Very Good, Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse (1930)

‘The tie, if I might suggest it, sir, a shade more tightly knotted. One aims at the perfect butterfly effect. If you will permit me⁠—’
‘What do ties matter, Jeeves, at a time like this? Do you realize that Mr Little’s domestic happiness is hanging in the scale?’
‘There is no time, sir, at which ties do not matter.’

‘Great Scott, Jeeves, you seem to know everything.’
‘Thank you very much, sir.’

‘What earthly use do you suppose you are without Jeeves, you poor ditherer?’ (Aunt Dahlia)

This is the third collection of P.G. Wodehouse’s Jeeves short stories, bringing together 11 which had been published in the later 1920s.

  1. Jeeves and the Impending Doom (December 1926)
  2. The Inferiority Complex of Old Sippy (April 1926)
  3. Jeeves and the Yule-tide Spirit (December 1927)
  4. Jeeves and the Song of Songs (September 1929)
  5. Episode of the Dog McIntosh (October 1929)
  6. The Spot of Art (December 1929)
  7. Jeeves and the Kid Clementina (January 1930)
  8. The Love That Purifies (November 1929)
  9. Jeeves and the Old School Chum (February 1930)
  10. Indian Summer of an Uncle (March 1930)
  11. The Ordeal of Young Tuppy (April 1930)

They feature empty-headed posh boy Bertram ‘Bertie’ Wooster and revolve around the supernatural ability of his impeccably dressed, supremely clever and always-in-command valet, Jeeves, to solve the problems faced by Bertie and his posh boy pals. The stories are almost all narrated by Bertie in his upbeat, slang-rich, posh boy tones which are quite candid about his own shortcomings.

If you ask my Aunt Agatha, she will tell you⁠—in fact, she is quite likely to tell you even if you don’t ask her⁠—that I am a vapid and irreflective chump. Barely sentient, was the way she once described me: and I’m not saying that in a broad, general sense she isn’t right.

The formula

Early on in each story Bertie or a posh young pal of his is faced with a tricky social problem, mostly revolving around entanglements with unsuitable young ladies, or social commitments foisted on them by their aunts which they are trying to wriggle out of. In every instance Bertie calls in Jeeves who comes up with a cunning plan to solve the situation. But there is always a kind of second climax or double take, whereby the initial plan often goes awry but Jeeves is revealed as having anticipated this and put in place an even better, more all-encompassing plan B, so that every story invariably ends with ‘Well done, Jeeves’.

Jeeves and Bertie’s eternal battle over clothes

When I read the earliest stories I thought Jeeves’s insistence on telling Bertie what to wear was one among many foibles, but I came to realise it plays a central role, for at least two reasons. The obvious one is to demonstrate the comic principle that Jeeves is always right and Bertie is always wrong. About everything.

But the deeper reason is that the argument about a piece of clothing which Bertie is frightfully proud of buying but which Jeeves thinks is beyond the pale, these arguments often top and tail the stories, providing a structure and an added layer of comic plot. So that:

  1. The story opens with the pair behaving frostily towards each other over such a squabble with Bertie insisting on his independence and how he is the master and how he will never cave in to Jeeves’s taste; then…
  2. We have the entire central plot of saving Bertie or a buddy from a fate worse than death, and after that’s all sorted out…
  3. The narrative returns to the silly squabble about a tie or a shirt or a pair of spats and Bertie, awed by Jeeves’s triumph at solving the central problem, caves in.

1. It’s part of the comic formula that Bertie starts every story insisting he’s going to show the true Wooster mettle:

  • ‘I mean to say, where does a valet get off, censoring vases…’
  • ‘I mean to say, one has got to take a firm stand from time to time. The trouble with Jeeves is that he tends occasionally to get above himself…’

Bertie’s tone, the comic over-assertion of the man who knows he’s going to lose, is typified by the spat over his moustache in the Hard-Boiled Egg:

I was sorry if Bicky was in trouble, but, as a matter of fact, I was rather glad to have something I could discuss freely with Jeeves just then, because things had been a bit strained between us for some time, and it had been rather difficult to hit on anything to talk about that wasn’t apt to take a personal turn. You see, I had decided—rightly or wrongly—to grow a moustache, and this had cut Jeeves to the quick. He couldn’t stick the thing at any price, and I had been living ever since in an atmosphere of bally disapproval till I was getting jolly well fed up with it. What I mean is, while there’s no doubt that in certain matters of dress Jeeves’s judgement is absolutely sound and should be followed, it seemed to me that it was getting a bit too thick if he was going to edit my face as well as my costume. No one can call me an unreasonable chappie, and many’s the time I’ve given in like a lamb when Jeeves has voted against one of my pet suits or ties; but when it comes to a valet’s staking out a claim on your upper lip you’ve simply got to have a bit of the good old bulldog pluck and defy the blighter…

2. Then there’s the main story in all its complexity, and complete with the double ending I’ve pointed out.

3. And then the comic punchline as Bertie, yet again, gives in to Jeeves’s silent disapproval. At the end of the Hard Boiled Egg adventure, Bertie considers that Jeeves himself didn’t make enough out of the adventure and then… proceeds to give in on the moustache issue.

‘I fancy Mr Bickersteth intends—I judge from his remarks—to signify his appreciation of anything I have been fortunate enough to do to assist him, at some later date when he is in a more favourable position to do so.’
‘It isn’t enough, Jeeves!’
‘Sir?’
It was a wrench, but I felt it was the only possible thing to be done.
‘Bring my shaving things.’
A gleam of hope shone in the man’s eye, mixed with doubt.
‘You mean, sir?’
‘And shave off my moustache.’
There was a moment’s silence. I could see the fellow was deeply moved.
‘Thank you very much indeed, sir,’ he said, in a low voice.

In previous collections Jeeves has interfered to stop Bertie wearing:

  • a rather sprightly young check suit – ‘Jeeves Takes Charge’ (1916)
  • a blue suit with the faint red stripe – ‘The Artistic Career of Corky’ (1916)
  • a moustache – ‘Jeeves and the Hard-Boiled Egg’ (1917)
  • purple socks – ‘Bertie Changes His Mind’ (1922)
  • a cummerbund – ‘Aunt Agatha Takes the Count’ (1922)
  • soft-fronted shirts with dress-clothes – in their very first story, ‘Jeeves Takes Charge’ (1916)
  • coloured spats – ‘Without the Option’ (1925)

In this volume Jeeves triumphs in the matter of:

  • the new vase – ‘The Inferiority Complex of Old Sippy’
  • Bertie’s bright new plus-fours – ‘Jeeves and the Kid Clementina’

Holiday battles

Also worth mentioning that this battle of wills also extends to holiday destinations, as when Jeeves is disappointed when Bertie cancels their plan to spend Christmas in Monte Carlo and go, instead, to his Aunt Dahlia’s but how, by orchestrating a sequence of unfortunate events, Jeeves manages to get his way in the end.

Or in ‘Jeeves and the Spot of Art’, Jeeves is disappointed when Bertie turns down the offer of a yacht cruise with Aunt Agatha but engineers everything so that they do, as a result of the story’s main adventure, end up going on it.

Psychology

I noted in the novels of Agatha Christie the slow spread through the 1920s of ideas and terms from Freud and his followers. So it’s striking that there’s an entire story here, from 1926, entirely based on the concept of the ‘inferiority complex’, the depth psychology term which is also most used in Christie’s novels. Maybe, for some reason, it struck a chord in popular psychology and culture although, like a lot of the Freudian ideas, it is used in a crude, inaccurate, popularised kind of way.

1. Jeeves and the Impending Doom (1926)

Bertie rescues a politician from a swan.

Bertie is invited by his dreaded Aunt Agatha to go and stay at her place, Woollam Chersey, in Hertfordshire. Here he finds his old school chum Bingo Little has been hired to tutor Aunt A’s difficult son, Thomas. Bingo anxiously tells Bertie to pretend not to know him because Agatha has such a low opinion of Bertie that if she learns Bingo is his friend, she’ll sack him.

But the centre of the story is that Aunt Agatha is also entertaining a very important guest, a Cabinet Minister named A.B. Filmer.

The Right Hon. was a tubby little chap who looked as if he had been poured into his clothes and had forgotten to say “When!”

Aunt A has tasked Bingo with making sure her difficult son, Thomas, doesn’t cause trouble.

As a result Bingo is super-stressed. Both Bertie and Jeeves tell him he simply mustn’t let the little rascal out of his sight, which is perfectly sensible, until it comes to the afternoon of the tennis tournament. Bingo is nuts about tennis and becomes so immersed in the games he loses all track of Thomas. When rain stops play and everyone troops inside, they realise the VIP Filmer is missing.

Jeeves informs Bertie that Filmer took a rowing boat across the large lake to the island in the middle to explore, but the dastardly Thomas rowed after him and untied his boat, which drifted off, leaving the politician marooned.

Rather heroically, Bertie and Jeeves rush down to the lake, take another boat and row out to the island. Here Bertie discovers the hapless politician is being terrorised by a wild swan and so has taken refuge on the roof of the mock Greek temple. Bertie is just sizing up the situation when the swan goes for him, too, so he also scrambles up onto the temple roof.

They call to Jeeves who saves the day, throwing Bertie’s raincoat over the swan and using a boathook to hoist him into the undergrowth, at which point Bertie and Filmer scramble down and everyone legs it back to the boats.

Later on, as Bertie is having a bath and recovering, Jeeves surprises him by telling him that he (Jeeves) has just told Aunt Agatha that it was Bertie who unmoored the minister’s boat. At first sight Jeeves seems to have dropped Bertie in the soup. But Jeeves goes on to explain that he overheard Aunt Agatha planning to get Bertie a job as Filmer’s secretary, something he would have hated. Therefore, what at first sight appears a floater by Jeeves turns out to be a stroke of genius.

This is what I meant when I referred, above, to the way the stories so often have a second comic climax, or Plan B, a kind of encore to the main action.

Anyway, Jeeves suggests Bertie avoids recriminations from his aunt by getting dressed, shimmying down the drainpipe and Jeeves will be waiting in the car to spirit him away.

2. The Inferiority Complex of Old Sippy (1926)

Bertie helps his old chum overcome his shyness about proposing to his girlfriend and standing up to his old headmaster.

The story opens with one of those arguments over taste which I mentioned above. usually Bertie and Jeeves fall out over clothes, but this is over a vase which Bertie loves and Jeeves hates.

Having established the bookend theme, Bertie goes to visit his old friend Sippy, who we first met as a freelance writer but who is now the editor of a journal, which he is finding dashed hard work. Bertie arrives for a visit and observes him being bullied by a horrible older man, who forces an unsuitable article on him and, when he’s left, turns out to be his old headmaster, Mr Waterbury. In the same visit Sippy explains that he is in love with the poet Gwendolen Moon.

Back home Bertie runs all this past Jeeves and expounds his theory that Sippy is suffering from an inferiority complex. Bertie comes up with a wizard wheeze which is to place a bag of flour over the entrance to Sippy’s offices so that next time the bullying headmaster visits, he will be doused in flour and Sippy, upon seeing him so humiliated, will lose his fear of him – and this will give him the confidence he needs to finally propose to his lady love, Miss Moon.

