Quote Friday

from Right Ho, Jeeves chapter 3:

The first of the telegrams arrived shortly after noon, and Jeeves brought it in with the before-luncheon snifter. It was from my Aunt Dahlia, operating from Market Snodsbury, a small town of sorts a mile or two along the main road as you leave her country seat.

It ran as follows:

Come at once. Travers.

And when I say it puzzled me like the dickens, I am understating it; if anything. As mysterious a communication, I considered, as was ever flashed over the wires. I studied it in a profound reverie for the best part of two dry Martinis and a dividend. I read it backwards. I read it forwards. As a matter of fact, I have a sort of recollection of even smelling it. But it still baffled me.

Consider the facts, I mean. It was only a few hours since this aunt and I had parted, after being in constant association for nearly two months. And yet here she was--with my farewell kiss still lingering on her cheek, so to speak--pleading for another reunion. Bertram Wooster is not accustomed to this gluttonous appetite for his society. Ask anyone who knows me, and they will tell you that after two months of my company, what the normal person feels is that that will about do for the present. Indeed, I have known people who couldn't stick it out for more than a few days.

Before sitting down to the well-cooked, therefore, I sent this reply:

Perplexed. Explain. Bertie.

To this I received an answer during the after-luncheon sleep:

What on earth is there to be perplexed about, ass? Come at once. Travers.

Three cigarettes and a couple of turns about the room, and I had my response ready:

How do you mean come at once? Regards. Bertie.

I append the comeback:

I mean come at once, you maddening half-wit. What did you think I meant? Come at once or expect an aunt's curse first post tomorrow. Love. Travers.

I then dispatched the following message, wishing to get everything quite clear:

When you say "Come" do you mean "Come to Brinkley Court"? And when you say "At once" do you mean "At once"? Fogged. At a loss. All the best. Bertie.

I sent this one off on my way to the Drones, where I spent a restful afternoon throwing cards into a top-hat with some of the better element. Returning in the evening hush, I found the answer waiting for me:

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. It doesn't matter whether you understand or not. You just come at once, as I tell you, and for heaven's sake stop this back-chat. Do you think I am made of money that I can afford to send you telegrams every ten minutes. Stop being a fathead and come immediately. Love. Travers.

It was at this point that I felt the need of getting a second opinion. I pressed the bell.
"Jeeves," I said, "a V-shaped rumminess has manifested itself from the direction of Worcestershire. Read these," I said, handing him the papers in the case.

He scanned them.

"What do you make of it, Jeeves?"

"I think Mrs. Travers wishes you to come at once, sir."

"You gather that too, do you?"

"Yes, sir."

"I put the same construction on the thing. But why, Jeeves? Dash it all, she's just had nearly two months of me."

"Yes, sir."

"And many people consider the medium dose for an adult two days."

"Yes, sir. I appreciate the point you raise. Nevertheless, Mrs. Travers appears very insistent. I think it would be well to acquiesce in her wishes."

spring & summer reading, part 1

I titled this post, spring & summer reading, but it really should be titled something like, what to read with a new baby. This year, what with spending all my time kissing the cheeks of my precious baby (and wiping other kinds of cheeks), my reading list has been somewhat lowbrow. I'm good with that. One of the more enjoyable tasks that I've set for myself is to read my way through the works of P. G. Wodehouse, and so far this year I've read Thank You, Jeeves; Something Fishy; Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit; The Adventures of Sally; Heavy Weather; Mr Mulliner Speaking; and Right Ho, Jeeves. Can't get enough Wodehouse!

You rock, Mr Wodehouse!

While spending more time awake with my babe in the middle of the night than asleep, my eldest gave me her favorite book to read, The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Lee Stewart. I was surprised and pleased at how much I enjoyed reading this book! The themes were more mature than I expected, but put in a way that wouldn't be scary or threatening to a kid. In fact, one would hope to be heroic with the help of your friends and family!

