to know about this book is there is no rough language, no violence, no cats died or were injured in the writing of this book and it's illustrated. For finicky readers only.