Performing Flea ~or~ Plummy Letters*

Admission: I was not best pleased when I peered at my bookshelf and saw that the book I was slated to read this month was a dreaded piece of non-fiction.  Moreover, it was a book of letters that was edited not by Wodehouse, but by William Townend, a writer and one of Plum’s friends from his school days.  The only consoling thought was that this was the last of the Wodehouse non-fictions, a genre that the sensitive blog reader will note causes me much consternation. 

All turned out well though because the letters were nice and breezy.  It should, however, be understood that I would have been more enthusiastic if I had been reading a Jeeves book, or roaming around Blandings Castle with its Empress.  That being said, it was a hoot to read about Wodehouse’s encounters with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, A.A. Milne, and H.G. Wells.  I also enjoyed reading his reaction to George Orwell’s defense of his actions during the war.**  There were some instances of name-dropping that induced eye-rolling*** because they referred to people I don’t know, but even this was addressed in the final letter.  Townend sent Plum the manuscript of the book and asked for his opinion.  Plum wrote back that he was surprised by the number of names of long-forgotten and/or dead people that appeared.  Good on him, I say.

The very thought of a friend publishing one’s letter is an odd one.  How on earth did Townend broach the subject?  Was he a money-grubbing desperate author who wanted to cash in on his long-standing relationship with his famous friend?  Was he trying to rehabilitate Wodehouse’s reputation?  Was he trying to drum up interest in his own books (many of the letters contain writing advice from Wodehouse)?  Was it a mixture of all or some of the above?  It would seem that we will never know for certain, or some learned friend of mine will enlighten me soon.  What did come out was that Plum had a generous nature, and perhaps this extended to agreeing to publish the letters.  Also, Townend added some nice annotations which added to the pleasure of reading the letters.  Sadly, nothing could have made me enjoy Plum’s internment diary, which gave a glimpse into the misery and drudgery that was World War II.****

Enough pondering.  Here are some of the little gems that were tucked into the letters:

“You have your heroes struggling against Life and Fate, and what they want are stories about men struggling with octopuses and pirates.” (p. 41)

The bit on his visit to Hearst Castle on pp. 76 and 77 were interesting, especially since I visited the site as a child.  I knew that Plum was acquainted with Marion Davies, and this confirmed my suspicion that he met Hearst himself.

On p. 228 he referred to being in one’s forties as young, which is something I need to remember going forward.

Finally, on p. 241 he talked about feeling like a fraud in spite of all his success.  I only remark upon it because I heard a similar feeling expressed among my friends in graduate school.  Since then, I find myself wondering how many people feel fraudulent in spite of their achievements.  I often feel as though I’ve made a hash of my own life, but that’s not comparable to say, Barak Obama looking at himself at the mirror wondering how all of this could have happened. 

*Read November 2016

**This is a topic on which I have held forth ad nauseum and will put on permanent hold for the well-being of all.

***This will come as no surprise to my long-suffering husband, who holds firm to the belief that I roll my eyes on average once every thirty minutes. 

****Not that he was poorly treated, but, if this internment was considered plush, I only shudder to think what the concentration camps were like.