At present this head master bloke, this Waterbury, is trampling all over Mr Sipperley because he is hedged about with dignity, if you understand what I mean. Years have passed; Mr Sipperley now shaves daily and is in an important editorial position; but he can never forget that this bird once gave him six of the juiciest. Result: an inferiority complex. The only way to remove that complex, Jeeves, is to arrange that Mr Sipperley shall see this Waterbury in a thoroughly undignified position.

Jeeves doesn’t like the plan. He thinks they should do things in the opposite order – help Sippy pluck up the courage to propose to Gwendolen so that her acceptance gives him the boost and confidence to outface horrible old Waterbury.

But Bertie pushes on with his flour plan, popping round to the offices and perching the flour bomb on a partly ajar door when no-one is around. Then he goes for a walk round the block to let Waterbury get caught in the trap. But when he returns an hour or so later, there is no sign of a floured Waterbury but there is a Sippy wreathed in smiles because Jeeves has arranged everything.

Jeeves explains that he invited Sippy round to Bertie’s flat and, when his back was turned, whacked him with a golf club, then phoned Miss Moon and told her Sippy had had a bad accident. She immediately came rushing round and swooned at the sight of her beloved injured, tended him and he finally proposed and she joyfully said yes. Success!

How did he explain away the whacking? Well, he gave the excuse that Bertie’s vase fell on is head. This had the added virtue, for Jeeves, of smashing said vase.

All is well but Bertie realises he’s forgotten his hat so nips back into the offices, goes through the wrong door and triggers the pound-and-a-half of flour falling on his head.

So Jeeves fixes everything, gets rid of the detested vase, and Bertie gets roundly humiliated into the bargain.

Inferiority complex

‘The whole trouble being, Jeeves, that he has got one of those things that fellows do get⁠—it’s on the tip of my tongue.’
‘An inferiority complex, sir?’
‘Exactly. An inferiority complex. I have one myself with regard to my Aunt Agatha. You know me, Jeeves. You know that if it were a question of volunteers to man the lifeboat, I would spring to the task. If anyone said, ‘Don’t go down the coal-mine, daddy,’ it would have not the slightest effect on my resolution⁠—’
‘Undoubtedly, sir.’
‘And yet⁠—and this is where I want you to follow me very closely, Jeeves⁠—when I hear that my Aunt Agatha is out with her hatchet and moving in my direction, I run like a rabbit. Why? Because she gives me an inferiority complex.’

3. Jeeves and the Yule-tide Spirit (December 1927)

The hot water bottle fiasco.

Christmas is approaching and Lady Wickham invites Berties to her place, Skeldings, for the festive season. This disappoints Jeeves who thought they were going to Monte Carlo.

Aunt Agatha phones to warn him that his nemesis, the loony-doctor Sir Roderick Glossop, will be there too. Bertie confides in Jeeves that the reason he’s come is to get revenge on one Tuppy Glossop, the chap who humiliated him at the club by making him swing from hoops above the swimming pool for a bet, but tied the last one to the wall so Bertie was obliged to drop into the pool and swim back to the side.

Now Bobbie suggests a scheme for revenge involving a long stick, a darning needle, and a hot water bottle. Bertie tells Jeeves to get a long stick and tie a darning needle to the end of it. Then, as per Bobbie’s plan, he sneaks into Tuppy’s room in the dead of night, infiltrates the stick under the covers of the sleeping figure, locates the hot water bottle, and gently punctures it.

However, it’s at that moment that the bedroom door, which Bertie had carefully left ajar, is caught by a gust of wind and slams shut, waking the inhabitant of the bed like a shot. Bertie turns and runs but his dressing gown gets caught in the door and he is apprehended by the room’s inhabitant who… turns out to be Sir Roderick!! He and Tuppy have swapped rooms because Roderick doesn’t like sleeping on upper floors.

Sir Roderick drags Bertie back into the room where they both observe his hot water bottle leaking all over the bed, at which point Sir Roderick says he will sleep in Bertie’s bed and leaves our hero to decide not to try the now soaking wet bed, but instead fall asleep in the armchair… where, come the morning, he is awoken by Jeeves with a reviving cup of tea.

There then follows one of those comic double takes or double endings which I’ve mentioned, the kind where Jeeves first appals Bertie, before going on to give the deeper, reassuring, explanation.

In this case, Bertie is astounded to learn that it was Jeeves who betrayed him: Sir Roderick told Jeeves he was changing rooms but Jeeves didn’t pass on the message thus guaranteeing Bertie’s humiliation. BUT next second, Jeeves goes on to clarify that he did it to avoid Bertie falling into the clutches of Roderick’s daughter, Honoria Glossop. He had overheard Sir Roderick musing that Bertie might still make her a good wife.

Bertie makes the objection that Sir Roderick might, over time, come to realise the hot water bottle thing was just youthful hi-jinks, when Jeeves points out there was a second incident in the night, namely that someone crept into Bertie’s old bedroom, where Sir Roderick was sleeping, and punctured his hot water bottle using the stick and needle technique.

Dim Bertie thinks this is an extraordinary coincidence, two chaps having the same bright idea on the same night. Not really, Jeeves explains. For he overheard Bobbie Wickham giving Tuppy the idea, same as she gave Bertie the idea. In other words, she arranged for them both to sneak into each others’ rooms and puncture each others’ hot water bottles!

Bertie had been showing signs of softening to Bobbie. Now Jeeves’s revelation of her treachery makes him see her in a whole new light. Meanwhile Jeeves has seen Sir Roderick this morning who is gunning for Bertie. Jeeves thinks the best course of action would be to shin down the drainpipe and do a runner from the house to the nearest village where he can hire a car to take him back to London. Jeeves will pack up his stuff and bring it back in their motor car.

And, in order to escape Aunt Agatha’s wrath maybe get out of England altogether. Probably to Monte Carlo which is where Jeeves wanted to head all along.

‘I would not take the liberty of dictating your movements, sir, but as you already have accommodation engaged on the Blue Train for Monte Carlo for the day after to-morrow ‘
‘But you cancelled the booking?’
‘No, sir.’
‘I thought you had.’
‘No, sir.’
‘I told you to.’
‘Yes, sir. It was remiss of me, but the matter slipped my mind.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘All right, Jeeves. Monte Carlo ho, then.’
‘Very good, sir.’

A textbook example of how Jeeves always gets his way in the end.

4. Jeeves and the Song of Songs (September 1929)

Jeeves ends Tuppy Glossop’s inappropriate engagement to opera singer Cora Bellinger.

Bertie is in the bath when Tuppy Glossop calls round to announce he’s madly in love with an opera singer named Cora Bellinger. Tuppy’s called round for two reasons. 1) To invite Bertie to have lunch with him and Cora; 2) to ask him not to mention the practical joke where he bet Bertie he couldn’t swing from bars above a swimming pool which resulted in Bertie falling into said pool.

Bertie is reluctant as he is still mulling over some fierce revenge he can take for the swimming pool incident but instead finds himself hosting lunch for his enemy. When Cora arrives, Bertie is winningly rude about her:

I can’t say I exactly saw eye to eye with young Tuppy in his admiration for the Bellinger female. Delivered on the mat at one-twenty-five, she proved to be an upstanding light-heavyweight of some thirty summers, with a commanding eye and a square chin which I, personally, would have steered clear of. She seemed to me a good deal like what Cleopatra would have been after going in too freely for the starches and cereals.

Cora performs a few songs.

The Bellinger, at Tuppy’s request, had sung us a few songs before digging in at the trough, and nobody could have denied that her pipes were in great shape. Plaster was still falling from the ceiling.

After lunch Cora has to leave. Only then can Tuppy relax, have a drink and explain that, in her presence, he’s having to put on a serious and earnest facade. For example he’s given up drinking booze (in her presence).

He also explains what turns out to be the comic core of the story: that he’s planning to demonstrate what a serious type of chap he is by inviting her along to an East End Boys club run by a mutual pal of his and Bertie’s (‘Beefy Bingham who was at Oxford with us’) to show off his social conscience. More, Tuppy will impress her with his musical talent by singing ‘Sonny Boy’. (This is the 1928 song which had been a massive hit for Al Jolson the year before the story was published.)

Jeeves announces that Bertie’s Aunt Dahlia is on her way round and Tuppy disappears. She is a large impressive lady.

 Aunt Dahlia is one of those big, hearty women. She used to go in a lot for hunting, and she generally speaks as if she had just sighted a fox on a hillside half a mile away. ‘Bertie,’ she cried, in the manner of one encouraging a platoon of hounds to renewed efforts,

Everything is always very tightly plotted in a Wodehouse story, and Tuppy’s disappearance is directly linked to Aunt Dahlia. Turns out she has a daughter, Angela, who Tuppy left for Cora, which explains why he is in her bad books and why he ran off so quickly. Aunt Dahlia wants Tuppy to get back together with Angela and orders Bertie to get his man Jeeves on the case. She’ll call back tomorrow to find out their plan.

So Jeeves comes up with a cunning plan. He proposes that Bertie does a turn at this East End boys club and sings ‘Sonny Boy’ before Tuppy goes on, so that by the time Tuppy sings it, the audience will have heard it and it will make no impression. And then, if Tuppy goes down badly with the audience, Jeeves argues, Cora will cease to like him:

‘I think, therefore, that, should Miss Bellinger be a witness of Mr Glossop appearing to disadvantage in public, she would cease to entertain affection for him. In the event, for instance, of his failing to please the audience on Tuesday with his singing.’

Bertie is none too pleased at having to sing ‘Sonny Boy’ in public but he reluctantly agrees to go ahead if it means saving his old mucker Tuppy from an inappropriate liaison.

At the club Bertie points out that if Tuppy hears him sing ‘Sonny Boy’, he obviously won’t sing it himself. Jeeves reassures Bertie that Tuppy, on Jeeves’ advice, has gone for a drink to settle his nerves and won’t be back until it’s time to perform. He then suggests a similar stiffener for Bertie, who accordingly nips round to the local pub and has a couple of whisky and sodas, becoming a little inebriated.

Back at the venue, Bertie manages to get through the song, giving what he thinks is a good performance though puzzled at the audience’s lack of appreciation, at which Jeeves drops the bombshell that the previous two turns before Bertie had also sung ‘Sonny Boy’! No wonder the audience was restive.

Which explains why, when Tuppy takes the stage, ignorant of all his predecessors, he is only half way through the song when the audience revolts, first making boos and catcalls, and then starting to throw things, starting with a squishy banana, so Tuppy eventually gives up and beats a retreat.

It is now that the story follows the general shape of having the First Setback followed by the Ultimate Triumph. The setback is that it’s only after Tuppy runs offstage that we learn that Cora is running late and didn’t hear Tuppy sing – the whole ordeal has been for nothing. Disheartened, Bertie says he’s off to the club for a drink, while Jeeves says he’ll stay and watch the rest.

But then comes the Ultimate Triumph: later that night, back at his flat, Bertie is visited by Tuppy who is sporting an impressive black eye and announcing that he doesn’t think Cora is the girl for him, and perhaps someone with a sweeter temperament would be more suitable such as Bertie’s cousin Angela. He leaves and Jeeves arrives, to explain all.

