This is not a Blandings novel. There are no pigs. There is no Earl of Emsworth. There is no Beech the Butler. There is no Lady Constance... well, then again, there's sort of a Lady Constance, though she's the Earl's daughter rather than his sister. And there are imposters, and heaven knows Blandings just isn't Blandings without imposters. And though it's a stamp rather than a pig, heaven knows there's a McGuffin that's just ripe for being stolen, if only one of the guests was a former safecracker. But the Earl's not an idiot; he's merely impoverished. And his offspring aren't idiots either; the only idiot isn't even a member of the family.
In fact, Wodehouse has taken the established conventions for Blandings novels and turned most of them on their heads, and produced a really quite delightful confection that satisfies the same craving as do Lord Emsworth, the Empress of Blandings, and so forth, and yet in a delightfully different way.
I'm just itching to go into great detail about all the things Wodehouse does differently than usual in this book, but that would mean giving them away, and we can't have that. So if you're a Wodehouse fan, you'll just have to go out and find a copy.
And if you've never read Wodehouse, why on earth are you wasting your time with me when you could be discovering Wodehouse?Posted by Will Duquette at January 10, 2005 08:34 PM