Wodehouse, P. G.
P. G. Wodehouse 1881–-1975
(Born Pelham Grenville Wodehouse) English-born American novelist, short story writer, memoirist, lyricist, screenwriter, playwright, and journalist.
Wodehouse is widely recognized as one of the foremost humorists and prose stylists of the twentieth century. His elaborate, farcical stories and novels are set most often in an upper-class, pseudo-Edwardian world of clubmen and country estates and present the comic adventures of characters drawn from the stock-types of English and American musical comedy. In particular, his most beloved characters, Bertie Wooster and his resourceful valet, Jeeves, have been ranked with the outstanding comic duos in literature. Wodehouse's accomplishments have earned nearly universal admiration from critics, including such writers as George Orwell, Dorothy Parker, Hilaire Belloc, and Sinclair Lewis.
Born in Guildford, Surrey on October 15, 1881, Wodehouse spent two years of his early childhood in Hong Kong, where his father served as a magistrate. He was then sent back to England with his two older brothers to pursue his education. Short, infrequent visits by his parents, coupled with all he suffered under the strictures of various temporary guardians and eccentric schoolmistresses, shaped Wodehouse's increasingly introverted and bookish nature, and he found an outlet for his energies and interests in sports and creative writing. In 1900 he began training in London for a career in banking. During the next two years, he published some eighty items in various boys' magazines. By 1902 he had become a full-time writer, having already begun serializing his first novel, The Pothunters, in Public School Magazine and contributing to an anonymous humor column in the London Globe. In 1904 Wodehouse traveled to the United States and began his career as a musical-comedy lyricist, which he conducted while continuing to produce fiction.
By 1914 Wodehouse had married and settled in New York where he began selling stories and serialized novels to major American magazines. Throughout the 1920s and 1930s, he published an astonishing number of stories and novels, while finding time to write musical-comedy lyrics and plays and to work as a Hollywood screenwriter, becoming a very wealthy man in the process. While in England in 1939, he was awarded an honorary doctorate of letters by Oxford University. The following year the Wodehouses were in Le Touquet, France, where they had taken a villa, when that nation was overrun by the advancing German army, and they were placed under arrest. Under German occupation, all the male residents of Touquet, Wodehouse included, were collected and transported to a series of internment camps. After eleven months, because of his age (he was almost sixty) and pressure applied for his release by readers in the then-neutral United States, Wodehouse was taken to Berlin, where he was joined by his wife. There they were assigned a hotel suite and, though kept under close observation by their captors, lived fairly comfortably. Soon afterward, several representatives from America convinced Wodehouse to deliver a series of radio broadcasts to the United States, to assure his audience there of his well-being and tell of his recent camp experiences. A series of five radio talks were taped, approved by government censors, and broadcast to the United States. Wodehouse's light-hearted but highly revealing portrait of life as an internee, subjected to his German captors' stupidity and inefficiency, was welcomed in America. Yet the talks were also heard in war-torn Britain, a nation undergoing daily privations and holding out under nightly bombing raids by the Nazi air force. In his native country Wodehouse was viewed as a traitor, for there the law deemed it a treasonous act for a British subject to broadcast over enemy facilities for any reason during wartime. Yet he was ably defended in print by a number of prominent people—notably, by George Orwell.
Wodehouse was eventually cleared by British intelligence authorities at the war's end. After his release by Allied investigators, he and his wife moved back to the United States, and he became a citizen in 1955. Wodehouse continued to write prodigiously, publishing an average of a novel every year for the rest of his life, not counting numerous short stories and autobiographical works. In America Wodehouse's popularity soared to its high prewar level, with British enthusiasm rising to match it by the 1960s. In recognition of the author's achievement, the Queen named him Knight Commander of the Order of the British Empire in January of 1975. Six weeks later, while in the hospital for treatment of a minor skin rash and while working on a novel (published posthumously in 1977 as Sunset at Blandings), Wodehouse died at age ninety-three.
