I started bagging Wodehouse in my last review for Carry On, Jeeves because I found after a few reads that he started to become monotonous. Wodehouse tends to recycle similar plot points — breaking and entering, damsels in distress, etc. and also I found Jeeves super annoying after a while. In Carry On, Jeeves which is a collection of short stories, it was just a bit too much. But look, I’m a simple bloke: I see a Wodehouse book in a bargain bin or swap shelves, I gotta get my hands on it, especially The Code of the Woosters, which pretty much made his career.
The Code of the Woosters follows Bertie Wooster trying to steal a ‘cow-creamer’ from the hands of a retired magistrate in his mansion. On the process, he has to rescue the engagement of two of his friends while battling a bumbling policeman, a Mussolini-like low class fascist leader and the magistrate’s niece who seems to hold all the keys.
Sounds like another Wodehouse premise? Sure.
Happily, The Code of the Woosters is so fricking awesome. Yes, there are familiar storylines here with the breaking and entering, damsels in distress who are really villains themselves, Jeeves saving the day. But Jeeves’s presence isn’t so prominent in this book and we follow Bertie Wooster mainly, and because he’s an endearing idiot who’s pretty hopeless with life, it just makes good comedy. Come to think of it, most of Wodehouse’s characters are endearing idiots. Also, Jeeves struggle to find for solutions here and sometimes follow Bertie’s ideas to hilarious ends.
The writing is sharp, biting and such a joy to read. Am I asking for more Wodehouse? Maybe. But I’m wary that this is his magnum opus, and out of all the Wodehouses that I’ve read, this reads the freshest.
I have to be guilty of including some of these lines here:
‘… you would just sit tight and say “Well, well!” and do nothing?’
I weighed this.
‘Possibly not “Well, well!” I concede that the situation calls for the strongest comment. But I wouldn’t do anything.’
And:
‘This is frightful, Bertie.’
‘Not too good, no.’
‘Im in the soup.’
‘Up to the thorax.’
When reading gets too miserable, because we do read a lot of miserable books, just ask Les Mis, and you just can’t settle for badly written shit, then pick up a Wodehouse. But especially this one.
