Hot Water ~or~ Hot Toddy*

There is no doubt in my mind that this book shows Wodehouse at his most nimble.  It is a rush of things- from people being mischievous, to assumed identities, to jaunts across the Channel, to theft- that made my head spin in a delightful manner that was not unlike having a glass of champagne.  If someone was to ask me to recommend my favorite non-Jeeves and Wooster , non-Blandings Castle Wodehouse, it would be this one.  As a stand alone book, it is deeply satisfying without the crutch o previous knowledge of the characters, etc.  It is not often that one encounters such a level of satisfying entertainment.  The last time I had this feeling was watching the season 6 finale of Game of Thrones, but, in order to earn that, I had to cope with five seasons of violence and degradation, with just enough amusing characters and intrigue to keep me going.  Wodehouse asked much less of his readers, bless him.

Speaking of champers, there was an interesting dose of temperance-talk in this one.  One of the characters is an American senator who is publicly against alcohol, although he quaffs it merrily in his private life.  This left me to wonder if Wodehouse noticed any difference between the US and the UK at the time concerning drinking.  The book was published in 1932 and prohibition was not repealed until the following year.  To say that the US had a disjointed drinking culture at the time must have been an understatement, especially if the portrait of the Senator bore any resemblance to reality.  It reminds me of politicians who make a big thing about their family values and are subsequently revealed to have been chasing their intern around the office or some such thing. 

The entire encounter hinted at the difference in attitudes towards drinking that prevail on the different sides of the Atlantic. Maybe it is because of our past, but there seems to be such an extreme reaction to it in the US, from nothing to the Mad Men era of the five-martini lunch, to now when it seems to depend very much on circumstances.  There is an entire sociological thesis buried here, I’m certain, but I’m trying not to write one.  Instead, I am going to wander down memory lane a little.  We do not have pubs over here in the truest sense.  Just last night, I was thinking about the number of pubs I would walk past in my daily life when I resided in England.  A good number of them would have been a fine place to take kids to for a casual meal.  We don’t have that in the US, at least not where I live.  They are more bars, and children are not allowed in.  This is not to say that I am dying to take my kids into a bar, what with their lurid environments, sticky floors, and the vague smell of the previous night lingering in the air.  But I do wish we had a comfortable casual place to be, and it would not hurt if it was a vaguely historic building instead of something awful festooned with cartoon characters.  One can dream.**

*Read August 2016

**One of my favorite pubs is in the North, just outside of Leeds.  I was introduced to it by a medievalist called Simon Yarrow (now an eminent presence on the academic scene at the University of Birmingham) when a group of us were there for a conference.  The pub had been around for centuries, so long that it had functioning priest holes that were used to hide the Catholic clergy during the Protestant reformation. The pub was beautifully nestled into the countryside, and I will never forget the evening that I had there.  In fact, my mind sometimes wanders there when I am in need of a nice memory.