The satiric drawings of Saul Steinberg appeal to brows of all elevations. They have been admired in The New Yorker hung in some of the world's great museums, and reproduced on wallpaper fabrics and greeting cards. Last week 350 of them appeared in a book (The Passport—Harper; $5). Most books of cartoons pall pretty fast; thumbing them drubs the funnybone to numbness. With Steinberg's book: the drubbing is acute and varied enough to remain a slightly painful pleasure for an hour or so despite the fact that the book is clumsily laid out and padded with his second-best sketches.
Steinberg was born...
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