Barmy in Wonderland ~or~ Wit and Brevity*

This is yet another of the Wodehouse efforts that began life as a play.  I feel that I have read enough of them to definitively say that I don’t like them as much as the books and short stories that did not begin their lives flooded in limelight.  My problem might be that I simply do not like the feeling that bits of exploratory text have been shoe-horned in.  It does not feel effortless, and the thing about Wodehouse is that his writing should be very much like a meringue**: light and effortless, because any hint of over-beating would leave you with a tough, inedible lump.  We’re far from inedible lump territory with Barmy, but everything is relative.

Even with a mediocre Wodehouse, the good news is that it is soon over.  I wish I could say the same about the latest book that was inflected upon me by the well-meaning ladies in my book club.  My book club history has been relatively successful as there are maybe only two books I’ve been compelled to finish that have not been to my taste.  In fact, it is thanks to a now defunct club that I encountered one of my favorite books.***  But back to this literary monstrosity.  What troubles me the most is  that quite a few people world-wide are fans of the book, The Night Circus.  In fact, some of my nearest and dearest adore it.  For the life of me, I could not admit to similar feelings and still be able to look at myself in the mirror. 

The subject matter, time period, etc., are all things that would normally intrigue me  But if there is one thing that will raise my ire, it is someone who, not content with telling the reader something in a particular way, goes on and basically spends sentence upon sentence repeating the same thought.  I’m not a patient person, and much less a patient reader.  Perhaps this is yet another reason why I chose Plum.  For good or for bad, everything is over within 300 pages and off you pop.  Very thoughtful.

*Read September 2016

**The more appropriate analogy might be a soufflé, but, to my culinary horror, I don’t believe that I’ve ever had one.  I’ve a doctor’s appointment looming, and if on the off chance I discover that my world is about to come to a crashing end, I will make up for that deficiency post haste.  Actually, I should probably do it regardless, but there is something that tells me that minding two small children and being concerned about egg whites does not mix. 

***The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters for the curious.