Wodehouse was a prolific writer who composed song lyrics, novels, and short fiction. While he is renowned for his high level of skill in all these genres, many critics consider him to be at his finest in his short stories; these concern the improbable activities of roughly seven major characters or groupings of characters. One of these is Stanley Featherstonehaugh Ukridge, a lazy, get-quick-rich artist. A few steps up the social scale stands another major Wodehouse character, Mr. Mulliner. A fisherman given to stretching the truth to a greater extent than most, he occupies the bar-parlor of the Angler's Rest, where he regales awed listeners with preposterous tales of derring-do performed by his innumerable relatives. Another sportsman, a retired golfer known as the Oldest Member, narrates Wodehouse's acclaimed golf stories. Of roughly the same age as the elderly Oldest Member is one of the Wodehouse's most beloved characters, Clarence, ninth Earl of Emsworth, the dithering lord of Blandings Castle. A man who wants only to be left in peace to potter about, tend his garden, and care for his prize-winning pig, Lord Emsworth is beset on all sides by domineering sisters, an overly efficient personal secretary, a volatile gardener, and a vapid son known to the world as a dog-biscuit tycoon. Another peer, Frederick Cornwallis Twistleton, Earl of Ickenham (better known as Uncle Fred), appears in several novels and in a story.
Wodehouse's best-known collection of characters comprise the Drone Club, a group of unmarried, upper-class young idlers who may be found typically at the racetrack, sponging loans off each other, spending rainy afternoons at the Club tossing playing cards into a top hat, or falling in love, always with comic results. Most the stories that feature members of the Drones are collected in the 1936 volume of short stories, Young Men in Spats. To many critics, one of the Drones stands above all the others as Wodehouse's greatest creation: Bertie Wooster. He narrates stories of the trials of his life in a hilariously slangy fashion, revealing, despite protestations to the contrary, his utter dependence upon his patient “gentleman's personal gentlemen,” Jeeves, to extricate him time and again from his troubles. Bertie and Jeeves have been compared with the most famous character-duos in literary history.
The devices used by Wodehouse in his fiction have been explored and catalogued by several critics, notably linguist Robert A. Hall, Jr. in his The Comic Style of P. G. Wodehouse. Hall has identified and documented such workings as inventive word formations, transferred epithets, and comic misunderstandings among characters arising from lexicographic or syntactic confusion, among many others. Yet most critics and readers alike agree that critiquing Wodehouse's humor is, as Punch put it, like taking a spade to a soufflé. The majority of commentators have been content simply to applaud his accomplishment. A few commentators have posited the existence of satiric intent in Wodehouse's work while others have suggested the polar opposite: that he was simply an adoring chronicler of an outmoded and cruel class system. A few reviewers have found his comedy not at all humorous. Yet most critics and readers agree with Auberon Waugh, that Wodehouse created “a world of gentleness and simplicity where everything solemn or threatening is seen, in the last analysis, to be hopelessly funny.”
The Pothunters (novel) 1902
Tales of St. Austin's (short stories) 1903
Love among the Chickens (novel) 1906
Mike (novel) 1909
The Swoop! Or, How Clarence Saved England (short stories) 1909
The Man Upstairs, and Other Stories (short stories) 1914
Something New (novel) 1915; also published as Something Fresh, 1915
Piccadilly Jim (novel) 1917
My Man Jeeves (short stories) 1919
Indiscretions of Archie (short stories) 1921
The Clicking of Cuthbert (short stories) 1922; also published as Golf without Tears, 1924
The Inimitable Jeeves (short stories) 1923; also published as Jeeves, 1923
Leave it to Psmith (novel) 1923
Carry on, Jeeves (short stories) 1925
Meet Mr. Mulliner (short stories) 1927
The Small Bachelor (novel) 1927
Mr. Mulliner Speaking (short stories) 1929
Very Good, Jeeves (short stories) 1930
Jeeves Omnibus (short stories) 1931
Mulliner Nights (short stories) 1933
Brinkley Manor (novel) 1934; also published as Right Ho,...