It was Cora who gave Tuppy his black eye. This is because, when she arrived late and finally went on and performed, Jeeves asked her to sing ‘Sonny Boy’ as a favour to Tuppy. She was upset to be received with boos and raspberries, but furious to learn that several performers before her had sung the same song and drew the conclusion that she was the victim of an elaborate practical joke. Which is when she punched Tuppy in the eye. Which is why he’s rather gone off her.

As usual, complete triumph for Jeeves.

5. Jeeves and the Dog McIntosh (October 1929)

Bobbie Wickham gives Aunt Agatha’s dog to the American impresario Blumenfeld and Bertie has to get him back.

Bertie is looking after his Aunt Agatha’s West Highland terrier, McIntosh for five weeks. Aunt A returns and expects her dog back. In the meantime Roberta ‘Bobbie’ Wickham asks Bertie to give her lunch and specifically requests pudding, ice cream and chocolates. When she turns up she explains this is because a boy, a child, is coming to lunch. She goes on to explain that 1) her mother has dramatised one of her own novels 2) she (Bobbie) is in bad odour with her mother because she smashed up the car and a few other things and so 3) when she met an American theatrical impresario she thought she’d effect a reconciliation with her mother by 4) promoting the play to him; specifically, she has asked the impresario along to Bertie’s flat for a reading of the play. So she’s invited him along, and his son.

As she tells all this Bertie realises he knows the man: it’s Blumenfeld who he and we encountered in an earlier story, set in New York, ‘Jeeves and the Chump Cyril’ (1918). Bertie violently objected to Blumenfeld’s horrible son and now vows to avoid the lunch altogether. He bounds for his coat and legs it to the stairs. Unfortunately the taxi the Blumenfeld father and so is just pulling up and they spot him but he waves a cheery hello and legs it to his club.

Many hours later he returns to his flat, having phoned ahead to check the Americans have left. Jeeves reports that Miss Wickham was well pleased with the reading and, when he phones her, she confirms this, confirms that the boy was well stuffed with ice cream, his Dad liked the play, they’ve gone off to catch a movie and she’s to report to their suite at the Savoy at 5.30 to sign the contract.

Just one catch. During the lunch the little boy took a fancy to Aunt Agatha’s dog and so, er, she gave him (the dog) to him (the boy). Bertie reels at his end of the phone. He’s had a message that Aunt Agatha is arriving home from her trip abroad today. She’ll eviscerate him when she discovers her precious dog has been given away to an American brat.

Jeeves suggests a plan: if Miss Wickham has been invited to the Americans’ suite, if she arrives early and is let in, then she can open the door moments later to Bertie who can swipe the dog, and all before the Yanks get there from their movie. A quick call to Bobbie confirms this is the arrangement. Jeeves has one more suggestion: it is that Bertie douses his trouser bottoms in aniseed on the principle that dogs go mad for it. Slightly disbelieving, Bertie legs it to a chemist’s shop, buys and bottle, and whistles back, douses his trouser bottoms as instructed, then catches a cab to the Savoy.

Everything works like a dream: Bobbie opens the Americans’ room door to Bertie, the dog smells the aniseed and comes bounding out, snuffling his trousers, following him as he legs it downstairs, out into the street and into a cab home.

Barely is he home before Jeeves announces that Blumenfeld has rung up in a rage about Bertie kidnapping his goddam’ dog. There’s no time to leg it so Bertie hides behind the sofa as Blumenfeld storms in and rants and rages at an impassive Jeeves. Jeeves plays a blinder by persuading Blumenfeld that Bertie is eccentric, even dangerous – he is particularly triggered by fat men, such as Blumenfeld. That’s why he excused himself from the lunch and they saw him running off; he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to control himself.

Bertie hears all the vigour going out of Blumenfeld’s voice as he becomes hesitant and then scared. When Jeeves offers to wake Bertie who, he says, is taking his usual nap behind the sofa, Blumenfeld blinks and then says, No, just get him out of this madhouse alive! and Jeeves sees him off the premises.

But this isn’t all. There’s always the second comic climax. For Jeeves tells a startled Bertie that, before he left, Jeeves gave Blumenfeld the dog! But wasn’t that the whole point of the whole beastly exercise, to keep the wretched dog?!

Oh no, not that dog Jeeves explains. The one he bought in Bond Street earlier that afternoon and looks exactly like McIntosh. This way Blumenfeld’s boy gets a dog, Bobbie Wickham gets her mother’s play performed, and Aunt Agatha can be reunited with her precious mutt in just a few hours’ time.

Jeeves is a genius! Everyone is, as Bertie puts it, ‘on velvet’.

6. Jeeves and the Spot of Art (December 1929)

Over dinner, Bertie tells Aunt Dahlia that he will not, now, be able to take up her kind offer of accompanying her on a yachting cruise of the Mediterranean because he has fallen in love with Gwladys Pendlebury. She is an artist and has painted his portrait which he just this morning hung in his flat. Jeeves (of course) doesn’t like it. Anyway, Bertie daren’t leave her alone in London because he has a love rival, one Lucius Pim.

But Bertie gets home from this lunch to discover that Gwladys called round but left rather distressed because she had a car accident outside the apartment block, specifically she hit a pedestrian and fractured his tibia; more specifically still, it was none other than the dreaded rival, Lucius Pim.

And to his horror, Bertie discovers that the doctor they called advised that Pim be accommodated in Bertie’s flat, in his spare room, and be accorded full rest and recovery. Also: his sister (Mrs Slingsby) is arriving in London and she must on no account discover that it was Gwladys who ran him over. Bertie must agree with the cover story that he was hit by an unknown driver who drove on.

Knowing that the sister is going to pay a visit the following day, Bertie decides to make himself scarce and motors down to Brighton for the day. However, on his return he is horrified to learn that not only did Gwladys visit for four hours – suggesting she is doing that womanly thing of caring for a poor invalid – but Mrs Slingsby was made furious with Bertie when Lucius told her that it was Bertie who ran him over – and that he was a bit drunk at the time!!

Pim is offensively calm about it, agrees it is a cheek, admits his sister is furious with him (Bertie). Not only this, her husband is an American businessman who might be so angry about it, there’s a risk he might take Bertie to court. So Pim suggests Bertie sends her a nice big bouquet of roses and a card with apologies.

Bertie does this but next thing is that the husband appears, demands his way into the flat, and starts accusing Bertie – not of running over his wife’s brother, but of having an affair with his wife! He thinks the swags of roses Bertie sent her indicated romantic tendencies. At that moment Mrs Slingsby arrives at the flat and her appearance triggers Slingsby to charge out of his chair as if to assault Bertie except that…. he slips on the golf ball Bertie had been toying with before he arrived, flies in the air and lands painfully on his back.

This gives Bertie the opportunity of legging it out the room, grabbing his coat and hat, just time to tell Jeeves to meet him at Victoria with some packed bags because he’s going to nip over to Paris till the coast clear, leaving last instructions to Jeeves to do whatever it takes to calm Slingsby down.

Weeks later Bertie ventures to return and, arriving in London, discovers that it is plastered with his image on enormous posters for Slingsby’s Super Soups. Slingsby has only gone and done a commercial deal with Gwladys to use Bertie’s image from the portrait of him she did.

Jeeves explains that he did as instructed and set about mollifying Slingsby by suggesting he use the image from the portrait. Gwladys secured a good deal, brokered by Pim acting not only as her agent but in his new-found role as her fiancé.

Well 1) that puts Bertie right off Gwladys and 2) right off the portrait (which Jeeves always disliked) and 3) in order to escape London and the ridicule the use of his image exposes him to, Jeeves suggests no better resort than to accept Aunt Dahlia’s kind invitation to the yacht cruise. As he, Jeeves, had wanted all along. Game, set and match to Jeeves.

7. Jeeves and the Kid Clementina (January 1930)

Bertie tries a cunning way of returning an AWOL schoolgirl to her school.

Bertie travels to Bingley-on-Sea to take part in the annual golf tournament. One day he confesses he’s nervous because Bingley is where a friend of his dreaded Aunt Agatha – Miss Mapleton – runs a school for girls, St Monica’s.

The clothes complication: Jeeves doesn’t like the vivid plus-fours Bertie has chosen to play golf in. What are plus-fours?

One day Bertie’s knocked out of the competition early and has met Jeeves on the promenade when they both spot his ex-girlfriend Bobbie Wickham approaching. At the start of the story, Bertie had horrified Jeeves by announcing Bobbie had invited him to go and stay with a party of Bobbie’s in Antibes in the south of France.

Now she bounces up and announces that she’s down from London to visit her friend Clementina who’s at school nearby and to take her for dinner on her birthday. More precisely, to ask Bertie to take them both out for dinner. Bobbie will then jump into her own motor and tootle back to London, leaving Bertie to deliver Clem back to her school…

When they pitch up for dinner, Clementina turns out to be a well-behaved 13-year-old. All goes well till Bobbie jumps into her car and is about to shoot off when she casually reveals that Clementina didn’t have permission to leave school. She had been sent to her room early for putting sherbet in the inkwells.

Obviously Bertie can’t just roll up and hand her in at the front door as she will get into trouble and he will be the subject of a vitriolic letter to Aunt Agatha. So Bobbie outlines a cunning plan: get some string, break into the grounds, go to the greenhouse, gather some pots, attach string to pots, climb the nearby tree; when coast is clear pull string pulling pots down onto greenhouse with great shattering. Door opens as teachers sally out to discover what’s going on. Insert Clementina through open door, she makes her way to her room, Bertie legs it.

When he explains all this to Jeeves the latter is appalled but Bertie insists they proceed. In the event he’s only just climbed up the tree when he’s startled by the flashlamp of a policeman who tells him to climb down and explain himself. Oops.

Things are getting dicey when Jeeves magically appears and intervenes. He says he and Bertie were on a visit when they saw suspicious figures in the grounds. He, Jeeves, has knocked at the servants door and asked to see the headmistress, Miss Mapleton. (Later, he explains to Bertie that while the servant was getting her, Jeeves quietly let Clementina run in through the open back door and make her own way to her bedroom.) Then told the headmistress the fake story about alleged intruders, made Bertie out to be a hero who had gone looking for them.

Jeeves takes Bertie and the copper to meet Miss Mapleton who confirms all this is true, so the policeman is obliged, reluctantly, to acquiesce and let Bertie off. There is then the comic second climax, when they all hear the flower pot Bertie had precariously balanced, crash down into the glasshouse, as originally planned. But Miss Mapleton says this only confirms Jeeves’s story that there are intruders loose in the grounds and tells the policeman to go and do his job.

The clothes conclusion: having started the story insisting on keeping the plus-fours, Bertie ends it giving in to Jeeves. As always.

8. Jeeves and the Love That Purifies (November 1929)

Bertie gets involved in a competition between two boys as to which can be the best behaved.

It is August, the month when Jeeves gets a summer holiday and decamps off to Bognor ‘for the shrimping’.

Bertie is invited to go and stay at his Aunt Dahlia’s at Brinkley Court in Worcestershire. Here he discovers that the little terror Thomas Gregson, the son of Bertie’s Aunt Agatha, has been dumped on poor Dahlia while Agatha goes abroad. Now Dahlia has a son of her own about the same age as Thomas, Bonzo, and Bertie further discovers that another guest of his aunt’s is an old boy named Mr Anstruther, who is notoriously sensitive and given to nervous collapses. So when Anstruther realised the house contained two boisterous young boys he did a clever thing and invited them to take part in a competition as to who could be the best-behaved boy, winner getting £5! Not only this but, as Anstruther explains to Bertie, he has instituted a points system and assigns the boys points on a daily basis based on their behaviour.

