Somewhere over on the left there's a very dusty list of books I've read in recent past. I can't ever seem to remember to update it, and I should just take it down altogether.
Somewhere else on this site there's an appallingly embarrassing page, also pretending to list my recent reading material, that I prefer not to think about.

Right now I happy to say that I'm re-reading "The Groucho Letters," a collection of correspondence from, and to, Groucho Marx.
It makes me ashamed of my own dull writing style, my lack of wit, and my pitiful attempts at correspondence with friends and others, and it almost makes me ashamed of yours, too.
(well, not yours.)

It's not a Marx Brothers thing- I like the movies, I find them clever, entertaining, etc., but I've never been a huge fan. I'd really like to see some of Groucho's old quiz shows, and hear some of the radio stuff.

It's impossible to give you enough examples of why this collection is so great. Some of the best letters are long, as are the most entertaining exchanges (for example, the one with T.S. Eliot, whom he didn't even end up meeting until a few months before Eliot's death).

I'll try not to get carried away...

from a letter to Peter Lorre (1961):
You disappeared rather mysteriously the other night, but I attribute this to your life of crime in the movies.

to Elaine Dundy (1959):
Dear Mrs. Tynan:
I don't make a practice of writing to married women, especially if the husband is a dramatic critic, but I had to tell someone (and it might as well be you since you're the author) how much I enjoyed "The Dud Avocado." It made me laugh, scream, and guffaw (which, incidentally, is a great name for a law firm).
If this was actually your life, I don't see how you ever got through it.

to Abel Green (1951):
Dear Abel:
I believe the emphasis on popcorn and other noise-making foods has helped to drive many people away from the movies, and I think the commercial pounding that the television listeners are subjected to will eventually drive many of them away from their sets.
Where they will go I don't know. Perhaps they will take up fox hunting or glass blowing, or maybe they will just roam the streets at night searching for peace and quiet.
My comments are necessarily brief and cautious, for in my profession it is extremely hazardous for a comedian to outrage the sponsor, for without the commercial he hasn't got a job and without a job he is hardly a comedian.
Sincerely,
Groucho

and my favorite, to E.B. White (1954):
Dear Mr. White:
I received your note. I am now willing to concede that you are a fairly migratory gent. When I arrived in New York I was told you were in Florida. When I called you again they said you were in Maine.
I went to New York ostensibly to do the Rodgers and Hammerstein festival. Actually I came to New York to cut up some touches with the author of "Charlotte's Web."
Some years ago I had a dinner date with you and Ross. He showed up but you failed to appear. it's strange- I have no difficulty meeting Nick Kenny, Toots Shor, and other minor luminaries in New York, but you have adopted the mantle of Garbo and to me you are just a wraithlike figure who lives suspended in a spirit world.
Sincerely,
Groucho Marx

and the response from E.B. White:
Dear Mr. Marx:
Before our correspondence attains the intensity of the Shaw-Terry letters, I want to explain my suspension in the spirit world- which is sometimes misinterpreted. Ross had a theory that if he could throw me with a better class of people, I might be more productive. (Ross entertained some incredibly unsound ideas and at great cost to himself.)
At any rate, once in a while he would pry me loose, and on the whole they were miserable experiences for the persons who got me involved. I think of an evening when he attempted to throw me with Ginger Rogers and we all went down to Chinatown for a debauch that should live forever in Miss Rogers' memory as an example of midnight stagnation. (Another Ross illusion was that he understood Chinese food.)
It is nice here in the spirit world and if you get here I would like to buy you a drink. Garbo is here. We maintain separate residences, for appearances' sake.
Sincerely,
E.B. White