Meeting Old Friends for the First Time

Something Fresh is the first book about the inhabitants of Blandings Castle.  It is not, however, the first Blandings novel I have read.  Lord Emsworth and his prize pig, the Empress of Blandings, are far from being novel acquaintances.  It was very strange then to have him introduced for the first time.  As a character in this book, he had the tendency to float off to the side.  He is not a major presence in the other books, his being does not loom large as, say, as one of the Wooster aunts.  However, in the later books he is made to be a more sympathetic character; in this book, I felt as though having set him up as a dotty old man with a scatty mind, that Wodehouse wrote himself into a corner.  Perhaps part of this lack of motivating force behind the character is that his grand passion, the Empress herself, has yet to arrive upon the scene.  There needs to be something driving a character, even one who is perceived to be away with the fairies most of the time.  When Wodehouse introduced the pig, it probably felt as though everything clicked into place.

I had a situation recently where I encountered earlier manifestations of people I know quite well in the current day, and it reminded me of my encounter with Lord Emsworth in this novel.  Reading the book, I felt as though I was meeting someone I had already met for the first time, and that everything had not been developed.  It must be the sort of thing that time-travelers are subjected to, if that really exists.  My parents’ 40^th wedding anniversary occurred last month.  As part of the celebrations, I put together a large photo montage documenting them through the years.  I had a good laugh looking at the many stages and phases that my parents’ hair went through, documenting my father’s glorious long locks from the 70’s that skimmed his shoulders to today, where he has what can probably most politely be termed a streamlined look.  My mother was not immune to the whims of the ages, as I was reminded that she was afflicted with a perm for a good portion of the Regan years.  Despite these follicular changes, it was very evident that they were my parents, even in their more youthful, carefree incarnations.

The oddest part of it was looking at pictures of me during my first year of life, and then comparing them with pictures of my son from the same time of his life.  We share the same chubby round face, blue eyes and bow-shaped lips.  It is almost like seeing a Xerox, but of course, a closer inspection revealed the differences, much the same as reading further into the Blandings series shows the development of Lord Emsworth’s personality.  My son’s nose is entirely different, and I’m convinced he either stole it from my father or his.  Then there are the differences in temperament and interests.  For instance, in his short life he has already shown more interest in balls used for athletic purposes than I have in my almost four decades on this planet.  He also has a merry twinkle that I’m certain skipped my generation.  Yet there are bits of myself that I do recognize in him, and help me to understand him and not be so anxious about his development. 

Catching up with Lord Emsworth after initially meeting him mid-stream was a little confusing.  After I finished the book, I found myself appreciating how Wodehouse went about modifying him, and finally hitting upon his eureka moment that led to the Emsworth that is more instantly recognizable by Wodehouse nuts (or are we fanatics, or perhaps there is an established collective noun that I don’t know: a gaga of Wodehouse aficionados?).  Getting to know who my son is has a similar feel to it as I see bits of me in him, although ultimately I don’t have the knowledge that he’ll definitely turn out like either of his parents, or develop an overwhelming mania for porcine development for that matter.  Life is not as easily scripted as a book, and thank goodness for that.