"P. G. Wodehouse wrote the best English comic novels of the century." —Sebastian Faulks Bertram Wooster’s interminable banjolele playing has driven Jeeves, his otherwise steadfast gentleman's gentleman, to give notice. The foppish aristocrat cannot survive for long without his Shakespeare-quoting and problem-solving valet, however, and after a narrowly escaped forced marriage, a cottage fire, and a great butter theft, the celebrated literary odd couple are happy to return to the way things were.
In this, the second novel in P.G. Wodehouse's delightful Jeeves series, the family fumbles through a comedy of errors that is set in motion by a marriage proposal and a downward spiral of miscommunication and crossed wires. This hilarious novel contains many of the most beloved scenes and set pieces from the series. A must-read for Wodehouse fans and lovers of top-notch humor writing.
In The Inimitable Jeeves, Bertie Wooster and his valet Jeeves embark on a series of riotous adventures. Among other things they involve Bertie's feeble attempts to stop his friend Bingo Little from falling in love with every girl he meets. But the amiable chump's main concern is to avoid the eagle eye and iron will of his merciless Aunt Agatha. In one of the funniest works in the English language, P. G. Wodehouse charms, delights, and occasionally surprises the reader with his shrewd parody of the carefree lives of the English elite.
Offers two novels and a story collection by the famed English comic writer featuring his memorable characters Bertie Wooster and his ingenious butler, Jeeves.
Jeeves—my man, you know—is really a most extraordinary chap. So capable. Honestly, I shouldn't know what to do without him. On broader lines he's like those chappies who sit peering sadly over the marble battlements at the Pennsylvania Station in the place marked "Inquiries." You know the Johnnies I mean. You go up to them and say: "When's the next train for Melonsquashville, Tennessee?" and they reply, without stopping to think, "Two-forty-three, track ten, change at San Francisco." And they're right every time. Well, Jeeves gives you just the same impression of omniscience. As an instance of what I mean, I remember meeting Monty Byng in Bond Street one morning, looking the last word in a grey check suit, and I felt I should never be happy till I had one like it. I dug the address of the tailors out of him, and had them working on the thing inside the hour. "Jeeves," I said that evening. "I'm getting a check suit like that one of Mr. Byng's." "Injudicious, sir," he said firmly. "It will not become you." "What absolute rot! It's the soundest thing I've struck for years." "Unsuitable for you, sir." Well, the long and the short of it was that the confounded thing came home, and I put it on, and when I caught sight of myself in the glass I nearly swooned. Jeeves was perfectly right. I looked a cross between a music-hall comedian and a cheap bookie. Yet Monty had looked fine in absolutely the same stuff. These things are just Life's mysteries, and that's all there is to it. But it isn't only that Jeeves's judgment about clothes is infallible, though, of course, that's really the main thing. The man knows everything. There was the matter of that tip on the "Lincolnshire." I forget now how I got it, but it had the aspect of being the real, red-hot tabasco. "Jeeves," I said, for I'm fond of the man, and like to do him a good turn when I can, "if you want to make a bit of money have something on Wonderchild for the 'Lincolnshire.'"
