Without Feathers

by Woody Allen

Book Overview

Here they are--some of the funniest tales and ruminations ever put into print, by one of the great comic minds of our time. From THE WHORE OF MENSA, to GOD (A Play), to NO KADDISH FOR WEINSTEIN, old... This description may be from another edition of this product.

• Format: Paperback
• Language: English
• ISBN: 0446890359
• ISBN13: 9780446890359
• Release Date: January 1981
• Publisher: Warner Books (NY)
• Length: 221 Pages
• Weight: 1.15 lbs.

Customer Reviews

Very Funny

"Without Feathers" was Woody Allen's second collection of humorous pieces, and probably his best. These originally appeared in the early 1970's, in magazines like "The New Yorker" and "The New Republic."Some are short stories, like "No Kaddish for Weinstein" and "The Whore of Mensa." There are two plays, "Death" (the inspiration for Allen's "Shadows and Fog"), and the much better "God", a masterpiece of absurdity.There are parodies of Encyclopedia Brown ("Match Wits with Inspector Ford") and Henrik Ibsen (the hysterical "Lovborg's Women Considered"), irreverent essays on English literature and civil disobedience, reviews of some very bizarre ballets, and more."Without Feathers" is fantastic and, as a bonus, much less expensive than many inferior humor books.

tickled with Feathers

Comedy legend Buster Keaton was hilarious because he had mastered the art of deadpan. His face was set in a permanently sad expression, which only made his antics and predicaments all the funnier. He never let on that he was being funny; and that makes the audience laugh all the harder.Imagine being able to create the same effect in the written word. Woody Allen has been able to do precisely that. He never lets the reader know that the punch line is coming, so it hits the funny bone with full force. His book Without Feathers should never be read in polite company, since it causes the reader to break into hysterical peals of laughter that cannot be stopped. I was rendered helpless while reading his material: "Do I believe in God? I did until Mother's accident. She fell on some meat loaf, and it penetrated her spleen. She lay in a coma for months, unable to do anything but sing "Granada" to an imaginary herring. Why was this woman in the prime of life so afflicted - because in her youth she dared to defy convention and got married with a brown paper bag on her head? And how can I believe in God when just last week I got my tongue caught in the roller of an electric typewriter? I am plagued by doubts. What if everything is an illusion and nothing exists? In that case, I definitely overpaid for my carpet. If only God would give me some clear sign! Like making a large deposit in my name at a Swiss bank." Without Feathers was a bestseller in the early seventies, but it is about time a younger audience learns of this book. Don't miss the short stories of "The Whore of Mensa" and "If the Impressionists Had Been Dentists". And for heaven's sake, try not to eat or drink while you read it, or you will be laughing substances out of your nose.

One Thing I Can't Do in Bed

There are a few things my wife allows me to do in bed, but reading Woody Allens' books is not one of them. She can't sleep. The bed shakes too much when I laugh, and I can only stifle myself for so long before I have to get up. Honest.

Typical Allen genius......

Woody is at it again. This book is great comedy in Allen's usual, older style. After reading it, I FORCED friends to read it so I would have someone to discuss it with. I often read while riding the metro, and often had spectators by the end of a ride, while reading this book. They were wondering why I was laughing out loud. I am buying Allen's other books immediately...

I Ruined This Book

I love books, and I try my best to take care of them, but I failed miserably with my copy of "Without Feathers". Woody Allen's short masterpiece was so sadistically funny that I couldn't control my bodily functions... initial chortles soon gave way to sprays of guffawing spitall and drenching tears of laughter. By the time I'd finished, the paperback was reduced to a soaking mess of sidesplitting slobber. It's the kind of book that, years later, you suddenly remember a particularly poignant passage, and you erupt into uncontrollable giggles, much to the bemusement of those around you.