The Last One, Sort Of ~or~ Sunset at Blandings*

Unfinished novels are a tricky business.  They can be the source of much speculation even when copious  notes outlining the unwritten action exist.  Who knows how the Muse might or might not have influenced Plum at the last moment.  He could have thrown the entire thing out and had everyone run off with the circus (well, this is probably not likely).  Sunset at Blandings is sadly unfinished.  Because of this, no fewer than three editors have had their say about it, which makes for a very crowded authorship.  So when I alluded in the title of this last entry that it was sort of my last Wodehouse, I meant that I think that number of cooks involved firmly removes it from the list of Must Reads of the Plum oeuvre. 

It’s tough having a few voices in your head.  This was certainly the case with this book, because there were endnotes by Richard Usborne that illuminated the action.**  Then there were some lovely appendices at the end, speculating on the identities of the properties and pigs that inspired the creation of Blandings Castle and its empress.  The book itself was not in a final draft and it was bereft of the usual flourishes.  I wonder if Wodehouse would have been happy that it was published.  Probably, because it made money for his heirs, and he was always concerned about having enough dosh and I suspect he would not have begrudged them of a money-spinning opportunity. 

It feels odd to be in this position.  During the years that I have kept this blog, I have reflected on what I would say in the last entry.  One possibility would be to reflect on the changes that have happened to me and the country since early 2009.  I think, however, that I have allowed current events to invade this blog just enough; too much would see me on a soapbox, and this is not the place.  On the personal front, I have had two children, been divorced and remarried, changed jobs, and said goodbye to far too many loved ones.***  The duration of my relationship with Wodehouse now only surpasses those I’ve had with England and the saint who was the focus of my doctoral dissertation.****

The curious reader may wonder what I’ve got next up my sleeve.  The truth is that, as much as I’ll miss Plum, I’m happy not to have my reading selections be so prescribed.  I have a couple of bookshelves at home filled with titles that I keep meaning to turn to.  Also, the Want to Read section of my Goodreads site is well populated.  In time, I will probably get around to finally plowing through Remembrances of Things Past, finishing off the remaining Shakespeare titles I have not read, and probably consult all of Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes tales (but not the modern ones by different authors as things like that are not my cup of tea). 

I suspect that my first book might be a history of the Romanoffs or something by Stefan Zweig.  Maybe I’ll pick something at random from off my shelves, or peruse Cold Comfort Farm for the one-millionth time.  It does not matter, because at the end of the day, I’ll be reading.  If today’s weather is any indication, I shall be reading surrounded by a delightful spring, with the promise of summer imminent. 

*Read April 2017

**I hate endnotes.  The part I object to the most is flipping back and forth, or having to keep your finger in to mark the place, resulting in an uncomfortable reading experience.  Give me footnotes or give me death. 

***The most recent death was last week, and I’m still reeling from it.  It oddly coincided with finishing this project, which made me feel only more bereft.  It’s been an emotional week.

***Not counting family, of course.  The poor things are just as stuck with me as I am with them.

Letting Go of the Cow-Creamer ~or~ Jeeves in the Offing*

I was originally going to title this post “My Last Jeeves,” because this is indeed the last Jeeves book in this project.  This was my plan as of a year ago when I decided to do the last few books in chronological order.  It turns out that it was only semi-chronological because, when I looked at the titles, I found this one came before some of the books featuring characters that do not recur.  Wonderful as they are, I wanted to respect the fact that I have spent a long time pondering the depths of human motivation with Jeeves and Wooster.  So here we are.

I dragged my feet writing this entry.  Normally I would blame the outside forces in my life (namely those that I produced following nine months’ gestation) but that would not be fair in this instance.  It feels very odd to actually be coming to an end.  The funny thing is that I never thought that it would happen.  Not that I’m expecting another trove of Wodehouse books to emerge, thereby moving the goalpost, but 2017 seemed so long ago on that cold January morning of 2009.  It feels almost shocking that here we are, in this Brave New World.

It also feels shocking that we have seen the last of the cow-creamer.  Those of you would are familiar with the Jeeves and Wooster scenarios will know that Bertie’s Uncle Tom has an extensive collection of antique silver, the most prized piece being an eighteenth-century cow-creamer.**  After seeing that object being the source of many attempted burglaries and the catalyst of other mishaps, I was about as shocked as Bertie was to learn that Tom consented to sell it.  Even though this book was written a full 14 years prior to Wodehouse’s death, it felt as though he knew in some way that this was a swan song.***

Knowing that this was the last of the new Jeeves and Wooster outings that I would read, I delighted in savoring some of the details that I’ll note below.  It was a great book, and I’m happy to have read it.

-On page 12, when describing his love of mystery novels, Bertie observes, “I can always do with another corpse or two.”  This line just tickled me, especially since I too enjoy tales of British people killing one another.

