Genre: Classics
Page Count: My Man: 256, Inimitable: 240
Publication Year: 1919 and 1923
Publisher: My Man published by George Newnes, Inimitable published by Herbert Jenkins
Special Notes: My Man narrated by Simon Prebble, Inimitable narrated by Jonathan Cecil.
Summary: The butler did it.
I do believe I have found my new favorite author. Wodehouse is Dorothy Sayers, Terry Pratchett and Jerome K. Jerome’s Three Men in a Boat all rolled into one. And because this is the only time I’ll get away with it, I though I'd have a go at writing the rest of my review à la Wodehouse.
I apologize for any misuse of British words.
Well, isn’t this a corking collection of stories? The bygone life of a British gentleman of leisure supplies some jolly good times. The audiobook narrators increase the enjoyment by a spade or two, but the stories are such quaint things I can only imagine a blighter wouldn’t like them.
There is a formula they adhere to, which is even more obvious when you listen to them in quick succession as I did. The only real negative of these stories is their similarities, which led to them blurring together and edging toward banality. Bertie remarks on Jeeves’ competence, he receives some jarring news or plea for aid, and flounders about for a spell trying to help the poor chap until Jeeves breezes in with the solution. I wouldn’t say any of the stories are the pits, but it’s heartening to hear that Wodehouse got better. I find it rummy how these rich fools find themselves in the same situation but can’t be bothered to apply experience to fix the dratted thing. It boggles the mind, don’t you know.
Bertie, the man about town gifted with money and too much free time, narrates his misadventures gadding about, meeting friends, avoiding his fearsome aunt, and living a pretty relaxed life. His man Jeeves, a reserved jack-of-all-trades with a sharp eye for fashion, is the rudder to Bertie’s otherwise doomed vessel. I’m a bit worried for the chap; I do hope he scrapes together his bean of a brain to save the day without Jeeves’ suggestive, but firm, hand.
As for Jeeves, I’ve never seen such an amiable manipulator. Why, if he said the sky was purple with perfectly symmetrical clouds, it’d be dashed silly of me to disagree. However, if I were to peel away the affable façade, I’d note how Jeeves is rather alarming. The man is invaluable, knows everything and has a solution to every sticky situation. It’s all under the guise of helping poor Bertie and his hapless friends, but is it all on the up-and-up? Why, he goes and talks to everyone behind Bertie’s back and he comes away flush with cash and admiration. He handles Bertie expertly and in the end he has things his way. Quite simply, Jeeves is a dangerous marvel.
What I mean is, while there's no doubt that in certain matters of dress Jeeves's judgment is absolutely sound and should be followed, it seemed to me that it was getting a bit too thick if he was going to edit my face as well as my costume. No one can call me an unreasonable chappie, and many's the time I've given in like a lamb when Jeeves has voted against one of my pet suits or ties; but when it comes to a valet's staking out a claim on your upper lip you've simply got to have a bit of the good old bulldog pluck and defy the blighter.
As for Bertie’s peers, I can’t recall ever seeing a more thorough collection of bumbling fools. Bertie is no intellectual wonder, but the chappies he runs with constantly find themselves in the most awful scrapes and it’s generally tied up with some woman. How they function in the world without accruing every sort of danger and scheming ruffian is beyond me.
Bingo Little is the worst offender. He simply cannot make a straight go of things without tumbling into some awkward fiasco. Because of his ongoing predicaments, he relies heavily on Bertie and Jeeves to lend him a helping hand. If the poor chump had a realistic view of the world and a few useful skills to employ, he might not suffer so much.
What ho! I nearly forgot to mention Reggie Pepper. Dear Reggie is rather similar to Bertie, but without Jeeves to shepherd him along saner paths. He appears in a only few stories and they’re good, but not bally good.
Where Wodehouse really shines is in his expression. What a lark I had! From near the beginning of the book I knew I’d found something special. I can’t make out why more people don’t sing his praises. This man had such a singular taste for humor, he could make the most simple act a right laugh. But why am I telling you all this? Let’s have the old boy say it in his own words.
He was looking anxious and worried, like a man who has done the murder all right but can't think what the deuce to do with the body.
I couldn't be expected to foresee that the scheme, in itself a cracker-jack, would skid into the ditch as it had done…
“I tell you, Bertie, sometimes when he [a baby] gives me a patronizing glance and then turns away and is sick, as if it revolted him to look at me, I come within an ace of occupying the entire front page of the evening papers as the latest murder sensation. There are moments when I can almost see the headlines: 'Promising Young Artist Beans Baby With Axe.’”
Jeeves smiled paternally. Or, rather, he had a kind of paternal muscular spasm about the mouth, which is the nearest he ever gets to smiling.
“What ho!” I said.
“What ho!” said Motty.
“What ho! What ho!”
“What ho! What ho! What ho!”
After that it seemed rather difficult to go on with the conversation.
Bicky rocked like a jelly in a high wind.
But what I do say is that every now and then, when you'd least expect it, I get a pretty hot brain-wave; and that's what happened now.
Voules entered with that impressive, my-lord-the-carriage-waits look which is what I pay him for.
What I mean is, if you're absolutely off your rocker, but don't find it convenient to be scooped into the luny-bin, you simply explain that, when you said you were a teapot, it was just your Artistic Temperament, and they apologize and go away.
“Do you realize that most days I don't get out of my pyjamas till five in the afternoon, and then I just put on an old sweater?"
I saw Jeeves wince, poor chap! This sort of revelation shocked his finest feelings.
Death, where is thy jolly old sting?
“Bertie, I saved your life once.”
“When?”
“Didn’t I? It must’ve been some other fellow then.”
…he looked like a sheep with a secret sorrow.
Dash it all, but I had to check-out the e-book just so I had an easier time highlighting the amusing bits. Why this form of humor isn’t more common, I haven’t the foggiest.
All in all, it’s quite topping stuff, what?
More Jeeves reviews.