I had heard about the wonders of Wodehouse from a podcast or two, so I bought one of his books (The Code of the Woosters) when I saw it at the used book store in town.
At the time, the wife was in the habit of reading Harry Potter before bed every single night. I had mentioned to her, “Is this really something you want to be doing?” She responded, “Yes.” Understood.
Well, I began reading about Bertie and Jeeves every night, and I was giggling and laughing on and off for a few days. Eventually, she turned over, “What’s so funny?” So, I read her a bit of what I was reading. “I’m going to need to borrow that when you’re done,” she replied.
Thus began our venture into the world of Wodehouse. We are hooked; there’s no turning back. He even came up during my interview to teach at VSA! I’m pleased to say I got the job. Was Wodehouse the reason? I’ll let you decide.
We now have about twenty of his books. If you want something funny, this is it. If you want something that you can just sit back and enjoy the ride, this is it. If you want great writing, a quick turn of phrase, and unexpected happenings, you get the idea. Here’s a sample: enjoy!
My entry caused her to come to the surface, and she greeted me with one of those cheery view-halloos which, in the days when she went in for hunting, used to make her so noticeable a figure of the Quorn, the Pytchley and other organizations for doing the British fox a bit of no good.
“Hullo, ugly,” she said. ” What brings you here?”
“I understood, aged relative, that you wished to confer with me.”
“I didn’t want you to come barging in, interrupting my work. A few words on the telephone would have met the case. But I suppose some instinct told you that this was my busy day.”
”If you were wondering if I could come to lunch, have no anxiety. I shall be delighted, as always. What will Anatole be giving us?”
”He won’t be giving you anything, my gay young tapeworm. I am entertaining Pomona Grindle, the novelist, to the midday meal.”
“I should be charmed to meet her.”
”Well, you’re not going to. It is to be a strictly tete-a-tete affair. I’m trying to get a serial out of her for the Boudoir. No, all I wanted was to tell you to go to an antique shop in the Brompton Road—it’s just past the Oratory—you can’t miss it—and sneer at a cow-creamer.”
I did not get her drift. The impression I received was that of an aunt talking through the back of her neck.
“Do what to a what?”
“They’ve got an eighteenth-century cow-creamer there that Tom’s going to buy this afternoon.”
The scales fell from my eyes.
“Oh, it’s a silver what-not, is it?”
“Yes. A sort of cream-jug. Go there and ask them to show it to you, and when they do, register scorn.”
“The idea being what?”
“To sap their confidence, of course, chump. To sow doubts and misgivings in their mind and make them clip the price a bit. The cheaper he gets the thing, the better he will be pleased. And I want him to be in cheery mood, because if I succeed in signing the Grindle up for this serial, I shall be compelled to get into his ribs for a biggish sum of money. It’s sinful what these best-selling women novelists want for their stuff. So pop off there without delay and shake your head at the thing.”
For more, here’s the rest: link.
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