-Page 18 contains two of my more favorite Bertieisms: “aged relative” and “old ancestor.”

-Page 20 has one of the rare references to the time that this book was written (in this case, 1960): “It was like laughing lightly while contemplating one of those horrors from outer space which are so much with us at the moment on the motion-picture screen.”

-Bertie and I have a similar pet peeve: men who are in possession of a wide upper lip who do not grow a moustache.  To the end of my days, I will assert that this ultimately led to John Major’s downfall (p. 38).

-Page 55 has a wonderful play on words.  It will take a bit to set up, so much so that I know its snappy effect will be lost, but I need to note it.  There is a family called Cream visiting Aunt Dahlia and Uncle Tom.  During a conversation about the cow-creamer, the departure of one the clan’s members comes with these words: “… said the Cream, rising.”  When it’s in the moment, it elicits a chuckle, believe me.

I could go on and never finish this entry, which is admittedly a tempting thought.  But, much like death, taxes, and catching the cold that has afflicted the other three members of my family,**** I must accept the inevitable.  Over the last few months I have spent a great deal of time defending my project to myself (obviously, I ought to have settled this years ago, but timing has never been my strong suit).  The number one reason why I took this on is because I enjoy reading Wodehouse.  There are many things that would indicate that this is an indelicate choice given the political times in which we inhabit, the top one being that the majority of Wodehouse’s characters are white males who have known considerable privilege. 

My reply would be two fold.  The first is that we are so often told that one should write about what one knows.  Plum was a white male who grew up in a privileged world, so much so that he was even able to avoid the conflict that took the lives of many of his contemporaries.  This is what he knew, so does it make it invalid?*****  Additionally, and to me this is the more important point, these are incredibly kind books.  The bonds of family and friendship mean something to Wodehouse’s protagonists; Bertie is forever going on about The Code of the Woosters.  All of the action is set off by people trying to help one another.  While, for the most part, we’re not talking life-or-death situations here, one is also rarely faced with that in one’s own life.  We could all do a little more with hearing about people doing nice things for each other, and we could all benefit from increasing our store of Good Deeds.  Kindness and consideration are key to any Wodehouse book, and thank goodness for that.

*Read March 2017

**That is, a vessel designed to pour cream that is in the shape of a cow. 

*** That being said, perhaps he envisioned another appearance by the vessel, but we’ll never know. 

****I should clarify that this three are the human members of the family.  My two cats and my son’s newly acquired fish are not included, though they are very much a part of our brood.

*****Also, I wonder if he created this semi-paradise directly as a response to what went on, directly opposed to Hemingway’s jaundiced look at the world.  This will join the great list of Things I Will Never Know.

Additional Character ~or~ Pearls, Girls and Monty Bodkin*

The problem with writing a blog over a protracted period of years accompanied by the bleariness that is particular to the state of being a parent of small children is that you forget the subject of each and every post.  I could be a diligent author and look up topics but I would become distracted by taxes, a vomiting cat, or a screeching offspring and the result would be that I’d never be able to write the actual post.  So here we are, with me snatching a quiet half-hour to write, and I have the odd feeling that I am about to make comments that I already have before.  Then again, given that I’m writing about Wodehouse, who was not above recycling plays, plot structures, and short stories, I feel as though I’m in good company.

The point being that, littered as many Wodehouse tales as with a brilliant array of characters, there is always one constant presence: that of Plum himself.  It comes out the most when he writes in the third person and often takes the form that nowadays would be called meta.  For instance, on page eighty-one of this month’s selection, he starts out a chapter with an amusing reflection on the role of pacing in a story.  The feeling imparted by such moments comes across as confidences from an old friend.  Perhaps that is only my feeling, especially since I am two books away from the end of this project, but it is a comforting one.  Wodehouse wrote this book when he was 90, and while I’ve noted the strength of this voice in many of his books, it was at its strongest here.  If books ever had end credits, The Voice of Wodehouse would be a frequent name on the lists.

Speaking of Wodehouse being 90 when he authored this book, there is a passage that I would bet a tidy sum reflects conversations he had with the publishing people: “‘Well, this is certainly the happy ending.  I had a feeling everything would come right in the last reel.  Old-fashioned, yes, but it still sells tickets.’”  I can only imagine how trying it was to sell the land of Bertie and Blandings Castle in the age of bell-bottoms and questionable facial hair.**  Was Wodehouse seen more of an historic anachronism then?  There was a television show, The World of Wooster, that ran from 1965 until 1967, but that was five years in the past by the time this book came around.  Certainly, it took until the 1990s with the Fry & Laurie adaptation for I think a true reexamination by the general public.  It can be hard to be a legend when one is still alive. 

*Read February 2017

**Of course, I am writing this in the era that has seen the reemergence of Victorian facial hair and the man-bun, so who am I to cast shadows? 