But Aunt Dahlia quickly informs Bertie that this is just the start: for also staying at the house are Lord and Lady Jane Snettisham and they are gamblers and they have bet on which of the two boys will break first and behave badly. And Aunt Dahlia has joined the betting, betting her legendary cook, Anatole, against Jane Snettisham’s kitchen-maid!

Now, she tells Bertie, she suspects the Snettishams (‘the opposition’) will play dirty and place unwonted temptations in Bonzo’s way, so Bertie has to help her do the same to young Thomas. After a few failed attempts, Thomas is pulling ahead in the stakes. On one notable occasion Thomas walks 3 miles to the nearest station and 3 miles back again to fetch Bertie a copy of the Sporting Times. When he hears about this Anstruther gives Thomas bonus points.

So Aunt Dahlia insists Bertie contacts Jeeves and asks him to cut short his holiday in order to come and help. Jeeves suggests they invite young Sebastian Moon, young brother of Gwendolen Moon, to stay. He has such lovely blonde curls that any self-respecting thug like Thomas will find it impossible not to beat him up. But at first all goes badly; Thomas goes out of his way to be friendly to Sebastian and very conspicuously gives him a piggy-back when Sebastian has a painful nail in his shoe.

Then Jeeves makes the crucial breakthrough: he engages Thomas in casual conversation and discovers that the boy is besotted with the movie star Greta Garbo and, like many an idealistic adolescent, he wants to make himself worthy for her by doing good deeds. Leading Bertie to make the age-old lament:

‘The motion-pictures, Jeeves,’ I said, ‘are the curse of the age.’

This is the key which brings the story to a sudden climax because all Jeeves now has to do is tell irritating young Sebastian to insult Greta Garbo to Thomas’s face. A few hours later the boys are playing down in the stables when Jeeves and Bertie both hear a piercing scream. Round the corner comes Sebastian running, pursued by Thomas carrying a big stables bucket of water. The ‘insult Greta Garbo’ strategy has obviously worked a treat.

Anstruther had been dozing in a deckchair till the scream woke him up. He leaped to his feet just as Sebastian drew near him so that the boy dodged behind him and Thomas, egged on by the momentum of his run, let loose his big bucket of water which, of course, completely misses Sebastian but drenches old Anstruther.

Anstruther seizes a nearby stick and lashes out at Thomas who turns and flees, pursued by angry old man – Victory!

The Kiss (1929)

Greta Garbo in her last silent movie, The Kiss (1929)

9. Jeeves and the Old School Chum (February 1930)

Bingo Little’s marriage is imperilled when a friend of his wife’s, Laura Pyke, visits and enforces a health and vegetarian regime.

Bertie’s friend Bingo Little inherits a nice country house in Norfolk, about 30 miles from Norwich. Here Bertie has a jolly stay before being dragged off to Harrogate to accompany his Uncle George on one of his many rest cures.

After a week or so he manages to slip away but discovers the atmosphere at the Littles’ place much changed. Because Bertie’s old school friend, Laura Pyke, has come to stay and she is a health food fanatic. She immediately starts criticising everything Bingo eats, insisting they switch to pretty much vegetarian meals, and strongly disapproves of lunch.

Bertie goes so far as to imagine that it’s affecting the Little marriage, as the wife, Rosie, sees her husband being mocked on a daily basis. Bingo begs him to get Jeeves to help somehow. In the end the solution is this: they all go to the nearby Lakenham races in two cars – Bingo and Rosie in one, Bertie, Jeeves and Laura in the other. Beforehand Bingo had stood over the cook to make sure he packs a small feast of tasty sandwiches in the hamper.

However when they arrive at the races, disaster has struck: someone forgot to pack the bally hamper! Laura is jubilant, saying that no-one needs a big lunch anyway and Rosie, as she has taken to doing, agrees with everything Laura says.

Luckily Bertie had instructed Jeeves to pack a few more sandwiches for himself and the three men make excuses about seeing bookies in order to sneak off behind a hedge and share out Jeeves’s sandwiches. It is here that Jeeves drops the bombshell that it was he who omitted packing the hamper. So many of the stories follow this shape – Jeeves does something which appears inexplicably awful to Bertie, until he explains its deeper significance. Now Jeeves explains that his aim was to force the ladies to go hungry and put their money where their mouth is. Bertie is sceptical because, as he explain to Jeeves, the modern woman is happy enough to skip lunch but adamant about having tea and buttered toast.

The races end and, as Bingo wants to stay on a little, Rosie asks Bertie to drive her and Laura home. Just as they’ve got to the complete back of beyond the car stutters and rolls to a halt. There’s some comic business as the two women (Rosie and Laura) send Bertie to an isolated house they see half a mile away to get some petrol but when he bangs on the door it is opened by an infuriated man who has only just managed to get his baby off to sleep, and who refuses to give petrol.

After some more business they see a light approaching along the now dark road and Bertie runs toward it to flag it down and discovers it is Bingo and Jeeves. Bingo jumps out, tells Jeeves to wait five minutes, and walks up the road with Bertie. This is so they can secretly listen to Rosie and Pyke who, lacking their afternoon tea, have begun to bicker and argue. Their argument grows in intensity till Laura insults Rosie’s latest book!

After five minutes Jeeves drives up and Laura, furious with Rosie, demands that Jeeves drives her home.

Rosie is thrilled that Bingo has arrived to rescue her but a little cross with him for not filling the car up. Bingo insists he did and says the real fault is some car mechanic stuff (which he’s clearly made up on the spot in order to blind her with manly car know-how:

‘What’s wrong is probably that the sprockets aren’t running true with the differential gear. It happens that way sometimes. I’ll fix it in a second.’

Meanwhile he also assuages her longing for ‘tea’ by taking Rosie to the nearby house – despite Bertie’s warnings that the inhabitant is a beast – and intimidating the man into giving Rosie tea, impressing Rosie, restoring her faith in her husband which is the point of the entire exercise.

She turned for an instant to Bingo, and there was a look in her eyes that one of those damsels in distress might have given the knight as he shot his cuffs and turned away from the dead dragon. It was a look of adoration, of almost reverent respect. Just the sort of look, in fact, that a husband likes to see.

While she is inside, Bertie and Bingo refuel the car with the petrol tin they brought with them so they can retrieve Rosie after she’s refreshed by tea and all toddle home. It had been Jeeves’s idea to almost empty the tank, ensuring the ladies broke down in the middle of nowhere confident that, having had no lunch and now being deprived of tea, they would have a big fight. And then arranged for Bingo to turn up like a knight in shining armour and play the hero to his wife. Well done, Jeeves!

‘He’s a marvel.’
‘A wonder.’
‘A wizard.’
‘A stout fellow,’

10. Indian Summer of an Uncle (March 1930)

Aunt Agatha tasks Bertie with breaking up the relationship between his Uncle George and a young waitress.

Fat Uncle George, whose full title is Lord Yaxley, falls in love with a waitress named Miss Rhoda Platt and is threatening to marry her. Jeeves knows all about it, of course, and that the girl is a waitress who lives in East Dulwich. Aunt Agatha storms in and orders Bertie to go to East Dulwich straightaway and offer the girl £100 to cancel the engagement. Bertie drives down to the girl’s place, Wistaria Lodge, and encounters her stout, imposing aunt, who tells him Rhoda is in bed with the flu. There’s some comic business when she at first takes Bertie to be a doctor and asks him to examine his knee. Once that’s sorted out, Bertie loses his nerve and can’t bring himself to raise the subject with the aunt or offer her the money.

He returns to his flat where Aunt Agatha is waiting and she is furious at his failure. At this point he calls in Jeeves who, of course, fixes things. Jeeves suggests they invite Uncle George for lunch to meet the girl’s stout aunt: once he sees her and learns that she will move in if he marries the girl, it will put him off the match. Aunt Agatha ridicules this suggestion and insists that Bertie continues with the money option but, once she’s left, Bertie tells Jeeves to arrange the lunch.

When Bertie asks how Jeeves knows about Rhoda, Jeeves replies that a friend of his, another valet, named Smethurst (valet to a Colonel Mainwaring-Smith), wants to marry this Rhoda and had an ‘understanding’ with her, until she met Uncle George. Now she is torn between love for Smethurst, a man of her own station in life, and the opportunity of marrying a man with a title.

Next morning Bertie awakes with a sense of impending doom. At lunchtime Rhoda’s aunt, Mrs Wilberforce, arrives. In casual chat she stuns Bertie by telling him how she used to work as a barmaid at the Criterion. Now the thing is, as backstory earlier on, Bertie had told Jeeves (and the reader) that Uncle George had done this kind of thing – falling for a member of the lower classes – once before, years ago – with a barmaid at the Criterion, and had only just been talked out of it by the family. Could this be the self-same barmaid? Well, this is a comic story so the answer is, of course, Yes!

Panic-stricken, Bertie tells Jeeves to call Uncle George and cancel lunch but it’s too late because he arrives at just that moment, enters the drawing room and is astonished and delighted to encounter his beloved of all those years ago, immediately using their old pet names:

‘Piggy?’
‘Maudie!’

Bertie doesn’t hang around to see any more but legs it off to his club, the Drones Club. Here he gets a call from Aunt Agatha who, to his surprise, sounds happy. She explains this is because Uncle George has told her he’s called off the plan to marry Miss Rhoda and instead is going to marry a Mrs Wilberforce, a woman closer to his own age. The comic point is that Aunt Agatha mistakenly believes Mrs Wilberforce belongs to an aristocratic family.

‘I wonder which Wilberforces that would be. There are two main branches of the family — the
Essex Wilberforces and the Cumberland Wilberforces. I believe there is also a cadet branch somewhere in Shropshire.’

Bertie dare not point out her mistake, returns to his flat and confronts Jeeves. Surely this is a disaster! But Jeeves smoothly puts him right. He explains that 1) Smethurst asked him to break up Rhoda and Uncle George and that 2) Mrs Wilberforce might actually be a good match for Uncle George: he keeps going off the rails because he is an unsupervised bachelor. Even during lunch she was commenting on his overweight and recommending a healthier regime. She might be a blessing in disguise.

As to Aunt Agatha who will, no doubt, be furious, maybe a little trip abroad?

11. The Ordeal of Young Tuppy (April 1930)

Every year aristocratic households live in fear of who Bertie will go and stay with for Christmas. This year it’s Sir Reginald Witherspoon, Bart, of Bleaching Court, Upper Bleaching, Hampshire. A consideration is that Tuppy Glossop will be there and Bertie is still brooding his revenge after the swimming pool humiliation.

But plans are interrupted by the arrival of Aunt Agatha with news that Tuppy appears to be reneging on his engagement to Angela, Aunt Dahlia’s daughter, in favour of some ‘dog girl’ he’s met at this place Bleaching Court. Dahlia tells Bertie to tell Jeeves to sort it out.

