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A review by kleonora
Piccadilly Jim by P.G. Wodehouse
3.0
Verdict: Smashingly written and exquisitely crafted Fop-y Fun.
Any friend of Stephen Fry's is a friend of mine (as life mottos go, it's not a bad one) so I was happy to indulge in this, my first literary taste of Wodehouse. I say literary because I've previously encountered it in other media; namely the exquisite 'Jeeves and Wooster' series and a stack of book-on-tape cassettes my father periodically digs out to entertain the family during road trips to Colorado. Had I my druthers I would have started with a book from this Jeeves category, but patrons of second-hand book stores can't be choosers so Piccadilly Jim it was.
It was charming. I defy anyone to not appreciate Wodehouse. He is a master craftsman of an author; building dizzyingly complicated plots with each intricate bit dovetailing perfectly into the next and composing dazzling dialogue that falls somewhere between fencing and dancing. The whole effect is of an unusually amusing Swiss watch, or perhaps a coo-coo clock. I won't say too much about the story itself, partly because my words pale beside Wodehouse's but mostly because it's impossible to explain the plot without puppets and diagrams. It could perhaps be summarized as variations (tessellations? fractals?) on the theme of mistaken identity.
Typically I don't care for 'mistaken identity' stories. I am of the unfortunately empathetic disposition whereby I am made physically uncomfortable by the by the cringing of fictional entities. If you suffer a similar affliction then be at peace, Piccadilly Jim is safe. The discomfiture of the characters never really reaches the cringe level, no one knows enough of the whole story to grasp how embarrassing their predicament could be. The effect is jolly, madcap, slapstick - fun.
Piccadilly Jim is fun, fun to read and I expect fun to write as well. I recommend it, though I can't see my way to giving it above a 3. It's stolidly Light Entertainment; very amusing but not much of anything to say. Maybe this makes me a snob, I don't know. The book seems fine with itself, though. Happy with it's own cleverness and not harbouring illusions of grandeur. I respect it for that. I like Wodehouse and I think I'll have to try and get my hands on 'The Code of the Woosters' for my next foray. Now though, in keeping with my self imposed and somewhat arbitrary rules I'm off to read a depressing grown-up book. Stay tuned and find out if We Need To Talk About Kevin.
Any friend of Stephen Fry's is a friend of mine (as life mottos go, it's not a bad one) so I was happy to indulge in this, my first literary taste of Wodehouse. I say literary because I've previously encountered it in other media; namely the exquisite 'Jeeves and Wooster' series and a stack of book-on-tape cassettes my father periodically digs out to entertain the family during road trips to Colorado. Had I my druthers I would have started with a book from this Jeeves category, but patrons of second-hand book stores can't be choosers so Piccadilly Jim it was.
It was charming. I defy anyone to not appreciate Wodehouse. He is a master craftsman of an author; building dizzyingly complicated plots with each intricate bit dovetailing perfectly into the next and composing dazzling dialogue that falls somewhere between fencing and dancing. The whole effect is of an unusually amusing Swiss watch, or perhaps a coo-coo clock. I won't say too much about the story itself, partly because my words pale beside Wodehouse's but mostly because it's impossible to explain the plot without puppets and diagrams. It could perhaps be summarized as variations (tessellations? fractals?) on the theme of mistaken identity.
Typically I don't care for 'mistaken identity' stories. I am of the unfortunately empathetic disposition whereby I am made physically uncomfortable by the by the cringing of fictional entities. If you suffer a similar affliction then be at peace, Piccadilly Jim is safe. The discomfiture of the characters never really reaches the cringe level, no one knows enough of the whole story to grasp how embarrassing their predicament could be. The effect is jolly, madcap, slapstick - fun.
Piccadilly Jim is fun, fun to read and I expect fun to write as well. I recommend it, though I can't see my way to giving it above a 3. It's stolidly Light Entertainment; very amusing but not much of anything to say. Maybe this makes me a snob, I don't know. The book seems fine with itself, though. Happy with it's own cleverness and not harbouring illusions of grandeur. I respect it for that. I like Wodehouse and I think I'll have to try and get my hands on 'The Code of the Woosters' for my next foray. Now though, in keeping with my self imposed and somewhat arbitrary rules I'm off to read a depressing grown-up book. Stay tuned and find out if We Need To Talk About Kevin.