M IS FOR MOTHER

Mother and daughter, mostly at pens' points and always at wit's end, indulge in the utter confusion of cross-purpose correspondence. Living alone, or with roommates, in London, the author is heckled and chivvied as her mother misinterprets, misunderstands, obscures and turns her daughter's communications topsy turvy. And as the news is passed -- to the Aunts, Ethel, Dora, Gertrude, Mabel, Ada and Alice -- there is some very peculiar information bandied about. Mother's genteel to jittery inquisition (sometimes via telephone or on passing visits) worries the question of a romance, of Christmas presents, of the pitfalls of traveling on the Continent, of making friends, of the various living quarters and the jobs and employers encountered and blank areas of comprehension grow into great big tangents and the letters stagger back and forth. Merely asking for a scarf produces various parcels and floods of queries -- but no scarf- and everyday incidents explode into family crises. Bouncy British fun in which M also stands for muddled as well as merry, and the frolics are illustrated by Peggy Bacon. Ogden Nash gives it a happy send-off.