In The Motherhood and Jane Austen Book Club, I heard about Dear Mr Knightly by Katherine Reay. I don't usually go in for that sort of thing, being allergic to modernity, but thought I should try to step out of my box now and again, and I'm glad I did. It's composed of all letters, is modern with a nod to the classics, and isn't completely free of cliches or cheese, but is a very quick, fun read. (And it was fun to read with my daughter.) The book centers around Sam(antha) who spends most of her growing up years in a home that harkened back to the home for children that my parents worked in when I was young. Some of the struggles the heroine has to work through gave me a renewed respect for my mom, and the things in her past that she was able to overcome with God's help. It's clean and redemptive and you just might enjoy it. But the absolute best thing about reading this book was that it inspired me to reread The Count of Monte Cristo and Daddy Long Legs (and watch the movies).

Next up on the summer reading list, Notes From a Blue Bike by Tsh Oxenreider of The Art of Simple, was just what I needed. Her encouragement to live intentionally, choose where my time goes, and to not make unconscious excuses for not doing what I want/ need to do, was a shot in the arm. You will now find me a little more often at the farmer's market and playing in the rain with my terrific kids...and blogging? I hope!

More to come!

Read part 2!
http://thebowerofbelle.blogspot.com/2014/08/spring-summer-reading-part-2.html

May Reading

I know I'm a few days late, but here it goes....

Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child by Anthony Esolen
All I've ever read by Anthony Esolen (mostly articles in Touchstone Magazine) has been thought provoking and interesting. Although much of his thinking in this book was familiar to me, there were also many new things to be chewed on. Unfortunately, the people who need this book the most will never read it. sigh....

Love Among the Chickens by P. G. Wodehouse
This is one of those books that I tried to start several times, but just was too busy or reading something else to really get into it. When I did (on a plane ride), I read it straight through. It features the famous Ukridge. Not had the pleasure? Well, here's a little quote by way of introduction: I knew what manner of man Ukridge was when he relaxed and became chummy. Friendships of years' standing had failed to survive the test.

My Man Jeeves by P. G. Wodehouse
This collection of short stories features several different characters. It's a very fun smattering of Wodehouse's humour. Several of these gems are used in Jeeves & Wooster (highly recommended!).

Our Thoughts Determine Our Lives: the Life and Teachings of Elder Thaddeus of Vitovnica
It's a little daunting for me to write any kind of description of a book like this. The book is just what the title states it is, yet it is so much more. I realize that the title can even sound a bit "health and wealth" and "power of positive thinking" for Americans living in this time, but there is a true version of these things and this humble man is the one to tell you about it. Here are some of his own words to give you a better idea of the book,

Our life depends on the kind of thoughts we nurture. If our thoughts are peaceful, calm, meek, and kind, then that is what our life is like. If our attention is turned to the circumstances in which we live, we are drawn into a whirlpool of thoughts and can have neither peace nor tranquility.

It is of great significance if there is a person who truly prays in a family. Prayer attracts God's Grace and all the members of the family feel it, even those whose hearts have grown cold. Pray always.

We must bear everything patiently and forgive all. If we have good thoughts and desires, these thoughts will give us peace and joy in this life and even more so in eternity. Then we will see that there is no death, that the Lord has vanquished death, and that He has given us eternal life.

Be sure and read the introduction which tells about his life. (He lived in Serbia, through both World Wars, imprisonment by the Nazis, and the 1999 NATO bombings.)

April Reading

Boethius' Consolation of Philosophy
Read for the second time, and knew I needed to read it a third time the moment I finished. Not because it's so hard to understand, but because it is so necessary. I don't usually like introductions, but Victor Watt's introduction was helpful. (Hopefully more on this book after another reading.)