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SOURCE: “Jeeve's England,” in National Review, December 11, 1995, p 132.
[In the following essay, originally written in 1961, Lejeune claims that The Ice in the Bedroom is “an exhibition of easy mastery, of familiar skill, as incomparable in its special way as Fred Astaire's dancing.”]
This year P. G. Wodehouse, whose world is ageless spring-time, celebrates his eightieth birthday; and his new book, The Ice in the Bedroom, gives us an opportunity to pay our respects. It is his best book for some while; an exhibition of easy mastery, of familiar skill, as incomparable in its special way as Fred Astaire's dancing. He has written scores of books just as good, of course; but the point is that no one else has.
The Ice in the Bedroom takes us back to the elysian London suburb of Valley Fields, where we find ensconced in adjoining houses Freddie Widgeon, whose allowance has been cut off by his uncle, Lord Blicester (a former winner, it will be recalled, of the Drones Club's Fat Uncles Contest), and a ferocious female novelist called Leila Yorke (author of For True Love Only, Heather o' the Hills, and Sweet Jennie Dean). Also present are Miss Yorke's pretty but green-eyed secretary, whom Freddie loves; Freddie's cousin George, who is an Old Etonian policeman; and Dolly Malloy, a blonde shoplifter who has carelessly stashed away some diamonds...
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SOURCE: “The World of Wodehouse,” in The Christian Science Monitor, Vol. 60, No. 23, December 21, 1967, p. 11.
[In the following review, Marsh contends that Wodehouse's short story collection, Plum Pie,“may not contain top-notch examples of his skill, but it is still very good Wodehouse indeed.”]
P. G. Wodehouse invented his own 1920s—scarcely brushed by reality when he first wrote about them, comfortingly unaffected by the passing of time ever since.
His Plum Pie, a collection of short stories, is rather like the finale of a traditional British pantomime at Christmas time, with the characters gathering onto the stage together, all busily performing samples of their own acts.
Bertie Wooster is here, among old favorites, trembling like an aspen at the prospect of donning white whiskers and a padded stomach to say “Ho, Ho, Ho” at a children's party (“I don't know if you've ever seen an aspen—I haven't myself as far as I can remember—but I knew they were noted for trembling like the dickens”).
Bingo Little is engaged, inadvertently, of course, in banning the bomb and his picture makes Page 8 of the Mirror. “He sat gazing at it with his eyes protruding in the manner popularized by snails, looking like something stuffed by a taxidermist who hard learned his job from a correspondence course and had only got as far as...
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SOURCE: “The Transferred Epithet,” in Linguistic Inquiry, Vol. IV, No. 1, Winter, 1973, pp. 92-4.
[In the following essay, Hall analyzes Wodehouse's use of the transferred epithet, contending that it lends a comic effect to his fiction.]
I balanced a thoughtful lump of sugar on the teaspoon.
(P. G. Wodehouse, Joy in the Morning  Chapter 5)
Hold on a minute—there must be something wrong here. Lumps of sugar aren't thoughtful, are they? What the narrator must mean is something like “I thoughtfully balanced a lump of sugar on the teaspoon,” or perhaps “I was thoughtful, and I balanced a lump of sugar on the teaspoon.” Couldn't this be the result of a momentary lapse on the part of the author, or even an unintentional transposition effected by an inattentive typesetter?
No, there is nothing wrong here. Wodehouse obviously meant what he wrote, for there are a number of other instances of this type of construction in his stories. Here are several other examples, gathered more or less at random, from tales of Wodehouse's early, middle, and late periods:
He was now smoking a sad cigarette and waiting for the blow to fall.
(Uneasy Money , Chapter 9)
He uncovered the fragrant...
