P.G. Wodehouse’s The Code of the Woosters; the funniest n. in the E. language

OK, the gang that left while I offered this synopsis can now return. I proceed now to why this story is arguably the funniest novel in the English language. I shall employ the fiction of a dialectic discourse between an opponent to the proposition that TCOW is the funniest n. in the E. language—let’s call him Mike—and a proponent that TCOW is the f. n. in the E. l.—who we’ll call Pat.

Mike: Why this isn’t the funniest novel in the English language
An objective observer might comment that the plot is driven completely by Bertie’s inability to tell Madeleine that he hasn’t the slightest intention of marrying her. The entire story falls apart if Bertie simply tells Madeleine she’s all wet.

Pat: The objective observer is a silly ass … and so is Mike
You’d think it would be obvious to the meanest intelligence that there’s a reason the book is called The Code of the Woosters. Bertie’s code makes it impossible to tell Madeleine she’s all wet, or to abandon Gussie to his fate, or to let Stinker Pinker go to jail for pinching Oates’ helmet. Wodehouse is like science fiction; you have to either suspend disbelief or believe in something impossible (like warp drive or teleportation). If you haven’t the intellectual capacity to believe that Bertie is too much a preux chevalier to abandon his friend then you’re an ignorant …

Mike: You forgot to say why it’s called The Code of the Woosters

Pat: I did? Well who’s a silly ass
I guess I am. Yes, it’s called TCOW because of Bertie’s code: “Never let a pal down.”

Let’s dispense with Pat and Mike; they cloud the issue. Perhaps a series of bullet points will serve better. TCOW is the f. n. in the E. l. because:

1. The plot and pace of the story is impeccable. Almost every chapter ends with a further complication and the balance of power shifts with breath-taking speed. Spode is a menace and then Spode, qua menace, is a spent force; Bertie faces thirty days without the option and then Bassett is left liable to a charge of slander; Bertie is free of the cow creamer just when he finds himself in possession of the helmet. The plot is a tangle, a Chinese puzzle box, an enigma wrapped in a burrito of epic proportions. And yes, it all hinges on Bertie doing the right thing.
2. The tautology of Gussie’s newts in the bathtub explanation defies time and space: “I broke the tank. The tank in my bedroom. The glass tank I keep my newts in. I broke the glass tank in my bedroom, and the bath was the only place to lodge the newts. The basin wasn’t big enough. Newts need elbow-room. So I put them in the bath. Because I had broken the tank. The glass tank in my bedroom. The glass tank I keep my—”

   

3. Bertie telling off Spode skewers fascism so perfectly it’s a wonder World War II was necessary: “The trouble with you, Spode, is that just because you have succeeded in inducing a handful of half-wits to disfigure the London scene by going about in black shorts, you think you’re someone. You hear them shouting “Heil, Spode!” and you imagine it is the Voice of the People. That is where you make your bloomer. What the Voice of the People is saying is: ‘Look at that frightful ass Spode swanking about in footer bags! Did you ever in your puff see such a perfect perisher?’”
4. This, of course, is followed by the scene in the bedroom where Bertie, who thought he had the upper hand, forgets what that hand should be holding and Spode attempts to rend Gussie limb form limb. But Bertie, quick witted as befits a man whose ancestors fought at Agincourt, brings a picture frame crashing down on Spode, who ends up wearing it like an Elizabethan ruff. There’s further quick work with a sheet and lit cigarette that makes up the most comical fight scene in the E. l.

Oh, I could go on and on. Just the line about the Aberdeen terrier Bartholomew, who has trapped Jeeves and Bertie atop the furniture in Stiffy Byng’s room while they were looking for a notebook, is worth the price of admission: “The animal hopped from the bed and, advancing in the middle of the room, took a seat, breathing through the nose with a curious whistling sound and looking at us from under his eyebrows like a Scottish elder rebuking sing from the pulpit.”

If this hasn’t convinced you to read The Code of the Woosters (or if having read it, you did not clasp it to your bosom), then you are lost to me. The man (or woman) that hath no love of Wodehouse in himself (or herself), can go boil his (or her) head.

You see, emotions run high where Wodehouse is concerned. If I’ve recently beseeched you to read this book and you do not value it as a rare pearl, perhaps it would be best if we avoided each other’s company. But if you do like it, love it, praise it, then welcome brother (or sister).

PS I have mentioned only a few of the great quotes from TCOW. GoodReads has a nice list that will leave you feeling happily gruntled, or then again, you might prefer wikiquotes.