Such Darling Dodos

In the illustrious year of 1968, when bell-bottoms were the height of fashion and the world was either experiencing revolutions or merely reacting to them with a bemused grin, Angus Wilson decided to gift humanity with a literary nugget known as "Such Darling Dodos." To encapsulate the essence of this book is akin to trying to catch a fish with your bare hands; messy, slippery, and ultimately a little absurd. Is it a satire on the absurdities of modern life? A whimsical exploration of outdated philosophies? Or perhaps just a meandering stroll through the mind of a man who really fancied dodos? One can only speculate.

One must ask: why dodos? Perhaps the title is a clever nod to the charmingly oblivious nature of both the bird and the societal norms of the time. Much like the dodo that iconically waddled its way into extinction, the characters within this tome are blissfully unaware of their surroundings, oblivious to the creeping absurdity of their existence. Readers may find themselves chuckling during moments of profound awkwardness or bewilderment, all while wondering if they’ve somehow waded into the deep waters of British eccentricity. It’s as if Wilson decided the world needed more dodos—both feathered and human.

In a narrative that flits about with all the grace of a dodo trying to fly, "Such Darling Dodos" presents an ensemble cast that could only exist in the fever-dream of a whimsical playwright. With each turn of the page, one is introduced to characters whose quirks rival that of the long-extinct bird itself. Perhaps you’ll meet the unwitting philosopher who thinks he’s cracked the code of life while arguing with his garden gnomes, or the socialite who believes herself to be the last bastion of civility in a world gone mad. The mere act of getting to know these characters feels like a delightful game of musical chairs, where you’re never quite sure who will be left standing at the end.

But enough about the birds and the bizarre individuals who inhabit this literary aviary. Let’s discuss the prose itself, which dances and darts about with all the charm of a parrot in a top hat. Wilson’s sentences have a peculiar knack for presenting the ridiculous with a straight face, as if he’s daring you to find a reason to stop laughing. The dialogue snaps and crackles with wit, leaving one to wonder if the author had a soft spot for wordplay or simply enjoyed the sound of his characters’ voices in a cacophony of delightful absurdity.

Now, one could talk about the underlying themes of existentialism or the critique of post-war British society, but let’s be honest—this is a book that wears its irony like a feather boa draped over a dodo’s neck. It invites readers to ponder the condition of their own existence while unabashedly celebrating the joyful absurdity of it all. It’s a reminder that sometimes, it’s perfectly acceptable to be a little silly, to waddle about life as if we’re simply taking a stroll through an enchanted forest, regardless of whether or not that forest is in imminent danger of being paved over.

Condition: Used. Perhaps it has been touched by the hands of a philosopher who once pondered the meaning of dodos over a cup of lukewarm tea, or perhaps a gung-ho birdwatcher who felt it necessary to scribble notes in the margins while contemplating avian existentialism. Whatever its past, this book proudly bears the scars of time, its pages slightly yellowed and corners ever so slightly dog-eared. It’s practically begging to be picked up again, cradled in the hands of a new reader ready to engage with the eccentricity between its covers.

So, if you find yourself in need of a literary escape that’s as curious as a dodo in a tuxedo, look no further than "Such Darling Dodos." While it may not solve all the mysteries of life or provide a roadmap through the absurdities of existence, it will certainly keep you entertained and perhaps even questioning why on Earth you’re reading about dodos in the first place. Available now at Crappy Old Books, where the forgotten and the quirky find a new home—just like the dodo itself.

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