This was a delightful book,
full of speakeasies and raids as well as other amusements from New York in the
1920’s. The book is based on a musical
comedy script, and I can easily see how this would work as a stage production:
not too many sets, action occurring in a tight timeframe to cut down on costume
changes, that sort of thing.** There are
some excellent descriptions of the neighborhoods, and these got me to
thinking. Despite living on the East
Coast, I am not terribly familiar with the city of New York. This is not to say that I have not traveled
there. The truth is that I have probably
managed to pay my respects to Gotham about every one to two years, which is not
bad given the state of things.
I am both blessed and cursed
by my hosts and/or traveling companions.
It seems that whenever I set foot in the metropolis, I have the good
fortune to be with people who are current or past residents, meaning that they
know their way around blindfolded. From
the moment that I alight from either a train station or an airport, I am
whisked away by cabs and people barking knowledgeably about east this and west
that, and whether it’s a good idea to go through the park. It all goes by so quickly that my modus operandi is to sit still, say
nothing, and offer prayers of thanksgiving when we inevitably make it to our
destination on time and in one piece. I
am amazed by the fact that everyone seems to know instinctively how to discern
the cardinal points, which I understand are key in navigating the city. To be honest, the only time I know my north
from my south is when I’m at my house, because it’s crucial for gardening. I have a southern-facing garden, so woe
betide me if I get any ideas of planting, say, impatiens or any other low-light
flower in my beds.
Many people have told me that
the grid system makes getting through the city very easy indeed. That would be true if one took away the
blaring noises of horns and pedestrians who are understandably annoyed by a
middle-aged tourist flailing around in the middle of the sidewalk trying to get
an idea of where the sun is. Because I can
indeed figure out directions given the sun.
The only problem is that the city’s architects and planning department
have insisted on constructing all of these tall buildings that obscure that
useful celestial object. My strength is,
oddly enough, underground. Give me the
name of a stop and I can generally find my way there. It helps that the subway system has maps on
the wall, so I don’t have to waste valuable space unfurling one. I have surprised myself by being able to pick
my way around the city, although this should not be too much of a shock given
that I’m familiar with the underground systems in five other cities. The problem is that my friends seem to insist
on traveling by foot or cab, thereby rendering me a useless lump along for the
ride when we are en route. If I were more paranoid, I would suspect that
some sort of a plot was afoot among them.
Certainly the city must have
changed since Wodehouse’s day. New York
of the 1920’s is probably a distant memory in most parts. Although Wodehouse lived until the 1970’s, I
cannot offhand say that he often traveled into the city. Perhaps he would be just as confused as I am
about getting around if he were plonked in Times Square today, which is,
admittedly, only cold comfort to my bruised pride.
*Read August 2015
**Something else about this
book that made me start is the fact that one of the characters, while working
as a clairvoyant, takes the name Madame Eulalie. Those of you who have had their second (or
third, or, in my case, fourth) cup of coffee today might have noticed that it
is also the name of the lingerie firm owned by Roderick Spode, the would-be
dictator in the Jeeves and Wooster universe.
This makes me wonder if Wodehouse was referring to the Poe poem of the
same name, which is yet another ponderable for me to consider when I have some
free time.
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