Beneath The Polished Veneer of British Civility Beats The Heart of Glorious Nonsense
I find myself re-discovering the joy and wonder of Old England’s finest artistic creations. At present, I am listening to Thank You, Jeeves by P. G. Wodehouse; an audiobook available on Spotify, delightfully narrated by Nicolas Coster. It bears all the charm and intelligence one associates with the Hugh Laurie and Stephen Fry television adaptations.
I love reading Wodehouse, for his humour is of the most intellectual variety. His prose reminds one of the value of proper diction; that refined clarity of English expression which seems almost an art form in itself. The world he creates is one steeped in British propriety and manners, yet beneath its polished surface lies a delicious absurdity.
What I particularly admire is the cultural texture of his writing: the literary references, the subtle ironies, and the impeccable rhythm of his wit. My favourite moment so far, and my chosen “quote of the week”, is: “We looked at each other with a wild surmise. Silent upon a first floor in Chufnell Regis.”
I laughed aloud when I heard it.
The line, of course, parodies Keats’ On Chapman’s Homer, where the poet describes the awe of Hernán Cortés and his men as they first set eyes upon the Pacific during their expedition to the Americas:
“Look’d at each other with a wild surmise,
Silent upon a peak in Darien.”
Bertie Wooster utters this, describing how he and Pauline Stoker look at each other in horror, fearing that it is her father knocking at the door.
The story itself is rather intricate. Bertie and Pauline were once engaged, but Sir Roderick Glossop persuades J. Washburn Stoker (Pauline’s father) that Bertie is quite unfit for matrimony with his daughter. The details are just as important as the manner in which Wodehouse unfolds them. You really must read the book or listen to an audiobook version, for it is in the garnish - the phrasing, the rhythm, the comic timing - where the true delight lies.
Bertie has retreated to Chufnell Regis, having taken up the banjolele (a sort of hybrid banjo), much to the torment of his London neighbours. His “gentleman’s gentleman,” i.e. his valet: Jeeves, has resigned in protest at the incessant strumming and has entered the service of Bertie’s friend “Chuffy”: the landowner of Chufnell Regis, from whom Bertie has rented a cottage
Ever the good-hearted schemer, Bertie hatches a plan to bring Chuffy and Pauline together, as Chuffy, being a prudent soul, wishes to secure his finances before proposing. Bertie’s bright idea is that Chuffy might be spurred to action by a fit of jealousy, should he happen upon Bertie and Pauline in an innocent but compromising embrace. Unfortunately, it is not Chuffy who discovers them, but her father, J. Washburn Stoker. I would be doing Wodehouse a grave disservice were I to attempt a recreation of his description of Stoker’s ensuing reaction. Bertie, of course, insists that the kiss was purely “brotherly.”
The tale continues in ever more ludicrous twists and turns, each more delightfully farcical than the last. When Bertie later invokes that adapted line of Keats, it is because Pauline has broken into his cottage after an impromptu swim in the harbour, ‘unwilling to be seen in her bathing costume’. It is all terribly silly, but executed with such finesse that one can only surrender to laughter. Thank You, Jeeves is, quite simply, a comic masterpiece: a soft drama wrapped in impeccable prose.
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Alongside this revival of great British artistry, I have also rediscovered Ripping Yarns, a Michael Palin classic. Just like Wodehouse’s literature, to appreciate it fully, one must be fairly well-versed in British culture, otherwise its outrageous absurdity might seem incomprehensible and even offensive.
That is precisely what I love about Britain: that beneath our polished veneer of civility beats the heart of glorious nonsense.