Fibble, D.D. — Background and Themes

The Curate's Comic Diction

Fibble's language is the primary engine of humor. He writes of "divers of my recent lamentable experiences" and refers to a newspaper item he believes "the author thereof regarded as being of a humorous character, but in which no right-minded person could possibly see aught to pr..." The sentence trails off, but the pattern is clear: his formal, Latinate vocabulary and convoluted syntax are mismatched with the trivial or embarrassing events he describes. He uses phrases like "grossly exaggerated statements that lately obtained circulation" where a simpler writer would say "rumors." This diction reveals a man who takes himself with utmost seriousness, even when the situation is absurd. Cobb never breaks character; the humor arises from the sustained contrast between Fibble's elevated tone and the low comedy of his predicaments.

A Clergyman Abroad: Culture Clash in Paris

When Fibble travels to France with a group of young female charges, his cultural insularity becomes a running joke. He has prepared with a book titled "French in Thirty Lessons" by his former teacher Miss McGillicuddy, but finds that "the jargon or patois spoken generally by the natives" differs from the "purer forms" in the text. He carries a phrasebook but still struggles to make himself understood by "the ordinary gendarme or cab driver." His judgments of Paris are telling: he finds the nightlife "frivolous in the extreme," the traffic reckless, and the tea inferior to England's. Even the outbreak of World War I fails to register properly—he initially assumes a troop mobilization is merely "one of their national gala or fête days." Cobb uses Fibble's limited perspective to satirize British provincialism, all while maintaining the curate's earnest, unselfconscious narration.

The Young Nuts and Other Misadventures

The first part of the book details Fibble's ill-fated organization for boys, the Young Nuts of America—a name that already suggests the absurdity to come. Fibble describes himself as "the actuating spirit" of this group, which apparently dissolved amid scandal or farce. The excerpts hint at "grossly exaggerated statements" in the press, but the full story is left to the reader's imagination. Later, in France, Fibble's attempts to manage his young ladies go awry: when he suggests they return to England to avoid war, they demur, with Miss Canbee calling a "really-truly war" a "perfect lark." The curate's authority is constantly undermined by those he is meant to guide. Cobb structures the book in three distinct parts—a card to the public, an open letter, and diary extracts—each offering a different formal frame for Fibble's self-revelation.

Visual and Structural Comedy

The illustrations by Tony Sarg, referenced in the front matter and captions, add a visual dimension to the comedy. One caption reads: "Momentarily the articles that filled my arms and hung on my shoulders and back grew more cumbersome and burdensome," suggesting a physical comedy of accumulation that mirrors Fibble's verbal overload. The book's structure—three distinct documentary forms (public card, open letter, diary)—allows Cobb to vary the narrative voice while keeping Fibble's personality consistent. The diary extracts in Part Three, titled "Lover's Leap," promise romantic misadventure, with one caption noting "To be exact, I kissed at her," a typically awkward phrasing. The combination of formal headings, mock-serious tone, and Sarg's illustrations creates a layered satire where the medium itself becomes part of the joke.

Readers should attend to the way Cobb uses Fibble's own words to indict him: every pompous phrase, every misplaced modifier, every unwitting admission adds to the portrait of a man who is his own worst enemy. The book rewards attention to linguistic detail—the gap between what Fibble says and what he means is where the comedy lives. Approach it not as a plot-driven novel but as a character study in sustained ironic voice.

That rainy afternoon, Fibble’s clumsy self-assurance made me laugh, but also left a quiet ache—his formal words so often masking a hollow heart. Later, browsing the shelf, I drifted into The Humour of America Selected, with an Introduction and Index of American Humorists — Reading Notes. The notes felt like eavesdropping on old friends, their wit gentler, more grounded. Somehow, that led me back to a forgotten diary of my own.