Wodehouse Blues

I’m back in the pink, and all is oojah-cum-spiff. The sun is in the sky, though beating down rather harshly. The birds are singing(presumably. I cant see any in this polluted city of ours) and all’s well with the world(or for the nitpicking reader, I should say all’s well with my world, but to such a reader I say Ho to you with knobs on!)

Some weeks ago, I found myself brooding darkly, contemplating the meager literary diet I’d been feeding myself on around then. What with lavishing the sweat of the brow on release schedules and bally build errors, I’d become a shadow of the former self in re reading. The end of the long work day usually found me curled up with one of the fruity tales of Jeeves and Wooster and their skirmishes involving vermillion tinted aunts and addle-pated newt fanciers and bushy eyebrow-ed loony doctors and what not. And invigorating as that is at eventide, one day it was bore upon me with unusual vim that I was wallowing in that oft perused albeit well-beloved writing, almost to the exclusion of everything else, and a change of diet seemed to be what the doctor ordered. I let out an anguished cry for assistance and the United States marines arrived with the necessary ammunition - carefully considered reading suggestions. I progressed onto unexplored pastures, reveling in the literary detective tales of Jasper Fforde and the academic adventures of David Lodge, and it seemed smooth sailing awhile. You might have spotted the flaw in this arrangement, I was still toeing the lines of British humour, loath to leave the familiar territory. Once I realized that I struck a radically different line and got myself a copy of Albert Camus’ The Rebel. Now, I do not wish to be uncharitable to the bloke, who might for all I know have composed a masterpiece with that volume of his. But I simply could swallow it, not even in tiny spoonfuls. I might as well have attempted to collar that favorite of Jeeves’, Spinoza’s Ethics. It was an unmitigated disaster, indeed I go so far as to say a .. erm.. whats that word, cats enter into it if im not mistaken. Ah yes, cataclysm.

I was a defeated soul, add to that a soul in torment. In form, I’ve been known to read War and Peace in a matter of a few days and spout well-constructed criticism on its narrative style and scene construction. And here I was, panting like the hart heated in the chase, after plodding through a few passages of the Rebel, dubbing it a twenty minute egg. I felt like one of those poet johnnies who are always beefing on about lost gazelles, I was less than dust beneath the chariot wheels of serious writing.

And then it was that I read this (samanth’s blog link) and the silver lining was visibly bright and inviting. Wodehouse was absolutely the stuff to give the troops. I would merely have to temper the indulgence of hobnobbing with that old friend, by interspersing it with other choice reading material. Once oiled up sufficiently I might even give Spinoza a shot. For now, I have procured a copy of Jeeves in the Offing and Very good Jeeves from the office library and am heaving a gentle contended sigh at the end of the day one. What wizardry from Wodehouse. I truly revere his ability to weave music out of the Engligh Language, apart from his masterful plots and rip-roaringly funny narratives. Wodehouse like Jeeves simply stands apart, a master among men.

PS: Bobby Wickham is fast taking over Gussie Fink-Nottle’s position as my favorite chum of Bertie’s. Her very introduction into the plot motif, has me eyeing her with eyes goggling in anticipation some frightful scheme that would not only bring the rest of the populace to its knees, but even more amusingly land Bertie in one hell of a soup. And her exclamation “Cor chase my Aunt Fanny up a gum tree” is delightfully loopy. But id still wager at three to two that Gussie brings home the gravy, simply on merit of his rocking speech at the Market Snodsdbury Grammar School award function. And another delectable byproduct of ‘Jeeves in the Offing’ is the entirely new light shed on Roderick Glossop, the notable brain-specialist. Having known him all along as a formidable old bird and a janitor to the loony bin, it was wonderful to see him in a charmingly light- hearted, boyish soul. Ah, there is still more to read and revel in, in the wonderful world of Wodehouse, absolutely.