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SOURCE: “The Innocence of P. G. Wodehouse,” in The Modern English Novel: The Reader, The Writer and The Work, edited by Gabriel Josipovici, Barnes & Noble, 1976, pp. 186-205.
[In the following essay, Medcalf praises Wodehouse for his innocence and originality, maintaining that his use of language “lies very much in one tradition of English writing, perhaps the most enduring and specifically English—humour.”]
C.S. Lewis, in his autobiography Surprised by Joy, describes as one of the crucial events in his mental life the discovery of C.F. Alexander's distinction between Enjoyment and Contemplation. They compose an analysis of consciousness. As I read this book, I contemplate it: I enjoy my act of contemplation. If I turn to examining my consciousness of this book, then I cease to contemplate the book, and cease to enjoy that contemplation: I contemplate my consciousness and enjoy a certain second-order consciousness of that contemplation. In fact, I have stopped reading.
Lewis drew from this distinction the doctrine that to examine one's own consciousness is a necessarily falsifying act. ‘The enjoyment and the contemplation of our inner activities are incompatible.’1 He would admit no activity between the two aspects of consciousness, no looking, as he would regard it, out of the corner of one's eye to see what seeing is like. Introspection finds only...
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SOURCE: “The Very Irreverent P. G. Wodehouse: A Study of Thank You, Jeeves,” in The Dutch Quarterly Review of Anglo-American Letters, Vol. IV, No. 1, Winter, 1978, pp. 203-22.
[In the following essay, Smith offers a thematic analysis of Thank You, Jeeves, maintaining that Wodehouse's irreverent approach to plot and characters is his defining characteristic.]
What characterises Wodehouse's fiction and provides the key to understanding his comic genius is the irreverence that pervades every aspect of his work, the characters, the plots and above all the use of language. Anything that represents authority becomes the victim of his humour. Thank You, Jeeves is no exception to this. In it, Bertie Wooster relates how, banished to the country because not even his own valet, Jeeves, can stand his banjolele playing, he becomes involved in his friend Chuffy's courtship of Pauline Stoker, the daughter of a rich American. Chuffy, the impoverished owner of Chuffnell Hall, hopes to sell his house to Pauline's father so that the millionaire's nerve specialist, Sir Roderick Glossop, can use it for his patients. But many obstacles lie in his path to wealth and wedded bliss.
Thank You, Jeeves1 is Wodehouse's first Bertie Wooster novel. But he had already written a number of short stories about Wooster and Jeeves. The first one had been...
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SOURCE: “P. G. Wodehouse's ‘Noo Yawk’,” in Encounter, Vol. 62, No. 3, March, 1984, pp. 71-4.
[In the following essay, Lasky explores the American adventures of another Wodehouse character, Psmith.]
Is humour good for anything else but a laugh? Nothing appears to be more pernicious among critics than to try to be serious about a joke. Koestler once tried it in a book and got the punch-lines regularly wrong. Freud wrote a psychopathology of everyday wit, and was in turn forever subjected to analysis-in-depth himself. Max Eastman explored the enjoyment of laughter, and the most memorable thing about it was the infectious dust-jacket featuring the handsome silver-haired author in twinkle-eyed open-mouthed hilarity. No, if the interpretation of dreams is a nightmare, the discussion of humour is no laughing matter. A recent “structural analysis” of Evelyn Waugh's Put Out More Flags and a scholarly screed on Three Men in a Boat provoked the literary editor of the Daily Telegraph into grim polemics. Critics were excommunicated, the whole genre interdicted.
There must be humourless idiots who are waiting for an annotated P. G. Wodehouse which will give the source of every quotation that he uses or bends for his own purposes. …
Well, there is a lot of source-spotting in...
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SOURCE: “P. G. Wodehouse's Jeeves: The Butler as Superman,” in Functions of Literature: Essays Presented to Erwin Wolff on His Sixtieth Birthday, edited by Ulrich Broich, Theo Stemmler, and Gerd Stratmann, Max Niemeyer Verlag, 1984, pp. 269-81.