What Matters in Jane Austen? Twenty Crucial Puzzles Solved by John Mullan
The title of this book looked promising and I was not disappointed. The author knows his way around Miss Austen's novels, and pointed things out that I had missed. I enjoyed the whole book, but my two favorite chapters are, "What Do the Characters Call Each Other?" and "What Do Characters Read?"

The Luck of the Bodkins by P. G. Wodehouse
With characters named Monty Bodkin, Gertrude Butterwick, Miss Lotus Blossom, and Ikey Llewellyn how could one go wrong? Mr Wodehouse never disappoints and this was no exception. See my favorite quotes from the book HERE.

The Well-Trained Mind: A Guide to Classical Education at Home by Susan Wise Bauer and Jessie Wise
I wanted to re-read this before homeschooling next school year. It has many resources that I have found helpful.

What are you reading?

Quotes from 'The Luck of the Bodkins'

These are random quotes taken from P. G. Wodehouse's The Luck of the Bodkins.

Into the face of the young man who sat on the terrace of the Hotel Magnifique at Cannes there had crept a look of furtive shame, the shifty, hangdog look which announces that an Englishman is about to talk French. One of the things which Gertrude Butterwick had impressed upon Monty Bodkin when he left for this holiday on the Riviera was that he must be sure to practice his French, and Gertrude's word was law.


He did not like her father, considering him, indeed, a pig-headed old bohunkus, but there are times when it is politic to sink one's personal prejudices.


Ambrose Tennyson, the novelist, was there, asking the bookstall clerk if he had anything by Ambrose Tennyson.


An undertaker, passing at the moment would have looked at this young man sharply, scenting business. So would a buzzard. It would have seemed incredible to them that life still animated this limp frame. The Drones Club had given Reggie Tennyson a farewell party on the previous night, and the effects still lingered.

The place [Hollywood] is simply congested with people trying to break in. Authors especially. They starve in their thousands.They're dying off like flies all the time. This girl said that if you make a noise like a mutton chop anywhere within a radius of ten miles of Hollywood Boulevard, authors come bounding out of every nook and cranny, howling like wolves.


You can say "Oh, Reggie, for goodness' sake!" till you burst your corsets, but you won't get away from the fact that you are a foolish young pipsqueak and are making the floater of a lifetime.


He had earmarked the next hour and a half for silent communion with his tortured soul, and did not relish the prospect of having to talk to even an old friend.


In his heart, he had always hoped that the other's sciatica would not yield to treatment.


"Sounds like something out of a three-volume novel."


"She wouldn't see me. I rang her up on the telephone, and drew nothing but a butler with adenoids."


Mr Llewellyn's physique was such as to make it impossible for him, whatever the provocation, to turn like a flash, but he turned as much like a flash as was in the power of a man whose waistline had disappeared in the year 1912.


'I don't want to talk to you.'
Monty laughed like a squeaking slate pencil.
'Don't you worry. I'll do all the bally talking that's required.'


The stoutest-hearted girl is apt to quail when she finds herself confronted by the authentic cave-man.


He had a round, moon-like face, in which were set, like currents in a suet dumpling, two small brown eyes. And these eyes caused Monty, as he met them, to experience a slight diminution of the effervescing cheerfulness which he had brought with him to the room.


Besides, he felt, for the Bodkins, though amiability itself if you met them half-way, had their pride, what the hell?


He broke off, coughing. In order to give verisimilitude to his story, he had uttered the last nine words in a sardonic falsetto, and this had tried his vocal cords.


...it was her hair that caused the eye of the beholder to swivel in its socket and his breath to come in irregular pants...a vivid and soul-shattering red.


He's as jealous as billy-o. Smear a bit of burnt cork on him, and he could step right onto any stage and play Othello without rehearsal.


That things were looking a trifle glutinous, he could not deny.


Red hair and meekness are two things which seldom go together, and Lottie Blossom specialized in the former.


It beamed up at him with a wide-smiling cheerfulness which in the circumstances he found tasteless and intolerable.

