'Cannot read. Cannot speak. Cannot spell. Cannot write. Joseph B. Wilder is not only unlettered but, too, labours hard to be an enormous irritation, and, one will not find it uncommon to respond with disgorge should one be folly enough to divulge, despite a series of warnings from respectable sources, into the disgraced scapes of potty prose. The windy scribblings serve solely as true embarrassments to an otherwise reputable profession.'
Hertha Higginbridge - The Theatrical Tribune
‘It is a windy piece of writing that scuppers itself in the first sentence. The naivety is knackering, whisking free invitations to those quick to clasp the cardboard, pegged with banal syllables stating, ‘welcome to amateur night,’ whereupon, come sentence number two, one is without a doubt inflicted with the irresponsible sentiment of wanting to shoot oneself in the foot. It labours hard to be trivial. Characters. Trivial. Plot. Trivial. Writing. Wrong. Simply suffocating. The overuse of potty structures is damning, ornamented with articles adjectives nouns and verbs, practically shot from thought without consideration, consequently in keeping with an incomprehensible catalogue tabulating toys. The intention, to irritate. Although taking the piss may have been the pretension, said shoddy scribble, alas, fails in every account entirely. It is far below the standards of amateur. Welcome to shite night!’
Wilfred Wetherby - Islington Inquirer
'Holy mother of all that's swell in hell. Joseph B. Wilder is the epitome of waste.'
Hawthorne Drabble - The Not-So-Literate Letters
‘It’s very simple. No instruction. No novel. I fancy, although a grand and lifelong detestation of children, and so, placing a proper portion of assurance in their tips of finger a truly uncommon affair, that nonetheless, with pens in plucking distance, jotting and dotting and drooling and shrieking, the likelihood a far fairer, worth of while and altogether vastly more valorous scrawling would undoubtingly outmatch what can now only be described as a highly disposable piece of shite, and, a sensible solution therefore, chuck chuck, would be to take on an immediate tossing of said scribble, but, alas, given today’s rising standards in superiority, sortation and scent, the chance of prompt repudiation come disposal is highly likely, and, you will find me speaking from my own individual insights, having, rather disgracefully, been refused reclamation neither one nor two but a total three terrible times, and finally, resorted to burying the bloody thing.’
Mildred Bridgedale - The Daily Rag