The mood at Blandings Castle (a locale used in several Wodehouse stories) is sour this morning. But I couldn’t help it when unexpected things like legs dangling through ceilings and flung flower pots pepper the pages. That made me chuckle in the bookstore. Despite that, however, I did not expect to be incapable of holding in my laughter while on the train. I expected this book to be funny. The first lines clued me in:Īt the open window of the great library of Blandings Castle, drooping like a wet sock, as was his habit when he had nothing to prop his spine against, the Earl of Emsworth, that amiable and boneheaded peer, stood gazing out over his domain. If Frankie was reading Wodehouse, it’s time I was reading Wodehouse! No offense to this fictional teenage girl. See, I’d heard of Wodehouse, but with these authors who’ve written so many books, how does one know where to start? I put it to the back of my mind until my wife was reading The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau Banks and kept telling me about Frankie’s ruminations on Wodehouse. Alright. A few months ago (crikey! I mean six months ago - time flies!), John Self posted a picture of one (of many, I’m assuming) of his book shelves on it were several Wodehouse titles (in the wonderful hardback collector’s edition available from Overlook here in the United States and Everyman in the United Kingdom - I highly recommend them!). I asked where one would start reading Wodehouse for the first time. Wodehouse before finally picking up Leave It to Psmith.
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