So Bertie and Wooster motor down there, coming across Tuppy mooning over the girl en route. Once arrived and unpacking, Tuppy bounces in to explain the meaning of the telegram he sent Bertie. In it he asks him to bring 1) his football boots and 2) an Irish water-spaniel spaniel. The dog was designed to impress the girl and her parents (Bertie didn’t bring one). The football boots (which Bertie did bring) are to enable Tuppy to take part in the annual village football match between Upper Bleaching and Hockley-cum-Meston.

Jeeves tells Bertie that this football match is no mere sporting event but a primitive affair of great violence between two villages who hate each other. Bertie visits both villages and is horrified at the bloodthirsty language being bandied about. But when he warns Tuppy, the latter rejects it all, saying this is his big opportunity to impress the lovely Miss Dalgleish.

Wodehouse describes the match, which is in fact a form of barbarian rugby, with brilliant comic verve. Before the match Bertie had concocted a scheme whereby Jeeves would send a telegram purporting to come from Aunt Dahlia and telling Tuppy to return to London because Angela is ill and calling for him – but when he goes to deliver it to Tuppy, he realises he’s left it in the pocket of his other coat!00 It doesn’t matter, though, because, with a kind of comic inevitability, once his blood is up, Tuppy turns out to be a ferocious player, takes revenge on a red-haired player who’s been persecuting him and even scores a try!

Bertie gets back to his room at Bleaching Court and confides to Jeeves that he thinks the case is lost: he failed to deliver the telegram and Tuppy was the star of the game. However, at that moment Tuppy enters, still covered in mud, but a broken man. He explains that the lovely Miss Dalgleish wasn’t there and so didn’t see his heroic play! Apparently someone rang her from London claiming to have an Irish water-spaniel they wanted to sell her so she scorned the chance of seeing Tuppy risk his life for her and motored off to the capital, only to discover it was the wrong kind of spaniel after all.

He is gutted – disappointed in Miss Dalgliesh, what kind of life partner would she make! – and disillusioned with women as a sex.

Bertie mentions Angela but Tuppy crossly remembers the argument about her hat they had which led to them breaking up. it is now, at the perfect psychological moment, that Bertie retrieves the telegram he and Jeeves faked and hands it to Tuppy. When he reads that Angela in her delirium is calling his name, Tuppy melts, tells Bertie what a wonderful woman she is, asks to borrow his car so he can motor off to her bedside hot foot. And so he exits.

Just as Jeeves re-enters with the drink he ordered. By this stage even dim Bertie realises that it must have been Jeeves who made the mystery phone call to Miss Dalgliesh inviting her to London to see the phantom Irish water-spaniel, and Jeeves admits as much. But what will happen when Tuppy arrives in London and finds Angela very much not ill in bed and feverishly calling Tuppy’s name? Jeeves has phoned Aunt Dahlia and told her to manage the situation.

And thus concludes the eleventh and final short story in the collection.

Cast

  • Bertie Wooster
  • Jeeves
  • Aunt Agatha aka Mrs Gregson – ‘on the occasions when my Aunt Agatha is perturbed strong men dive down drain-pipes to get out of her way’ – rudely referred to as ‘the Family Curse’
  • Spenser Gregson – Aunt Agatha’s (first) husband, big on the Stock Exchange, ‘recently cleaned up to an amazing extent in Sumatra Rubber’
  • Cousin Thomas – Agatha’s mischievous son
    • Purvis – their butler
  • Mr A.B. Filmer – cabinet minister, president of the Anti-Tobacco League, in Bertie’s view a ‘superfatted bore’, character in ‘Jeeves and the Impending Doom’
  • Bingo Little – old pal of Bertie’s from school, always getting into trouble
  • Rosie M. Banks – married to Bingo, celebrated authoress of romantic tripe
  • Oliver ‘Sippy’ Sipperly – old pal of Bertie’s, currently ‘editor of a weekly paper devoted to the interests of the lighter Society’
  • Waterbury – Sippy’s old headmaster – ‘a large, important-looking bird with penetrating eyes, a Roman nose, and high cheekbones. Authoritative’
  • Miss Gwendolen Moon – authoress of ‘Autumn Leaves,’ ‘ ’Twas on an English June,’ and other works, beloved of Sippy
  • Sir Roderick Glossop – nerve specialist aka the ‘loony doctor’
  • Tuppy Glossop – nephew of Sr Roderick, who played the wicked trick on Bertie at a swimming pool, who he conspired to humiliate by bursting his hot water bottle in ‘Jeeves and the Yule-tide Spirit’ but who he helps dump an unsuitable opera singer girlfriend, Cora Bellingham, in ‘Jeeves and the Song of Songs’
  • Cora Bellingham – large opera singer who dumps Tuppy
  • Miss Roberta ‘Bobbie’ Wickham – red-haired girl who Bertie fancies until she is revealed as a prankster in ‘Jeeves and the Yule-tide Spirit’
  • Blumenfeld – the American theatrical impresario in ‘Jeeves and the Dog McIntosh’ – ‘A large, round, fat, overflowing bird, who might quite easily, if stirred, fall on a fellow and flatten him to the carpet’
  • Blumenfeld fils – brattish son
  • Gwladys Pendlebury – artist who Bertie thinks he’s in love with in ‘Jeeves and the Spot of Art’
  • Lucius Pim – artist and rival for the affections of Gwladys Pendlebury
  • Mrs Slingsby – Pim’s sister, who blames Bertie for running Lucius over
  • Mr Slingsby – her husband, a pushy American who threatens to assault Bertie
  • Miss Mapleton – Aunt Agatha’s friend who runs a girls’ school in Bingley
  • Clementina – Bobbie’s 13-year-old cousin who attends St. Monica’s school for girls
  • Lady Wickham
  • Anstruther – an old friend of Aunt Dahlia’s late father, prone to nervous collapses
  • Lord ‘Jack’ Snettisham
  • Lady Jane Snettisham
  • Bonzo Travers – son of Aunt Dahlia
  • Mrs Wilberforce – the waitress Rhoda’s aunt, who turns out to be the waitress Uncle George fell in love with a generation earlier, in ‘Indian Summer of an Uncle’

Bertie’s character

As Aunt Agatha puts it, addressing Bertie:

‘Mr Filmer is a serious-minded man of high character and purpose, and you are just the type of vapid and frivolous wastrel against which he is most likely to be prejudiced.’

And again:

‘I have always known that you were an imbecile, Bertie,’ said the flesh-and-blood, now down at about three degrees Fahrenheit, ‘but I did suppose that you had some proper feeling, some pride, some respect for your position.’

And:

‘Bertie,’ said Aunt Dahlia, with a sort of frozen calm, ‘You are the Abysmal Chump… It’s simply because I am fond of you and have influence with the Lunacy Commissioners that you weren’t put in a padded cell years ago…’

As Bertie himself puts it.

Those who know Bertram Wooster best are aware that in his journey through life he is impeded and generally snootered by about as scaly a collection of aunts as was ever assembled.

I explained as much to the fair cargo and received in return a ‘Tchah!’ from the Pyke that nearly lifted the top of my head off. What with having a covey of female relations who have regarded me from childhood as about ten degrees short of a half-wit, I have become rather a connoisseur of ‘Tchahs,’ and the Pyke’s seemed to me well up in Class A, possessing much of the timbre and brio of my Aunt Agatha’s.

And:

Every year, starting about the middle of November, there is a good deal of anxiety and apprehension among owners of the better-class of country-house throughout England as to who will get Bertram Wooster’s patronage for the Christmas holidays. It may be one or it may be another. As my Aunt Dahlia says, you never know where the blow will fall.

All compared with Jeeves’s omniscience:

‘There are very few things in this world, Aunt Agatha,’ I said gravely, ‘that Jeeves doesn’t know all about.’

Slang

The last time I had seen old Sippy, you must remember, he had had all the appearance of a man who didn’t know it was loaded.

He looked as if he had been taking as much as will cover a sixpence every morning before breakfast for years.

The fixture was scratched owing to events occurring which convinced the old boy that I was off my napper.

It seemed to me that things were beginning to look pretty scaly.

He [Jeeves] has a nasty way of conveying the impression that he looks on Bertram Wooster as a sort of idiot child who, but for him, would conk in the first chukka.

How any doom or disaster could lurk behind the simple pronging of a spot of dinner together, I failed to see.

‘Take it from me, Aunt Agatha, I’ve studied human nature and I don’t believe there’s a female in the world who could sec Uncle George fairly often in those waistcoats he wears without feeling that it was due to her better self to give him the gate.’

An unseen hand without tootled on the bell, and I braced myself to play the host. The binge was on.

I slid away. The last I saw of them, Uncle George was down beside her on the Chesterfield, buzzing hard.

It was — what’s the word I want? — it was plausible, of course, but still I shook the onion.

‘Bertie,’ said Aunt Dahlia — and I could see her generous nature was stirred to its depths — ‘one more crack like that out of you, and I shall forget that I am an aunt and hand you one.’
I became soothing. I gave her the old oil.

‘We must put a bit of a jerk in it and save young Tuppy in spite of himself.’

I thought ‘tuning out’ was a modern idiom, maybe dating from the 1960s. Apparently not. In ‘Indian Summer of an Uncle’, Jeeves embarks on a long explanation and Bertie comments:

I saw that this was going to take some time. I tuned out.

Bertie’s cheerful philistinism

As Shakespeare says, if you’re going to do a thing you might just as well pop right at it and get it over.

‘You want time to think, eh?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Take it, Jeeves, take it. You may feel brainier after a night’s sleep. What is it Shakespeare calls sleep, Jeeves?’
‘Tired Nature’s sweet restorer, sir.’
‘Exactly. Well, there you are, then.’

‘Remember what the poet Shakespeare said, Jeeves.’
‘What was that, sir?’
‘”Exit hurriedly, pursued by a bear.” You’ll find it in one of his plays. I remember drawing a picture of it on the side of the page, when I was at school.’

‘Yes, sir. Smethurst — his name is Smethurst — would consider it a consummation devoutly to be
wished.’
‘Rather well put, that, Jeeves. Your own?’
‘No, sir. The Swan of Avon, sir.’

Actually, reading them in chronological order, it feels like there are more and more literary references in the stories, played for laughs of course, but increasingly evident. For example ‘Indian Summer of an Uncle’ contains several references to Shakespeare, and to Robert Burns and Tennyson, and others are liberally scattered about:

JEEVES: ‘An invalid undoubtedly exercises a powerful appeal to the motherliness which exists in every woman’s heart, sir. Invalids seem to stir their deepest feelings. The poet Scott has put the matter neatly in the lines — ‘Oh, Woman in our hours of case uncertain, coy, and hard to please… When pain and anguish rack the brow.’
I held up a hand.
‘At some other time, Jeeves,’ I said, ‘I shall be delighted to hear you your piece, but just now I am
not in the mood.’

Memorable moments

‘Are wives often like that? Welcoming criticism of the lord and master, I mean?’
‘They are generally open to suggestions from the outside public with regard to the improvement of their husbands, sir.’
‘That is why married men are wan, what?’
‘Yes, sir.’

I heard Aunt Agatha rumble like a volcano just before it starts to set about the neighbours, but I did not wilt.