[In the following essay, Späth considers the character of Jeeves as a literary “superman,” and links him to the legendary archetype of detective novel hero.]
There can hardly be any doubt that the most intriguing character created by P. G. Wodehouse is that of butler Jeeves, even though, as the clever servant who, episode after episode, proves superior to his master, he is anything but original. From the viewpoint of literary history he is indeed of as ancient a family as that hopelessly inefficient rich young man whom he serves. The extraordinary fascination Jeeves has held for a vast number of readers invites some investigation of how his author made use of one of the stock figures of comedy.
But, as we hope to demonstrate, Jeeves is not only the traditional sly servant; he is also one of the supermen of popular literature, who may be considered in relation to, for instance, the hero of the detective novel—a genre which gained the peak of its popularity at about the same time as Wodehouse. Furthermore, there is the well-known fact that in the early twentieth century interest in the superman was expressed by several English writers of...
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SOURCE: “P. G. Wodehouse: Master of Farce,” in The Sewanee Review, Vol. XCIII, No. 4, Fall, 1985, pp. 609-17.
[In the following essay, Galligan applauds the continuing interest in Wodehouse's work and deems him the master of literary farce.]
P. G. Wodehouse wrote so much over so many years and made it look so easy that it was, in turn, easy for us to take him for granted and fail to recognize that he was a master of a difficult and valuable form—farce. Yet it is now obvious that he was a Master, but never an Old Master, always (even in his eighties and nineties) a Young Master, bubbling with delight and absolutely submissive to the demands of his form. The celebration of his centennial (in October 1981) had the happy effect of bringing many of his books back into print and of spurring the publication of several books about him.
The best of the Master's works that have come back into print is The Code of the Woosters. It displays vividly and at moderate length his perfect tone in language and his extraordinary skill in plotting; it remains, even though it was written in 1938, very funny; and it gives us what I think all great farce gives us—a fresh image of benign idiocy. Even readers who do not respond to its humor or dare not entertain the possibility that idiocy is a necessary restraint upon intelligence can find it instructive, for it corrects as fully as any single...
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SOURCE: “The Sport of American-Bashing in Modern English Authors,” in Studies in the Novel, Vol. 20, No. 3, Fall 1988, pp. 316-22.
[In the following essay, Cohen describes the mild nature of Wodehouse's anti-American humor, asserting that “his bashing of Americans is as unmalicious as befits an Englishman who would eventually become an American citizen.”]
In Evelyn Waugh's collection of travel pieces When the Going Was Good (1946), there is a scene at the tombs and pyramids in Sakkara. Waugh, who has already examined one of the tombs, emerges to find a party of Americans, led by an Egyptian guide, about to enter the underground caverns. He turns and follows them back in.1 Why? Not to be enlightened by their dragoman—not because he craves company, but for one reason that becomes obvious in the descriptions that follow: to get material for American-bashing. Waugh is one of a number of English authors who feels the need to make up for the irony and self-mockery he finds lacking in Americans. And, indeed, the provincial comments of the American tourists do help make Waugh's next few pages of description more entertaining than they could have been without. The Americans count, aloud and together, the number of sarcophagi, they want to know how much all of this cost, but most of all, they are eager to be enlightened, educated, broadened by their travels. Waugh...
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SOURCE: “A Reader's Guide to P. G. Wodehouse's America,” in Studies in American Humor, Vol. 7, 1989, pp. 32-44.
[In the following essay, Karla explores the “American connection” in Wodehouse's work.]