Ambrose's ebullient gaiety was affecting him like some sort of skin complaint, causing him to tingle all over.


Albert Peasemarch had been resting easily against the door with one large red ear in close juxtaposition to the woodwork, absorbed in the drama within.


[On the ship] there was a long line of semi-conscious figures in chairs, swathed in rugs and looking like fish laid out on a slab, and before their glassy gaze the athletes paraded up and down, rejoicing in their virility, shouting to one another 'What a morning!' and pointing out that twice more round would make a mile.


'He's a darned ivory-domed, pig-headed son of an army mule!'


With the air of a female member of the Committee of Public Safety signing during the Reign of Terror, she did so.


She looked at him in a bewildered way, like an awakened somnambulist.


His was not an extensive vocabulary, and he found it impossible to think of anything which would really do justice to his feelings... Shakespeare might have managed it. So might Rabelais. Monty could not.


A look of anxiety came into Gertrude's shining eyes. In the dreams she had dreamed of this lovers' meeting she had not budgeted for a rigid Monty, a smileless Monty, a Monty who looked as though he had been stuffed by some good taxidermist.


For some twenty minutes he sat thus, then suddenly he shot up like a young, Hindu fakir with a sensitive skin making acquaintance with his first bed of spikes.


Had he been a Cro-Magnon Man, he would have been confined to expressing himself by means of painting paleolithic bisons on the wall of a cave, and everybody knows how unsatisfactory that is. Living in the twentieth century, he had pencils, envelopes and paper at his disposal, and he intended to make use of them.


There was a still longer interval this time, but eventually a sound of puffing heralded Albert Peasemarch's return.


Nobody who had studied the works of the poet Scott at school could fail to be aware that in such circumstances a woman's duty was clear.


His spine had begun to crawl about under his dinner-jacket like a snake.


'Step out of the frame, Mona Lisa,' said Reggie briskly. 'I want a couple of words with you.'


Mr Llewellyn left his chair and begun to strut up and down the room, satisfaction in every ripple of his chins.

Quotes from 'Psmith in the City'

'Me! Dash it all, how old do you think I am? I'm only nineteen,'
'I had suspected as much from the alabaster clearness of your unwrinkled brow.'



'What rot it all is!' went on Mike, sitting down again. 'What's the good of it all? You go and sweat all day at a desk, day after day, for about twopence a year. And when you're about eighty-five, you retire. It isn't living at all. It's simply being a bally vegetable.'



If one looks closely into the actions which are apparently due to sudden impulse, one generally finds that  the sudden impulse was merely the last of a long series of events which led up to the action. Alone, it could not have been powerful enough to effect anything. But, coming after the way has been paved for it, it is irresistible.



Mr Bickersdyke shifted uneasily on his sofa. He glared at the floor. Then he eyed the ceiling as if it were a personal enemy of his...Addressed thus directly, the manager allowed his gaze to wander from the ceiling. He eyed Psmith for a moment like an elderly basilisk, then looked back at the ceiling.



Young Mr Richards was sitting on the sofa, moodily turning the leaves of a photograph album, which contained portraits of Master Edward Waller in geometrically progressing degrees of repulsiveness - here, in frocks, looking like a gargoyle; there, in sailor suit, looking like nothing on earth. The inspection of these was obviously deepening Mr Richards' gloom, but he proceeded doggedly with it.



Comrade Prebble beamed and took the floor. Mike began to realize that, till now, he had never known what boredom meant. There had been moments in his life which had been less interesting than other moments, but nothing to touch this for agony. Comrade Prebble's address streamed on like water rushing over a weir.



'Women,' said Psmith, helping himself to trifle, and speaking with the air of one launched upon his special subject, 'are, one must recollect, like - like - er, well, in fact, just so. Passing on lightly from that conclusion...'



It would have been plain to the most casual observer that Mr Waller was fond and proud of his son. The cashier was a widower, and after five minutes' acquaintance with Edward, Mike felt strongly that Mrs Waller was the lucky one.