The stupid narrator

Literary critics and writers themselves have long known about the so-called ‘unreliable narrator’, who tells the story but you slowly realise is giving you a biased account. There’s a moment in ‘Indian Summer of an Uncle’ when Bertie is being more than usually obtuse, when the reader has realised the family he’s visiting has mistaken him for a doctor but it takes Bertie five minutes longer than the reader to realise this, while all the time he describes himself as being sharp and alert and quick to spot things.. A bit belatedly (like Bertie himself) I realised that, in Bertie Wooster, we are dealing with the stupid narrator, a narrator whose dimness has been laid on for our comic amusement.

And at the same moment I realised there’s a family resemblance with Captain Hastings whose obtuseness is exaggerated in order to promote the suave cleverness of Hercule Poirot in Agatha Christie’s detective novels.

(There’s actually a real world connection here, because the lovely character actor, Jonathan Cecil, played Captain Hastings to Peter Ustinov’s Hercule Poirot in three Agatha Christie TV adaptations in the 1980s, and he also recorded audiobooks of a number of the Jeeves books. According to Wikipedia ‘He might have been more strongly identified with narration of the series than any other actor.’ He was eminently qualified to do so, having himself attended Eton and New College Oxford.)

P.G. Wodehouse and Sherlock Holmes

It’s amazing how large the shadow of Sherlock Holmes loomed, for generations after his invention. I’ve pointed out in my Agatha Christie reviews that almost every single one of her detective novels features at least one reference to the master detective; and that the relationship between dim Captain Hastings and super-smart Hercule Poirot echoes or is built on the template of slow Dr Watson and the omniscient Holmes. Well, same here. I’m hardly the first to point out that the relationship between incredibly dim Bertie Wooster and super-smart Jeeves is based on the same basic structure.

Wodehouse nowhere mentions Holmes by name but this thought was triggered by the way each of these stories is actually very like one of Holmes’s cases, with a knotty problem set out at the beginning, Bertie following a number of false leads, only for Jeeves to dazzlingly solve it in the end.

And this notion of ‘cases’ is made explicit in ‘The Ordeal of Young Tuppy’:

‘You remember the trouble we had when he ran after that singing-woman.’
I recollected the case. You will find it elsewhere in the archives.

This use of ‘case’, and also the reference to ‘the archives’, are very reminiscent of the way Dr Watson refers to his files of Holmes cases.

Alas, the times

BERTIE: ‘Twice during dinner tonight the Pyke said things about young Bingo’s intestinal canal which I shouldn’t have thought would have been possible in mixed company even in this lax post-War era.’

BERTIE: ‘You tell me that Sebastian Moon, a stripling of such tender years that he can go about the place with long curls without causing mob violence, is in love with Clara Bow?”
JEEVES: ‘And has been for some little time, he gave me to understand, sir.’
BERTIE: ‘Jeeves, this Younger Generation is hot stuff.’
JEEVES: ‘Yes, sir.’

BERTIE: ‘What do you think about it yourself?’
RHODA’S AUNT: ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter what I think. There’s no doing anything with girls these days, is there?’
BERTIE: ‘Not much.’
RHODA’S AUNT: ‘What I often say is, I wonder what girls are coming to. Still, there it is.’
BERTIE: ‘Absolutely.’

And mocking contemporary fiction. There are a surprising number of writers in the Jeeves stories, although somehow disguised by the poshboy banter. Bingo Little has married an author of ladies romances such as Mervyn Keene, Clubman, and Only A Factory Girl, leading Bertie to ponder:

I shouldn’t wonder if right from the start Mrs. Bingo hasn’t had a sort of sneaking regret that Bingo isn’t one of those strong, curt, Empire-building kind of Englishmen she puts into her books, with sad, unfathomable eyes, lean, sensitive hands, and riding-boots. You see what I mean?’
‘Precisely, sir.’

Freud

If you’ve read my Agatha Christie reviews, you’ll know I’m interested in the spread of references to Freud or Freudian ideas in popular fiction of the 1920s. There are several references scattered among the Jeeves short stories, not least because one of the recurring characters, Sir Roderick Glossop, is a nerve specialist or psychiatrist. Here’s another one, from ‘Jeeves and the Old School Chum’ published in 1930, made humorous by the stock contrast between Jeeves’s intellectual fluency and Bertie’s dimness.

‘Precisely, sir. You imply that Miss Pyke’s criticisms will have been instrumental in moving the
hitherto unformulated dissatisfaction from the subconscious to the conscious mind.’
‘Once again, Jeeves?’ I said, trying to grab it as it came off the bat, but missing it by several yards.
He repeated the dose.
‘Well, I daresay you’re right,’ I said.


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P.S. Plans

I won’t draw a plan, because my experience is that, when you’re reading one of those detective stories and come to the bit where the author draws a plan of the Manor, showing room where body was found, stairs leading to passageway, and all the rest of it, one just skips. I’ll simply explain in a few brief words.

Carry On, Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse (1925)

You can’t call a chap the world’s greatest authority on the yellow-billed cuckoo without rousing a certain disposition towards chumminess in him.

Jeeves had projected himself in from the dining-room and materialized on the rug. Lady Malvern tried to freeze him with a look, but you can’t do that sort of thing to Jeeves. He is look-proof.

‘It was a maxim of one of my former employers, sir—as I believe I mentioned to you once before—the present Lord Bridgworth, that there is always a way.’

‘I fear, sir,’ sighed Jeeves, ‘that when it comes to a matter of cooks, ladies have but a rudimentary sense of morality.’

‘I endeavour to give satisfaction, sir,’ said Jeeves.

This is the third collection of Jeeves and Wooster stories by P.G. Wodehouse, ten stories in all, four of them repeated from the first proto-collection, ‘My Man, Jeeves’, rewritten and polished.

They include the ‘origin story’ of how Bertie first met Jeeves. This happened ‘about half a dozen years ago’ i.e. before the Great War. Bertie fired his previous valet, Meadowes, for pinching things and Jeeves came recommended from an agency. At the time Bertie was engaged to the unnecessarily brainy Florence Craye and Jeeves proves his worth by helping him get out of the engagement.

The thing, you see, is that Jeeves is so dashed competent. You can spot it even in the way he shoves studs into a shirt. I rely on him absolutely in every crisis, and he never lets me down. And, what’s more, he can always be counted on to extend himself on behalf of any pal of mine who happens to be to all appearances knee-deep in the bouillon.

It’s mildly surprising that so many of the stories are set in New York, something the narrator addresses directly in the first NY story (second in this set).

The stories

  1. Jeeves Takes Charge
  2. The Artistic Career of Corky (New York)
  3. Jeeves and the Unbidden Guest (New York)
  4. Jeeves and the Hard-Boiled Egg (New York)
  5. The Aunt and the Sluggard (New York)
  6. The Rummy Affair of Old Biffy (Paris)
  7. Without the Option
  8. Fixing it for Freddie
  9. Clustering Round Young Bingo
  10. Bertie Changes His Mind

1. Jeeves Takes Charge (1916)

London: Bertie hires Jeeves for the first time. Jeeves immediately demonstrates his worth by serving up a drink which cures hangovers. Bertie is engaged to Lady Florence Craye who asks him to return to Easeby, his Uncle Willoughby’s country house, to help her. Bertie had advised her to get into his uncle’s good books by offering to read the old boy’s memoirs, ‘Recollections of a Long Life’. She is appalled because they reveal a life of dissipation and also feature Florence’s own father, Lord Worplesdon, in a bad light, so Florence says that if he really loves her, Bertie will get rid of the manuscript.

So after it’s been left in the hall for a servant to take to the post Bertie nicks it and locks it in a chest of drawers in his room. But when the manuscript fails to turn up at his publishers, Uncle Willoughby smells a rat, and Bertie is betrayed by Florence’s kid brother, an over-officious youth named Edwin.

But when Uncle Willoughby insists on searching Bertie’s room, and opens the fatal drawer, the manuscript is not there. Of course Jeeves has whisked it away. In fact he has sent it to the publishers, arguing that it actually contains very mild and harmless stuff. When she hears that Bertie has failed her, Lady Florence promptly dumps him but Jeeves assures Bertie she was not a good match for him anyway.

Thus is established Jeeves’s almost supernatural ability to solve all problems, anticipate all complications, and do the best thing for his master.

2. The Artistic Career of Corky (1916)

New York: As early as the second story, we are in New York. Bertie explains why:

You will notice, as you flit through these reminiscences of mine, that from time to time the scene of action is laid in and around the city of New York; and it is just possible that this may occasion the puzzled look and the start of surprise. ‘What,’ it is possible that you may ask yourselves, ‘is Bertram doing so far from his beloved native land?’

Well, it’s a fairly longish story; but, reefing it down a bit and turning it for the nonce into a two-reeler, what happened was that my Aunt Agatha on one occasion sent me over to America to try to stop young Gussie, my cousin, marrying a girl on the vaudeville stage, and I got the whole thing so mixed up that I decided it would be a sound scheme to stop on in New York for a bit instead of going back and having long, cosy chats with her about the affair.

So I sent Jeeves out to find a decent flat, and settled down for a spell of exile.

In this story Bertie gets Jeeves to help an American pal of his, Bruce ‘Corky’ Corcoran, an American artist who is failing to become a portrait painter and so living off an allowance from his rich uncle, Alexander Worple, who made his pile in jute.

Now Uncle Alexander is also a keen ornithologist so when Corky confides that he’s worried he (the uncle) won’t approve of his (Corky’s) new girlfriend (Muriel Singer), Jeeves comes up with the scheme of getting the girlfriend to write a children’s book of American birds full of praise for Uncle Alex’s works, wangle an invitation to dinner, and there pretend to meet Corky for the first time.

How could the old boy fail to a) approve of her b) bless the engagement of his nephew and such a wonderfully bird-literate young lady?

In the event, things don’t go according to plan because the uncle is so taken with the young lady (who turns out to be an unprincipled gold-digger) that he falls in love, proposes and marries her.

There is then a funny sequel when, months later, Bertie pops round to Corky’s studio and finds him carrying out his first ever portrait commission, to paint the newborn baby who is the offspring of Uncle Alexander and Muriel. Unfortunately he can’t keep his resentment out of the picture which ends up making the baby look like a drunken abortion.

Bertie is witness to the Uncle arriving to see the painting, blowing a gasket and storming out vowing to cut off Corky’s allowance forever. It’s at this point that Jeeves saves the day by suggesting that the baby is reimagined as a comic character and sent off to the newspapers who are always clamouring for new comic characters which can form the basis of long-running series in the Funny Papers. Jeeves suggests a suitably facile title for the series, ‘The Adventures of Baby Blobbs’.

3. Jeeves and the Unbidden Guest (1916)

New York: Bertie is visited by Lady Malvern, a friend of Aunt Agatha and very earnest investigator of social conditions. She introduces him to her useless feeble son, Wilmot, Lord Pershore aka Motty, who sits there feebly sucking his cane then drops the bombshell that she wants him (Bertie) to look after him (Motty) while she tours American prisons for a book she is writing. She reassures Bertie that Motty is a vegetarian, teetotaller, and quiet reader.

The joke is that as soon as Lady Malvern has departed, Motty turns into a party animal, insisting on going to nightclubs, staying out till all hours, getting hog-whimpering drunk and enacting all kinds of perilous pranks.