“It probably comes as a shock to most Wodehouse fans to learn that he has spent by far the greater part of his adult life in this country. The picture of Wodehouse that his readers invariably conjure up has him ambling across a crisp sward in Sussex or Shropshire, swinging a knobby walking stick and humming ‘Roses of Picardy.’ They find it almost impossible to picture him living in a room in Greenwich village or, as he did many years later, in a penthouse apartment on Park Avenue” (Wind 48). In 1955, P. G. Wodehouse, British humorist, became an American citizen after several years of a trans-Atlantic relationship with the United States of America. Wodehouse had made several trips to the country, was twice contracted to work for M-G-M in Hollywood, and had regularly visited New York where he wrote and collaborated on plays before he eventually decided to make it his home. Writing for audiences on both sides of the Atlantic for a long time, Wodehouse had assumed an Anglo-American status long before his naturalization, and he wore his mantle well. However, not many of his fans are aware of his connections with the United States. Despite his prolonged association with the country and his use of...
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SOURCE: “Right Ho, Jeeves,” in Los Angeles Times Book Review, April 21, 1991, p. 8.
[In the following review, Espey provides a positive review of an audiotape version of Right Ho, Jeeves.]
A completely unscientific but conclusive survey has convinced me that the names of the ineffable Bertle Wooster, whose education seems to have been based on Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, and his impeccable gentleman's gentleman, Jeeves, named after a famous Warwickshire cricketer (“a fastish opening bowler and a good-hearted attacking No. 7 or so at bat”), are no longer even close to being household words.
Thus I am forced to introduce them as leading characters in a series of novels and short stories written by P. G. Wodehouse, an Englishman who lived at various times in England, France and the United States, where he earned large sums of money in Hollywood, and later became a naturalized citizen.
Of his first assignment at MGM, he wrote: “So far I've had eight collaborators. The system is that A gets the original idea, B comes in to work with him on it, C makes the scenario, D does preliminary dialogue, and then they send for me to insert class and what not, then E and F, scenario writers, alter the plot and off we go again. I could have done all my part of it in a morning but they took it for granted that I should need six weeks.”
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SOURCE: “Joy Comes in the Morning and Stays for a Generation,” in The Spectator, Vol. 271, November 20, 1993, pp. 50-1.
[In the following laudatory assessment of A Man of Means, Trevor praises the appealing nature of Wodehouse's fiction.]
‘I go off the rails,’ P. G. Wodehouse once wrote, ‘unless I stay all the time in a sort of artificial world of my own creation. A real character in one of my books sticks out like a sore thumb.’
It's a world that goes back to the Boer War, when Wodehouse's school stories were just beginning to entertain English schoolboys. Since then his thwarted aunts and bewildered earls, his mean men of commerce and disagreeable children have entertained almost the whole world. They've become known to all classes and all kinds of people, readers and non-readers, intellectuals and non-intellectuals, upper crust and bottom drawer. His idiom has entered language after language (to thrash that pie-faced young warthog Fittleworth within an inch of his life: Rosser, à deux doigts d'en crever, cette face de tarte, cette jeune verrue de Fittleworth). Only those who find laughter difficult or undignified pass by on the other side.
Performing flea of English literature in Sean O'Casey's time and ‘the finest living writer of English’ in Hilaire Belloc's, Wodehouse today has lost nothing of his edge, which might have surprised...
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SOURCE: “First Love: Reading with P. G. Wodehouse,” in Profession, Vol. 94, 1994, pp. 21-5.
[In the following essay, Lydon recalls her initial pleasure reading Wodehouse's Jeeves stories.]
When my friend and colleague Elaine Marks invited me to write about a book, a text, a passage, or a line that, for whatever reasons, I had come to associate with what literature “is,” it seemed at first that I had been given the assignment of a lifetime. When it came to actually doing it, however, I found, to my surprise and dismay, that I was completely stumped.
No doubt what Roland Barthes tellingly calls the “aphasia native to humankind” (192; my trans.)—which is at its most acute, he notes, whenever we sit down to write—was largely to blame. But the specific cause of the impediment, I soon realized, was my assumption that the assignment required me to go back to an early period of my life when the recognition, while reading or in reading's wake, that this was literature could have exerted a determinative influence on my future, could have produced the notion of what literature “is” that would have made me want to devote my life to it. “Why literature?” it seemed to me, was a question about the origins of a calling. But looking back over a childhood and an adolescence that were largely spent avidly and more or less indiscriminately reading, I discovered that, while...