Galahad at Blandings ~or~ Uncoiling the Spring*

The nice thing about taking a chronological approach to this last leg of my Reading Wodehouse challenge is that I am finishing up with some strong examples of a master still in possession of his talents.  I don’t believe that Overlook published the books in order by publication year, although they very sweetly held off on publishing Sunset at Blandings, the unfinished book that awaits me in April, to the very end.  Who knows why.  Certainly I know very little about the publishing world.**  Perhaps it was a rights issues, occupying a team of copyright lawyers for months on end.  Perhaps someone just wanted to get his or her favorite ones out first, and then felt a twinge of remorse looking at the other, neglected titles.  Perhaps they were led by the data analytics that seems to lead a great many people these days, to varying effects.***  Who knows, the publication order might have just as easily been determined by throwing a dart at a list.

The book is a masterclass in plotting and the result is so skillful that I deeply wish I had a Galahad Threepwood in my life.  There really is not much else that I can say about this book except that if one is in need of a mental diversion, and after the past few months I think this applies to anyone, regardless of what side of the political divide you fall on, this is just the ticket.  It seems that when Wodehouse himself was in need of a diversion when he wrote the book.  It was published in 1964 and refers to the 1929 stock market crash as if it was a recent event.  It’s not often that we get such an exact historical marker for a book, and indeed, I have seen some of the later titles adapt to modern times by having the leads be stewardesses instead of private secretaries.  This makes me wonder if Plum needed an out as well.  Modern life, even fifty years ago, can be too much. 

*Read January 2017

**The little I do know of it is via an old friend of mine who is a literary agent.  The life is not as glamorous as one might think.  Her old office was plagued by a race of super mice who took no notice of the mind-scrambling sonic traps that were scattered around the place.  She also works all the hours God sends and has told me stories of deeply uncivilized behavior.  Never mind the fact that everyone is running about gleefully proclaiming that print is dead.  It’s enough to make one consider establishing a Society for the Prevention of Cruelty for the Literary Field. 

***Off-topic maybe, but this calls to mind the recent reboot by Netflix of the Gilmore Girls series.  The stories chronicling the decision to commission these episodes stated that the executives were impressed by how many people were still watching it on the service.  They then took the Give the People What They Want approach (often a mistake and possibly an explanation for the deluge of superhero movies drowning our local multiplexes).  My suspicion is that it paid off dividends for the company, although I was annoyed by a great deal of the story.  Sometimes, just because you can do something does not mean that it will be executed wonderfully, and I believe that the creative duo responsible for the show ultimately did their creation a disservice.  Artistic vision often needs to be tempered; just look at what the sonnet format did with Shakespeare’s brilliance.  I do hope that the producers of Will and Grace are listening somewhere, because I have Grave Concerns about that endeavor, which was nicely wrapped up years ago. 

Ice in the Bedroom ~or~ Bad Timing*

As I’ve written earlier, some of Plum’s earlier novels made me queasy.  While reading these tales of schoolboy derring-do, I could not help but remember that due to their likely birthdates that the chances were high that they would become cannon-fodder during World War I.  Of course, these are fictional character we’re talking about, but I cannot help but think that Wodehouse had to base them on some of his own school chums.  In a way, these books are memorials of the boys who later sacrificed themselves to preserve our way of life. 

There was a similar feeling that came over me while I was reading this month’s selection.  Past of the plot involves the main character Freddie Widgeon trying to raise the funds to buy into a coffee plantation in Kenya.  That bothered me a little, and I’ve only just now worked out why that is.  My first thought was to remember that recently** there had been occasions in Africa when white landowners were required to hand back their property to the government.  This did not happen in Kenya, but of course in Zimbabwe. 

My second thought was to remember that a lot has happened on the African continent in terms of nation building in the past century, so I did a bit or research on what had been going on in Kenya.  It turns out that the country won its independence from the UK in 1963.  A quick glance at the publication information of Ice in the Bedroom informed me that it was presented to the reading public in 1961, a mere two years before the country where Freddie immigrated to changed dramatically.

What happened to Freddie Widgeon and his coffee plantation?  Did all of his dreams vanish in the tide of UK citizens who left Kenya following independence?  Did he stay on?  What of any mini-Widgeons who might have been born of his marriage to his beloved Sally?  These questions can never be answered because Freddie has never drawn breath.  Still, it is difficult for me to read these stories and not think about the people who did try and make a go in the coffee world just before the country fundamentally changes.  In my own life I have had what could be deemed poor timing with how international events intersected with my plans, so perhaps I feel something of a kinship for these seemingly-doomed characters.

*Read December 2016

**Right, so it began in 2008 and some might not consider that to be recent.  Please bear with me, because my mind works a little different when processing time.  Anything under a decade happened virtually yesterday to me.  Decades are required to have passed before I even start considering that something happened a while back.  I blame this on being a trained medieval historian and that time in my life when mental leaps of a century or so were commonplace in the grey goo that is my brain.