P.G. Wodehouse's work has been on my reading list for some time now, and all the more since learning of Faith Sullivan's Good Night, Mr. Wodehouse. I am rather fond of Sullivan's work, and took her endorsement of Wodehouse as further evidence that I should move him up my list. And so.
My Man Jeeves is a collection of Wodehouse's short stories, the vast majority of which feature - you guessed it - Jeeves. (Jeeves, of course, is the smarter-than-the-master butler who is forever getting his idling employer and said employer's kith and kin out of various jams.) I have mixed feelings on this collection. At a minimum I will say it took time for me to warm up to Wodehouse's style; title character Jeeves; and, not least, Jeeves's emplyer Bertie Wooster.
Originally published in early 1919, the life and times described in these pages are a world apart from anything most (all?) modern readers know. The language, too, causes the reader to sit up and take notice - British, yes, but also terribly old-fashioned. And unlike a historian, Wodehouse wasn't writing for today's audience, providing context as he worked. Coupled with the fact that Wodehouse's work is in many ways a parody, the overall affect can be a bit jarring.
Make no mistake, I'm glad I read all of the stories in My Man Jeeves. I'm simply not sure I need to follow his adventures any further.
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