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SOURCE: “Comedy Among the Modernists: P. G. Wodehouse and the Anachronism of Comic Form,” in Twentieth Century Literature, Vol. 40, No. 1, Spring, 1994, pp. 114-38.
[In the following essay, Mooneyham investigates Wodehouse's place in modern comedic literature.]
The roof of the Sheridan Apartment House, near Washington Square, New York. Let us examine it. There will be stirring happenings on this roof in due season, and it is as well to know the ground. The Sheridan stands in the heart of New York's Bohemian and artist quarter. If you threw a brick from any of its windows, you would be certain to brain some rising young … Vorticist sculptor or a writer of revolutionary vers libre. And a very good thing too.
Thus begins P. G. Wodehouse's 1927 novel, The Small Bachelor. “It is as well to know the ground,” indeed, because this particular roof will provide a stage for innumerable farcical events as the plot of the novel unfolds: impostures, concealments behind water towers, hasty retreats down fire escapes, the throwing of pepper into the face of an officious policeman, and more. Such farce, however, requires more than these comic free-for-alls; farce also requires comic belief. Readers must allow Wodehouse's characters to cavort as they do, and it is not accidental that Wodehouse prepares for this by heaving...
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SOURCE: “The Birth of Jeeves,” in The Virginia Quarterly Review, Vol. 73, No. 4, Autumn, 1997, pp. 641-52.
[In the following essay, Watson traces the origins and development of Wodehouse's major character, Jeeves.]
Jeeves was conceived and born in New York. At least P.G. Wodehouse was living there when he thought of him.
That may sound like an odd place to do it, but the facts are not in dispute. After two discontented years in a London bank and a little journalism, Wodehouse settled in Greenwich Village, off and on, in 1909. He had first visited America in 1904, drawn by its boxing tradition, but he soon came to believe he could write for it; and it was there in the fall of 1914 that he met and married a young English widow called Ethel, whose daughter he adopted. War was breaking out in Europe, but his poor eye-sight made him unfit for active duty, so he wrote on. There was to be another world war in his lifetime, as unexpected to him as the first, and after that was over he settled again in America, dying on Long Island in his 90's, in 1975. So New York was as much home to him as anywhere, though you sometimes wonder if anywhere was. He casually inhabited the whole world. Born in 1881, his first two years had been in Hong Kong, where his father worked, and his middle years, after New York and Hollywood, were spent in France. Like many Englishmen down...
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Deutsch, Hulton. “What Would Jeeves Have Done?” Newsweek 126, No. 12 (18 September 1995): 59.
Briefly mentions Wodehouse's controversial radio broadcasts during World War II.
Los Angeles Times Book Review (21 April 1991): 10.
Laudatory review of A Wodehouse Bestiary.
Wood, Michael. “It's Later Than You Think.” New York Review of Books 20, No. 17 (1 November 1973): 20.
Describes Wodehouse's humor as “an old-fashioned and not all that playful English variety of anti-intellectualism.”
Additional coverage of Wodehouse's life and career is contained in the following sources published by the Gale Group: Authors in the News, Vol. 2; Concise Dictionary of British Literary Biograrphy, 1914–1945; Contemporary Authors, Vols. 45–48; Contemporary Authors New Revision Series, Vols. 3, 33; Contemporary Literary Criticism, Vols. 1, 2, 5, 10, 22; DISCovering Authors, Vol. 3; DISCovering Authors: British; DISCovering Authors: Canadian; DISCovering Authors: Novelists Module; Dictionary of Literary Biography, Vols. 34, 162; Major 20th-Century Writers, Eds. 1–2; Short Story Criticism, Vol. 2; Short Stories for Students, Vol. 10; Something about the Author, Vol. 22.
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