They had been audible all the time, very much so, but now they grew in volume. Comrade Wotherspoon was a tall, thin man with side-whiskers and a high voice. He scattered his aitches as a fountain its sprays in a strong wind. He was in earnest.



'Comrad Bristow sneaks off and buys a sort of woolen sunset. I saw the thing unexpectedly. I tell you I was shaken. It is the suddenness of that waistcoat which hits you. It's discouraging, this sort of thing. I try always to think well of my fellow man. As an energetic Socialist, I do my best to see the good that is in him, but it's hard. Comrade Bristow's the most striking argument against the equality of man I've ever come across.'



'You are Agesilaus,' he said. 'I am the petulant Pterodactyl. You, if I may say so, butted in of your own free will, and took me from a happy home, simply in order that you might get me into this place under you, and give me beans. But, curiously enough, the major portion of that vegetable seems to be coming to you.'



I can rough it. We are old campaigners, we Psmiths. Give us a roof, a few comfortable chairs, a sofa or two, half a dozen cushions, and decent meals, and we do not repine.



Mr Waller ordered lunch with the care of one to whom lunch is no slight matter. Few workers in the City do regard lunch as a trivial affair. It is the keynote of their day. It is an oasis in a dessert of ink and ledgers. Conversation in City offices deals, in the morning, with what one is going to have for lunch, and in the afternoon with what one had for lunch.



'It's a nice room,' said the pantomime dame. Which was a black lie. It was not a nice room. It had never been a nice room. And it did not seem at all probable that it ever would be a nice room. But it looked cheap. That was the great thing. Nobody could have the assurance to charge much for a room like that. A land lady with a conscience might even have gone to the length of paying people some small sum by way of compensation to them for sleeping in it.



Psmith's attitude towards the slings and arrows of outrageous Fortune was to regard them with a bland smile, as if they were part of an entertainment got up for his express benefit.



Sunday supper, unless done on a large and informal scale, is probably the most depressing meal in existence. There is a chill discomfort in the round of beef, an icy severity about the open jam tart. The blancmange shivers miserably. Spirituous liquor helps to counteract the influence of these things, and so does exhilarating conversation.

Quotes from 'The Inimitable Jeeves'

You always were a fat-headed worm without any soul, weren't you?


Young Bingo dived in like a homing rabbit.


He smirked in the most gruesome manner.


The old lemon is slightly clouded.


The good old persp. was bedewing my forehead by this time in a pretty lavish manner. I don't know when I've been so rattled.


I was feeling about as cheerio as possible under the circs.


He was one of those supercilious striplings, who give you the impression that you went to the wrong school and that your clothes don't fit.


She had a penetrating sort of laugh. Rather like a train going into a tunnel.


I flung open the door. I got a momentary flash of about a hundred and fifteen cats of all sizes and colours scrapping in the middle of the room, and then they all shot past me with a rush and out of the front door; and all that was left of the mob scene was the head of a whacking big fish, lying on the carpet and staring up at me in a rather austere sort of way, as if it wanted a written explanation and apology.

A roll and butter and a small coffee seemed the only things on the list that hadn't been specially prepared by the nastier-minded members of the Borgia family for people they had a particular grudge against, so I chose them.


He chuckled like the last bit of water going down the waste-pipe in a bath.

(Don't you wish you could include some of these one-liners in your everyday conversation?)

quotes from 'Jill the Reckless'

'Barker!' His voice had a ring of pain.
'Sir?'
'What's this?'
'Poached egg, sir.'
Freddie averted his eyes with a silent shudder.
'It looks just like an old aunt of mine,' he said. 'Remove it.'


This woman always made Freddie feel as if he were being disemboweled by some clumsy amateur.