I’m a quiet, peaceful sort of bloke who has lived all his life in London, and I can’t stand the pace these swift sportsmen from the rural districts set. What I mean to say is, I’m all for rational enjoyment and so forth, but I think a chappie makes himself conspicuous when he throws soft-boiled eggs at the electric fan. And decent mirth and all that sort of thing are all right, but I do bar dancing on tables and having to dash all over the place dodging waiters, managers, and chuckers-out, just when you want to sit still and digest.

Motty reels back at all hours dead drunk, brings back to the apartment an aggressive bull-terrier he won in a raffle, and generally makes Bertie’s life so much of a misery that he moves out. But when he pops back a few days later, Jeeves tells him Motty assaulted a policeman and has been sentenced to 30 days in prison.

Lady Malvern reappears and Jeeves suggests they tell her Motty has gone to Boston for a few days. She listens to Bertie explaining all this then reveals that she was recently visiting Blackwell’s Island prison and saw Motty there, ‘dressed in a striped suit, seated beside a pile of stones with a hammer in his hands’.

Oops. That’s torn it! Lady Malvern launches into a diatribe against Bertie for corrupting her sweet innocent son but then Jeeves comes to the rescue with a new story. He explains that Bertie was merely repeating the cover story that he (Jeeves) and Motty gave him because, in reality, Motty is in prison doing undercover research to help his beloved mother with her book.

Lady Malvern hesitates for a moment and then buys it, apologises to Bertie, and all is well.

‘Jeeves,’ I said, ‘you are certainly a life-saver.’

4. Jeeves and the Hard-boiled Egg (1917)

New York: A friend of Bertie’s, Mr Francis Bickersteth aka Bicky, exists on a stipend from his uncle, His Grace the Duke of Chiswick, a stingy old man, what the Americans call ‘a hard-boiled egg’, hence the title. Bicky justifies his allowance by telling him whopping lies about how he’s forging a career in business. When the Duke announces he’s going to make a visit Bicky comes to Bertie for help.

Jeeves suggests that they pretend that Bertie’s apartment is really Bicky’s and Jeeves is Bicky’s valet, in order to impress his uncle and this they do. Trouble is it works too well and so the uncle announces he can obviously afford to cancel Bicky’s allowance now he is so successful, plunging the young man into despair.

Bicky has a comic obsession with starting a chicken farm (he keeps going on about how they breed like rabbits and how profitable eggs are) but Jeeves comes up with a rather more practical suggestion. Noting how keen Americans are to meet celebrities, he suggests they invite a convention of 87 gentlemen from Birdsburg, Missouri to shake the hand of a genu-INE British Duke for the very reasonable fee of $150.

Unfortunately the plan comes unstuck when the first batch of Birdsburgers give the scam away, the Duke is outraged, and throws them out. Once again things have reached their lowest point when Jeeves intervenes with a comment. He simply points out how much the American press would pay for this whole story if Bicky went to them with it – at which point the Duke hurriedly offers Bicky a secretarial job back in London. he tries to get away with it being unpaid but Bicky holds out for £500 a year and wins!

5. The Aunt and the Sluggard (1916)

New York: Bertie has a friend, Rockmetteller ‘Rocky’ Todd, a gentle souls who lives quietly in the country. One morning Bertie is rudely awakened by Rocky announcing he has a problem. (By this stage we are getting used to the shape of all these stories, the way his pals come to Bertie with problems which Jeeves, rather than he, manages to solve.)

Rocky’s problem is that his aunt in Illinois, Miss Isabel Rockmetteller, has told him she will give him a generous allowance on one condition: that he lives in New York and writes her weekly accounts of the wild time he is having there. Weak and retiring herself, she wants to enjoy the life of a big city partygoer at second hand.

Trouble is Rocky really is the shy and retiring type who hates the city and loves the simple life in the country where he can spend all day watching worms.

He was a poet. At least, he wrote poems when he did anything; but most of his time, as far as I could make out, he spent in a sort of trance. He told me once that he could sit on a fence, watching a worm and wondering what on earth it was up to for hours at a stretch.

Brought in for his advice, Jeeves suggests that he himself attends nightclubs and parties and writes exciting letters to the aunt and so it is agreed and so all goes well for some weeks, with Aunt Isabel loving the letters from her nephew who is obviously at the centre of New York’s giddy social whirl!

However, disaster strikes when Aunt Isabel unexpectedly arrives in New York and shows up at Bertie’s apartment which she has been led to believe belongs to Rocky. So Rocky, Bertie and Jeeves have to pretend it really is Rocky’s flat and Bertie moves to a hotel leaving Jeeves behind.

But obviously Rocky struggles badly to show his aunt the wild times he claimed to be having since he, in fact, knows no-one and never goes out. He calls in Bertie to help take her out for the evening but the aunt is clearly starting to suspect something…

Except that, in the comic conclusion of the story, it turns out that what is on her mind is not that she has been hoodwinked by her nephew but the fact that she recently went to an old-time revivalist meeting, led by the famous Jimmy Mundy, and has seen the light. She has realised that New York is a sink of corruption and iniquity.

‘He said that the tango and the fox-trot were devices of the devil to drag people down into the Bottomless Pit. He said that there was more sin in ten minutes with a negro banjo orchestra than in all the ancient revels of Nineveh and Babylon. And when he stood on one leg and pointed right at where I was sitting and shouted “This means you!” I could have sunk through the floor. I came away a changed woman.’

When she casually mentions that Ricky’s man Jeeves took her to the revivalist meeting by mistake we immediately realise it was no mistake, but another brilliant Jeeves wheeze for resolving a tricky situation.

Now she begs her nephew to forsake live in the City of Sin and adopt the simple life in some rural retreat. Which is what, of course, he wanted all along. Problem solved.

I was stunned by the man’s resource.
‘It’s brain,’ I said; ‘pure brain! What do you do to get like that, Jeeves? I believe you must eat a lot of fish, or something. Do you eat a lot of fish, Jeeves?’
‘No, sir.’

6. The Rummy Affair of Old Biffy (1924)

Paris: Suddenly we are in Paris. Bertie’s pal, Charles ‘Biffy’ Biffen is even more useless than most of his pals and can barely remember his own name. He calls on Bertie to moan that he fell in love with a model named Mabel on an ocean liner going to New York, proposed to her and she accepted but then they got separated at Customs and he forgot her surname and the hotel where she was staying and so lost contact.

Now he’s in Paris telling Bertie that he intends to sell the country house he inherited. Bertie shivers when Biffy tells him the best potential customer is Sir Roderick Glossop, the nerve specialist, because he (Bertie) had a narrow escape after accidentally getting engaged to Glossop’s imperious daughter, Honoria Glossop.

In the event Bertie is not surprised to read in The Times ten days later the announcement of Biffy’s engagement to marry Honoria. She’s snaffled him!

London Back in London Bertie is visited by Biffy who asks how Bertie got out of his engagement to Honoria. Bertie comes up with a plan. Knowing how fussy Sir Roderick is, Bertie suggests Biffy invites him for dinner, then offers a bouquet of flowers for him to smell which will include one of those toy flowers which squirt water in the face of the hapless victim. Sir Roderick will be so horrified at this asinine prank that he’ll cancel the marriage immediately.

Bertie is present at the fateful lunch and deeply disappointed when, at the last moment, Biffy chickens out and doesn’t press the squirter button. Instead he, Bertie and Sir Roderick decide to go and visit the current British Empire Exhibition (this was held from 23 April to 1 November 1924 and from 9 May to 31 October 1925.)

Bored with the exhibition Bertie and Biffy sneak off for a drink until Biffy spots a building called the Palace of Beauty and remembers that Jeeves suggested he go there. The place displays women dressed as famous characters from history and Biffy is astounded to see the girl he proposed to on the liner is one of the performers. The performers are behind glass which Biffy promptly smashes with his cane, to the great amusement of the visiting crowds and which swiftly attracts the police.

When Sir Roderick shows up, Bertie explains that Biffy has had a fit which achieves the desired effect i.e. Glossop forbids the marriage between Biffy and Honoria. The police hold Biffy in the cells overnight but next day he is released and reunited with his lady love.

All through this adventure, Jeeves had been surprisingly standoffish and reluctant to help. Now Bertie discovers this is because Jeeves was under the mistaken impression that Biffy had abandoned Mabel. When Bertie told him the facts, Jeeves realized his mistake and decided to help by directing Biffy to the exhibition display where he would see her and they could be reunited.

Bertie is grateful for all this and asks Jeeves how he knew Mabel in the first place. Jeeves surprises Bertie by replying that she is Jeeves’s niece, causing Bertie to almost crash the car.

7. Without the Option (1925)

On the evening of the annual Oxford-Cambridge Boat Race, Bertie goes on the razzle with his pal Oliver ‘Sippy’ Sipperley. Sippy is depressed because a) he is dependent for his lifestyle on an allowance from his Aunt Vera, Miss Sipperly, ‘an imperious and quick-tempered old lady; and b) through a series of lies he’s ended up committed to going and spending three weeks with some tedious friends of hers, the Pringles.

Bertie has a drunken inspiration and tells Sippy what he needs is a policeman’s helmet so they assault the nearest policeman and steal his helmet. The story opens the next morning after they’ve been arrested and spent the night in the cells. In court Bertie gets away with paying a £5 fine but Sippy – the one who carried out the actual assault, and who gave the authorities the ludicrous name Leon Trotzky to try and conceal his identity – is sentenced to thirty days in prison ‘without the option’ of paying a fine, hence the story’s title.

So Bertie goes home and tells Jeeves the situation: Aunt Vera had invited Sippy to go and sing in her village concert. Desperate to get out of it, Sippy invented a cock-and-bull story about having been commissioned to write a series of articles about Cambridge and so having to go there for 3 weeks. At which point Aunt Vera wrote back to say he really must stay with her friends, Professor and Mrs Pringle, and telling him she’d written to ask them if he (Sippy) could stay with him.

When Bertie (still suffering from a hangover) asks Jeeves for suggestions, Jeeves comes up with the obvious one: that Bertie impersonates Sippy and stays with the Pringles masquerading as his friend. Bertie protests but Jeeves informs him that the fearsome Aunt Agatha has been ringing up, wanting to know more about his involvement in some fracas with the police and this news panics Bertie into agreeing, telling Jeeves to pack his stuff, and catching the first train to Cambridge.

So he travels down to Cambridge, introduces himself to the Pringles as Sippy and they believe him. Things go alright to begin with but, as you can imagine, slowly the comic complications accumulate. The Pringles uniformly dislike him.

Professor Pringle was a thinnish, baldish, dyspeptic-lookingish cove with an eye like a haddock, while Mrs Pringle’s aspect was that of one who had had bad news round about the year 1900 and never really got over it.

To Bertie’s horror, their daughter resembles Honoria Glossop, another female with whom he’s had some close shaves, and he isn’t surprised to learn from Jeeves that she is Honoria’s cousin.

Honoria Glossop has a voice like a lion tamer making some authoritative announcement to one of the troupe, and so had this girl.

Heloise takes to flirting with Bertie who discovers there’s a drainpipe outside his bedroom window which he uses for getting in and out so as to avoid her.

The comic climax comes when none other than Sir Roderick Glossop (‘the loony doctor’) turns up on a visit. Bertie has an unfortunate history with Glossop because, in order to get out of an engagement to his daughter (Honoria) Bertie had pretended to be barking mad. But the real point is that Sir Roderick instantly recognises Bertie and announces that he has pulled a cruel practical joke on the Pringle household.

