P.G. Wodehouse, an Englishman who eventually settled in America, wrote novels set in a charming, idealized version of England—a place that, while fictional, captures a timeless allure. His stories are peopled with endearing characters: affluent young men with time and money to spare, formidable aunts, eccentric American millionaires, temperamental French chefs, and the ever-resourceful Jeeves, alongside the delightful The Empress of Blandings, the apple of the eye of absent-minded Lord Emsworth.
At first glance, Wodehouse’s plots might seem repetitive. However, much like Bach’s intricate counterpoints and fugues or the variations in a jazz improvisation or Carnatic Kalpana swaras, Wodehouse’s stories are masterful variations on simple themes. Their charm lies in their subtlety and simplicity, creating a captivating experience that speaks to readers across different backgrounds.
How do his novels set in 1920s English country houses resonate universally? Let’s explore the reasons behind their widespread appeal.
Most of us harbor a certain resentment towards authority. Whether dealing with bossy relatives, stern headmasters, or demanding bosses, we often yearn for the chance to rebel against those who impose their will upon us. Wodehouse’s humor, which targets pompous magistrates, domineering aunts, and cigar-smoking tycoons, provides a delightful escape. His satirical treatment of such figures allows us to revel in their ridiculousness and momentarily escape the constraints of authority.
The Drones Club members, epitomized by the charmingly clueless Bertie Wooster, live lives of leisure—an existence many of us can only dream of. While we may outwardly dismiss the idle rich, there’s often a hidden envy for their carefree existence, so different from our own routines. Although our work may have its moments of interest, it often involves mundane tasks and repetitive duties.
Wodehouse’s protagonists are not heroic supermen but rather ordinary young men with sunny dispositions. Unlike the Casanova on steroids James Bond or the suave Saint, his characters are more relatable: shy eccentrics like Gussie Fink-Nottle, small-time fixers like Ukridge, and domineering domestic servants like McAllister. In my own life, I have encountered people reminiscent of these characters, yet I have never met anyone resembling a James Bond. Wodehouse’s characters, though exaggerated, embody qualities found universally.
Occasional mavericks like Piccadilly Jim or the irrepressible Psmith add to the charm of Wodehouse’s world. Who can resist Psmith’s nonchalant umbrella appropriation on a rainy day? These mildly caricatured individuals are both believable and endearing, whether in Knightsbridge or Kolkata.
Finally, Wodehouse’s prose is irresistible. His ability to seamlessly integrate quotes from Latin and Greek classics, the Bible, and Shakespeare into whimsical situations demonstrates his linguistic brilliance. His writing flows with a natural, effortless grace reminiscent of Beethoven’s serene and evocative second movement of the Pastoral Symphony.
As someone from Coimbatore, a small city in southern India, I first encountered Wodehouse’s novels in my teens, beginning with Piccadilly Jim. The charm and wit of his writing enchanted me then, and seventy years later, my admiration remains as strong as ever.
Wodehouse’s work transcends borders and cultures—he belongs to the world.
(Captain Mohan Ram, ex Naval designer, eventually moved to the automobile industry where, if one may hazard a guess, he might have been designing some amphibian vehicles. His career trajectory followed the Peter’s Principle. He rose to senior positions, until finally retiring recently at the age of eighty four. He is currently cooling his heels, writing inane posts on Facebook.
His permission to reproduce this piece here is gratefully acknowledged.)
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