...the little dinner at Freddie Rooke's had not been an unqualified success. Searching the records for an adequately gloomy parallel to the taxi-cab journey to the theatre which followed it, one can only think of Napoleon's retreat from Moscow. And yet even that was probably not conducted in dead silence.


If there is one thing that startles a well-bred Londoner and throws him off his balance, it it to be addressed unexpectedly by a stranger. Freddie's sense of decency was revolted. A voice from the tomb could hardly have shaken him more.


There are men who fear the repartee of a wife more keenly than a sword. Derek was one of these. Like most men of single outlook, whose dignity is their most precious possession, he winced from an edged tongue....She did not speak the words. If she had an edged tongue, she had also the control of it.


Lady Underhill, having said all she had to say, recovered her breath and begin to say it again. Frequent iteration was one of her strongest weapons.


He was fond of children, but they made the deuce of a noise and regarded jam as an external ornament.


No wonder Freddie experienced the sort of abysmal soul-sadness which afflicts one of Tolstoi's Russian peasants when, after putting in a heavy day's work strangling his father, beating his wife, and dropping the baby into the city reservoir, he turns to the cupboard, only to find the vodka-bottle empty.


He was a snub-nosed boy. His ears and hair were vermilion. His name was Ralph. He has seven hundred and forty-three pimples.


He stared again at Jill. The inspection was long and lingering and affected Jill with a sense of being inadequately clothed. She returned the gaze as defiantly as she could, but her heart was beating fast. She had never yet been frightened of any man, but there was something reptilian about this fat, yellow-haired individual which disquieted her, much as cockroaches had done in her childhood. A momentary thought flashed through her mind that it would be horrible to be touched by him. He looked soft and glutinous.


'Don't you worry, honey!' advised the well-meaning girl who would have been in her element looking in on Job with Bildad the Shuhite and his friends. 'Don't you worry!'


'I say,' said Freddie in an awed voice. 'He's a bit of a nut, that lad, what? He reminds me of the troops of Midian in the hymn. The chappies who prowled and prowled around. I'll bet he's worn a groove in the carpet like a jolly old tiger at the Zoo at feeding time. Wouldn't be surprised at any moment to look down and find him biting a piece out of my leg!'

In Defence of P. G. Wodehouse

My husband and I were talking over the radio broadcasts that P. G. Wodehouse was involved in during WWII when he made the remark that those who came to Wodehouse's defense were thinkers as well as writers, Evelyn Waugh and George Orwell. While those who criticized, strongly criticized, him were not, notably, A. A. Milne and Sean O'Casey. I recommend Orwell's essay In Defence of P. G. Wodehouse. http://theorwellprize.co.uk/george-orwell/by-orwell/essays-and-other-works/in-defence-of-p-g-wodehouse/

It's just me, folks.

Is it me, or is life zooming by? I didn't want to go to sleep last night because I knew that when I woke on Saturday morning my weekend would be over before I blinked. I'm telling myself that it is just a stage in my life and it won't be this way forever, but I'm just not sure I believe me. Homeschooling this year has kept me rather busy. Ever heard of unschooling? It's a term I've run across quite a bit lately on blogs and such. If you ask me it sounds divine. My children quietly teaching themselves all sorts of cool interesting things all of their own initiative, but, come on, what's more likely is that after not long at all my offspring would resemble Jethro Bodine.

It's not just lack of time; there's also a certain key something that inspires writing that's been hard to locate since May when my mother passed away. I still have the desire to put thoughts to paper, but can't. Perhaps there's something unsettled in my spirit; she was my sweet mum after all. And perhaps it's supposed to be that way, but I have missed ye olde blog. There's something satisfying about writing (even if I have no talent in that direction): it restores the tissues.

I have also found that reading P. G. Wodehouse restores the tissues. I've been reading him nonstop since my mom got sick and he's wonderful. I've been trying to keep up with the funniest things he says HERE. My noble aim in life is to collect all of his hardback books that Overlook Press is printing. I've got about 30, so... what?... about 66 more to go?

