How Right You Are, Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse

Truly, there is something to be said for reliable consistency, for serial continuity. When one runs across delightful characters whom one is loath to part with, who can express one's joy when one discovers there is so much more where that came from?

I know I am being slightly verbose here. But perhaps there is no better way to expound upon the merits of How Right You Are, Jeeves, for verbosity is in fact one of the more endearing aspects of the protagonist and his associates. I revelled in the early-twentieth-century British vernacular. The accents from this period give a distinct impression of rapidity of speech, and this text conjures up that sound. It is almost as if the book is meant to be read quickly, and that is, of course, how I always go about it.

The characters' antics are beyond ridiculous, but that is all part and parcel of the Wodehouse ethos. Bertie Wooster is inevitably involved with a woman he was previously engaged to, or at least thought to have been engaged to. He usually has a lovestruck friend, and an aunt makes an appearance. Wooster gets tangled in others' affairs, and Jeeves is there to untie the knots. It's all here.

The farcical allusions are hilarious. A dachshund is described as "sound and fury signifying nothing," a reference which I readily understood after a lengthy study of Macbeth in school earlier this year. Wooster also employs a singular device of abbreviation, declaring, "[I] buried my f. in my h." when he was distraught, "f." being "face" and "h." being "hands." I've never encountered such a thing, nor do I believe I ever will. The fashion of writing seems to be a delightful little Wodehouse original.

The plot was rather meandering, but it defers to the characters and dialogue. The conversations are rapid-fire and truly comic. The characters play off of each other as if they were performing a sketch. The lines are concise, polished, and air-tight, snappy and clean. Wodehouse was a master of bons mots.