I am not an eager reader of books involving athletic pursuits.* Unlike most of the populace, the Qudditch scenes in the Harry Potter books were not my favorite. I have to admit that, unlike many other literary sporting scenes, there was often some plot exposition in them. I feel the same about battle scenes. Many is the time that military historians have bored the socks off of me with descriptions of troop movements and the like. I find myself caring less about where a certain battalion went and more about what the ultimate outcome was. This is one of the reasons why I like the Game of Thrones. The few battle scenes are from the point of view of one character, which is quite helpful. More often than not, you hear about the outcome of a certain battle that had been set up, rather than tediously reliving every swish of every sword.
One of the things that I had to come to terms with in my pursuit of reading all of Wodehouse is that quite a few books involve cricket, rugby, and/or golf. Boxing and horse racing have also been pertinent to some plots, though to a lesser degree. Mercifully, I know the basic rules of cricket and rugby, and I also know that rugby at the time was referred to as football (given that the Brits now call soccer football, it can all become quite confusing). In fact, I’m really pleased that if these are the sports I must contend with, at least I’m reading about something I know. The same cannot be said about American football. I’ve spent years trying to get my head around the concept of a down, and it’s only just now seeming as though I might begin to understand.
Mike at Wyrken, which was September’s Wodehouse, starts out with a cricket-mad family. It only gets worse from there, as the entire book hinges around important school-related cricket matches. The accounts of wickets falling are mercifully short, because, let me tell you, we’re dealing with a sport that involves tea breaks, so we’re not talking about events that are action-packed. Cricket is a languid, meditative sport, and I think even Wodehouse wanted to skip to the end.
This book is the first in the Psmith series (I know nothing about the titular character). The odd thing is that, from what I could tell, Psmith does not make an appearance. The original book was split into two, this one and Mike and Psmith, which is now winging its way to me courtesy of Amazon. My intention is to read the entire series now, although I have to double-check that Overlook has published them all. Hopefully, not all of them will involve cricket, although I did notice that one of the later books featured a boxing match on the cover, so I’m not out of the woods yet.
*It’s probably not surprising that I don’t spend my free time sitting around watching sports. In my defense, I do enjoy a good game, but there has to be something on the line, such as an historic win, to grab my attention. For instance, I found the Patriot‘s 2001 season to be particularly epic, almost operatic in its drama, and I did keep tabs on the young Tom Brady that year. That being said, I must admit that I heard about the Red Sox winning the World Series in 2005 on the news that night as I was drifting off to sleep (I used to sleep with my radio on, but that’s another story. I blame Stephen King.).
One of my lasting memories is of staying up to watch Superbowl XXXVIII and then attempting to fax you my match report.
ReplyDeleteThe thing to remember about cricket, I think, is that the rules are insanely hard to pin down. It would look very different if you played after just reading the rules without having seen a game, especially the rules in Wodehouse's time. The phrase "it simply isn't cricket" refers to something that technically isn't wrong, but that no gentleman would do.
I still have that fax lurking somewhere. Seeing it under my door that morning made me laugh, because I could only wonder what the hotel staff were thinking.
ReplyDeleteOne of my oral exams at Oxford began with the examiners teaching me what a "long hop" is. Another thing I'll never forget.