I recently read Jill the Reckless which in a way seems to parallel Wodehouse's own life. Jill is in England, engaged to an Englishman (Derek) who is climbing the political ladder, some unforeseen circumstances bring her to America (after her fiancee breaks the engagement) where she meets up with a man (Wally) she knew as a boy in her childhood. Wally is a great comfort to Jill and understanding of her in a way that the stiffer Englishman is not. Anyway, there for a bit the suspense is on as to which of these fellows she will link up with (Derek briefly tries to win her back): the good-looking suave Englishman or the American who has a twinkle in his eye and a joke on his lips - unless is comes to defending Jill, then you'd better watch out! But of course she ends up in America just as Wodehouse did. The Englishman is not hated or even disliked, but pride makes him misunderstand circumstances and takes Jill all wrong... much like the English did with Wodehouse. Jill realizes she loves the American and, "Peace stole into Jill's heart as she watched the boats dropping slowly down the East River, which gleamed like dull steel through the haze. She had come to Journey's End, and she was happy."

I love how Wodehouse has that impressive knack for showing you a picture with words, "Mr Goble stared again at Jill. The inspection was long and lingering and affected Jill with a sense of being inadequately clothed. She returned the gaze as defiantly as she could, but her heart was beating fast. She had never yet been frightened of any man, but there was something reptilian about this fat, yellow-haired individual which disquieted her, much as cockroaches had done in her childhood. A momentary thought flashed through her mind that it would be horrible to be touched by him. He looked soft and glutinous."

And I'll never tire of his biblical references, "'Don't you worry, honey!' advised the well-meaning girl who would have been in her element looking in on Job with Bildad the Shuhite and his friends. 'Don't you worry!'"

I'm always learning a word or two that I'm not familiar with such as his reference to jezail bullets. As it turns out Jezails were very personal weapons which were commonly used in India, Central Asia and parts of the Middle East, and, interestingly enough, was the weapon which wounded Dr. Watson. Another phrase Wodehouse uses in this book is the French phrase, je ne sais quoi, literally ‘I don't know what’, a certain something, an intangible quality that makes something distinctive or attractive. Which Jill possesses...and so does Wodehouse for that matter. I do hope it's catching.

something rather fruity

On first wading into the pages of The Indiscretions of Archie, I was afraid I was setting myself up for disappointment. Yet, how could I have ever doubted? Wodehouse has never failed me, what was I thinking? Once I had grasped the characters by the throat, as it were, I had the scene well in hand. Archie gets into oh, so many scrapes but always finds his way back to dry ground somehow. Archie differs from some of P.G.'s other heroes for he is a married man. Yes, you heard rightly. Although, Wodehouse once said that "Marriage isn't a process of prolonging the life of love, but of mummifying the corpse," I'm just not sure he really meant it.

Ol' Plum

Hop on over to my other blog
http://plumwodehouse.blogspot.com/ and slap your eyes on some rather fruity P.G. Wodehouse maxims.

Wodehouse contest winner

Just a short break from Sarah Emsley's book to announce the winner of the Wodehouse contest. Drum roll please...and the winner is- Drew and Lydia! Congratulations! Your prize will be- well, what else- a Wodehouse book! Is there anything better? Enjoy and Merry Christmas!

Wodehouse contest

Well, it's not the Great Sermon Handicap, but I thought it high time for a bit of sport. So grab the jigger, shaker, and the necessary tissue restoratives and give these "Wodehouseians" a gander. (You may look in any Wodehouse book if you are in need of assistance.)

