by P.G. Wodehouse
If you’ve read more than five of my posts, you’ve already realized that I am a huge fan of Wodehouse. His mastery of description is beyond compare. His characters are hilarious, his plot lines ludicrous, and he somehow manages to write entertaining and involving stores without a single true villain.
The Code of the Woosters is one of my very, very favorites of his (which is saying a lot). Bertie is in prime form in this cow-creamer focused adventure. Wodehouse’s plots are far too convoluted to attempt to summarize (whenever you do, it sounds ridiculous bizarre instead of hilarious). I simply do not understand how, at the end of every single chapter, he can find one sentence that leaves feeling as though the rug has just been jerked out from beneath you, and whirls you into the next chapter.
All I can say is what I say every time I review a Wodehouse book: if you haven’t read one, your life has, hitherto, been a waste. I recommend rectifying the situation ASAP.