WORD BANK:

Aunt Dalhlia
Empress of Blandings
singing
Stilton Cheeswright
silence
Hertwigstien
Galahad Threepwood
Scripture Knowledge
Lady Hermione Wedge
Aunt Agatha
cricket
Spinoza
heroics
golf
Vanessa Cook

1) Which character (character, in every sense of the word) does the following describe? "After the life he had lead he had no right to burst with health, but he did. Where most of his contemporaries had long ago thrown in the towel and retired to cure resorts to nurse their gout, he had gone blithely on, ever rising on stepping stones of dead whiskeys and sodas to higher things. He had discovered the prime grand secret of eternal youth - to keep the decanter circulating, to stop smoking only when snapping the lighter for his next cigarette and never to retire to rest before three in the morning."

2) Who is it that "...eats broken bottles and is strongly suspected of turning into a werewolf at the time of the full moon?"

3) What is it that Bertie thinks a Trappist monk specializes in?

4) Who is it that is described as looking like a cook? And when perturbed, looking like a "cook who smells something burning?" (This is the same character whom Gally has seen "spanked by the Nanny with a hairbrush.")

5) This person frequently addresses Bertie as "a young blot," and is also known for having a voice of great volume (going back to hunting days).

6) Bertie frequently refers to a prize he won at school. What is it?

7) Which philosopher is Jeeves often reading?

8) What character is described as having a "friendly face", likes potatoes, and is adored by Lord Emsworth?

JA quote contest at an end

The JA quote contest is at an end. The answers are as follows,

1) "Where people wish to attach, they should always be ignorant. To come with a well-informed mind is to come with an inability of administering to the vanity of others, which a sensible person would always wish to avoid. A woman, especially, if she have the misfortune of knowing anything, should conceal it as well as she can." ~Northanger Abby This is Jane Austen's teasing voice (or is it Henry Tilney's?) in reference to Catherine attracting Henry.

2) "...for he was in the room again, and though feeling it would be a great honour to be asked by him, she thought it must happen. He came towards their little circle; but instead of asking her to dance, drew a chair near her, and gave her an account of the present state of a sick horse, and the opinion of the groom, from whom he had just parted." ~ Mansfield Park Grace was correct. This is between Fanny and her cousin Tom.

3) "...and be the conclusion of the present suspense good or bad, her affection would be his forever. Their union, she believed, could not divide her more from other men than their final separation." ~Persuasion These are Anne's thoughts on marriage to Wentworth.

4) " ...the perturbation of her feelings was every moment increasing. She was quite amazed at her own discomposure...and more than commonly anxious to please, she naturally suspected that every power of pleasing would fail her. She retreated from the window, fearful of being seen; and as she walked up and down the room, endeavouring to compose herself, saw such looks of inquiring surprise from her friends, as made everything worse." ~Pride & Prejudice This is Elizabeth when she hears that Darcy is coming to pay her a call.

Therefore, the winner is...SARAH! I am impressed with the bravery of all of you in competing against Sarah on this one. I really, really am. You all showed that you would not be daunted by a crazy JA fan. I really can't applaud you enough. And you never know, maybe next time she will be too busy to speed read the completed works.

Ruth, you got 3 out of 4. Way to go! Bess, you guessed all of the right titles (your ordering was just a bit off). Thanks all for playing. It was quite a diverting amusement.

Sarah's prize is a Wodehouse book called, Full Moon. I have been in the mood to read little else besides ol' Plum lately. I hope you enjoy it (apologies for the front cover being worn). The description on the back of the book reads, "As the full moon waxes over Blandings Castle, young love flounders in the Ninth Earl of Emsworth's shrubbery, and Landseer is commissioned to paint the prize pig's portrait." (Oh yeah, this is going to be good.)


Note: Images used are from sarahemsley.com
(Sarah Emsley, "The Jane Austen Playgroup")

well said...

"I was badly in need of alcoholic refreshment, and just as my tongue was beginning to stick out and blacken at the roots, shiver my timbers if Jeeves didn't enter left centre with a tray containing all the makings. St. Bernard dogs, you probably know, behave in a similar way in the Alps and are well thought of in consequence."
P.G. Wodehouse's Bertie Wooster