There’s no choice but for Bertie to come completely clean, admit he is not Oliver Sipperley, confess that he came to stay with them because Oliver is in prison after biffing a police officer. Surprisingly, that evening’s dinner goes ahead, albeit in a frosty atmosphere. At the end of the evening, when Bertie asks Jeeves for advice, the latter suggests they drive hot foot to see Sippy’s aunt, although she lives 150 miles away.

It has the advantage of getting Bertie out of the Pringle household so he jumps at the chance, packs his bags, makes his excuses, and they leg it. The comic denouement of the story is that when they arrive at Miss Sipperley’s place and confess all. To their surprise Miss Sipperley is pleased.

‘You aren’t annoyed?’ I said.
‘Annoyed?’ She chuckled happily. ‘I’ve never heard such a splendid thing in my life… If every young man in England went about hitting policemen in the stomach, it would be a better country to live in.’

Bertie is relieved but puzzled until, later that night at the inn where they’re staying, Jeeves explains that Miss Sipperley has been the victim of a particularly officious police officer, who has issued her summonses for exceeding the speed limit in her car; for allowing her dog to appear in public without a collar; and for failing to abate a smoky chimney.

And then goes further to explain that the police constable is Jeeves’s nephew, Egbert, and he slipped him a fiver to encourage him to be so officious to Miss Sipperley, thus triggering her anti-police feeling.

In other words, Jeeves has anticipated everything and fixed everything well in advance. Well done, Jeeves! Bertie gladly gives Jeeves £10 for his troubles.

8. Fixing it for Freddie (1925)

Freddie Bullivant is rejected by his fiancée Elizabeth Vickers, so Bertie invites him along on his annual holiday to Marvis Bay where he has taken a cottage for July and August. Only problem is that this Elizabeth Vickers shows up.

On the beach Bertie notices this Elizabeth playing with a toddler and deduces he must be a nephew or relation. So he has a brainwave for reuniting Freddie and Elizabeth, namely that when he returns to the beach and finds Elizabeth nowhere in sight, Bertie kidnaps the little boy and rushes back to his holiday home where he presents him to a startled Freddie. His plan is that Freddie can then take the toddler back to the house where she will be eternally grateful etc.

Only snag is that when Freddie returns the obnoxious little boy to Elizabeth, he discovers that he is not at all a relative of Elizabeth’s – she was just being friendly to a complete stranger on the beach, she thinks him lunatic to bring to her a child who has nothing to do with her, and so Freddie ends up even deeper into her bad books.

But worse is to come because not only does it turn out to be more difficult than expected to track down who exactly is the rightful owner of the little pest, but when Bertie eventually finds the holiday home and parents he belongs to, it turns out that the entire house is in quarantine because there’s a bad case of the mumps. The owner, a Mr Kegworthy, discovers that he and Bertie have relations in common and this is why he asks Bertie to look after the toddler until his uncle (who Kegworthy has telegramed) can turn up and take over.

Cue the predictable problems when hapless bachelors try to look after a problem child i.e. they have no idea what to feed him, no idea how to get him undressed, bathed or put to bed etc. In the event it turns out there’s a nanny looking after children in the neighbouring holiday cottage and Bertie is able to pay her to attend morning and evening to sort the kid out.

But they still haven’t reunited Freddy and Elizabeth until Jeeves returns from the cinema and says he saw a movie where a separated couple are reunited over love of their sweet little child. So he and Bertie conceive of getting Freddie and Elizabeth together and then getting the kid to say something soppy and sentimental at the right psychological moment. They decide to go with ‘Kiss Freddie’ as it’s so short. (It’s interesting that both of them see it as a scene from a movie complete with stage and camera directions.)

But they’re still in the middle of rehearsing the kids in his lines when, a few days later, Elizabeth passes the cottage on her way to the beach, sees the kid and asks Bertie (who she thinks is the father and doesn’t realise is a friend of Freddie’s) if she can step onto the veranda to say hello and also offer him some toffee. At which point the kid starts delivering its line – ‘Kiss Freddie, kiss Freddie!’ – and at that precise moment Freddie emerges from the cottage.

There is a horrible moment when the girl is stunned and then outraged, so Bertie proceeds to tell her their preposterous plan at which… she bursts out laughing. Bertie runs to fetch Jeeves and tell him it’s been a complete disaster except that by the time they get back to the cottage, they can see Freddie and Elizabeth locked in a passionate embrace. It worked!

9. Clustering Round Young Bingo (1925)

Bertie writes an article titled ‘What the Well-Dressed Man is Wearing’ for his Aunt Dahlia (aka Mrs George Travers) who runs a woman’s paper called Milady’s Boudoir.

The ‘arguing over clothes’ motif appears as Jeeves disapproves of Bertie ordering a dozen silk shirts to wear with evening dress, which Jeeves regards as infradig.

Meanwhile, the central plot contains several strands:

1) It turns out that Bingo’s wife, Rosie, has also written an article for Milady’s Boudoir, titled ‘How I Keep the Love of My Husband-Baby’, which largely consists of mocking him, so he wants Bertie’s advice on how to suppress it. To be precise, she has dictated the text into a dictaphone so it only exists as a recorded cylinder (the output from those devices) so is not yet on paper.

2) At the same time, Bingo’s wife needs a new housemaid.

3) Aunt Dahlia wants a new cook (and Bingo’s cook, Anatole, is a legend in the kitchen).

4) Aunt Dahlia’s husband i.e. Bertie’s Uncle George, is always overdoing his eating, needs to take regular visits to spas, so is heading off to Harrogate to take a rest cure and wants Bertie to accompany him, but Bertie doesn’t want to go, dreading the idea of being closeted for weeks with the old bore.

Jeeves suggests a solution: how about they persuade the legendary cook Anatole to quit Bingo’s place and go and work for Aunt Dahlia? Bingo’s wife will never forgive Aunt D for stealing her cook, and so will withdraw her humiliating article from Milady’s Boudoir. Reluctantly, Bingo agrees.

However there is a hitch. Jeeves reports back that Anatole refuses to leave because he is in love with Aunt Dahlia’s parlourmaid.

Still obsessing about his wife’s article, Bingo persuades Bertie to sneak through the window into his empty house and steal the cylinder from Rosie’s dictating machine. Unfortunately, Bertie is disturbed by the Littles’ pet Pekingese dog, knocks over a table packed with ornaments and generally makes an enormous racket. When he climbs out the window it is to be confronted by the parlourmaid who has fetched a policeman. There is a surprisingly restrained scene with the policeman who Bertie persuades to go into the house to find a photo of himself he claims is on the Littles’ sideboard and will establish that he is a friend of the family. When this can’t be found, Bertie simply runs away.

Jeeves recommends that Bertie should maybe join his Uncle George at Harrogate after all, to avoid getting tangled up in any more of Bingo’s schemes.

So Bertie spends two weeks in Harrogate where he meets Aunt Dahlia and Uncle Tom and is surprised to learn that Anatole has, after all, left the Littles to become her cook, even if it means Rosie Little will no longer talk to her.

Confused by this outcome, Bertie returns to London where Jeeves explains the rather complicated sequence of events. Remember that the Littles needed a new housemaid? Well Jeeves arranged for them to get a new one but for it to be a woman whose affections Anatole had once played with, getting engaged to her then disappearing. In other words, he now preferred to leave and willingly went to work for Aunt Dahlia.

For sorting everything out, Jeeves receives £20 from Bingo (for getting the humiliating article quashed – and because he happened to have won a spot on the horses), £25 from Aunt Dahlia (for getting the cook of her dreams), £10 from Rosie (for finding a satisfactory new parlourmaid), £25 from Uncle Tom (for finding the fabulous new cook) and £10 from Uncle George (for persuading Bertie to join him in Harrogate).

Bertie gives him a fiver into the bargain and then, as so often, there is the clothes punchline i.e. the silk shirts Bertie opened the story by telling us about and that Jeeves objected to? Jeeves says he has sent them back to the tailors (Peabody and Simms) and Bertie acquiesces, beaten again.

10. Bertie Changes His Mind (1922)

Jeeves abolishes Bertie’s thoughts about inviting his sister and her daughters (his nieces) to come and stay by arranging a humiliating fiasco at a girls’ school.

The internet tells me it is the only Jeeves and Wooster story to be narrated by Jeeves. The voice of the piece is, accordingly, completely different, sober and restrained instead of exuberant and slangy.

Bertie announces he is bored. He is bored of the same old Jeeves bringing the same old whiskey and soda in on the same old tray at the same old hour. He went to a play the other night which featured a lovely little girl clinging to her beloved Papa and it stirred a paternal feeling in the old bosom.

In a mad moment, Bertie wonders about adopting a child, which Jeeves jumps on, emphasising how complicated and long-drawn-out the process would be. But undeterred, when Bertie goes on to mention that his sister Mrs Scholfield and her three daughters will be arriving back from India next week, and floats the idea that they might come and stay, Jeeves is horrified. He suggests a restful break in Brighton which they embark on. But on the drive back Jeeves has arranged an elaborate wheeze.

Driving back they see a schoolgirl waving and stop to help. She introduces herself as Peggy Mainwaring and worries that she’ll get in trouble with her school’s headmistress, Miss Tomlinson, for bunking off. Jeeves suggests that they take Peggy for a drive before returning her to the school where Bertie can pretend to be a friend of the girl’s father.

This they do for a bit. When they roll up at the school, Jeeves mischievously tells Miss Tomlinson that Mr Wooster is an eminent figure and would be delighted to give a speech to the girls. Beforehand they have a smoke by the car in the school garage where 1) Bertie notices he’s mislaid his cigarette case and 2) Jeeves tells him of his experiences as a page boy in a school for young ladies where the girls stared and giggled at guests to make them uncomfortable.

So it is a nervous and discombobulated Bertie who takes to the school stage. And indeed his speech is beyond appalling as he doesn’t even know what he’s meant to be speaking about. The only moment when he finds his feet is when Miss Tomlinson (desperately) hisses at him to offer the girls some advice and the first thing that comes to Bertie’s mind is a horseracing tip before launching into what is obviously going to be a risqué story about a stockbroker and a chorus girl, at which point a furious Miss Tomlinson interrupts him.

Bertie legs it out to the garage where Jeeves calmly announces that the car is fixed and ready to go. Bertie hides under the rug in the back as they hear angry voices approaching. Remember the missing cigarette case? Jeeves arranged for Rosie to take it and hand round cigarettes to her pals in a way that made it look like Bertie was encouraging Miss Tomlinson’s girls to smoke. When she asks where Bertie is, Jeeves disclaims all knowledge. After she’s reluctantly left, Jeeves jumps in the jalopy and they make their getaway.

A week later at the flat, Bertie comments how cosy and pleasant it is just the two of them living in bachelor bliss. When Jeeves asks if Bertie has found a suitable house where he can live with his sister and three nieces. With a shudder, Bertie tells Jeeves that he has changed his mind.

Cast

  • Bertie Wooster
    • Jeeves – his valet
  • Florence Craye
  • Lord Worplesdon – Florence’s temperamental father
  • Edwin – Florence’s young brother, fourteen now and had just joined the Boy Scouts – ‘a ferret-faced kid, whom I had disliked since birth’
  • Uncle Willoughby – Bertie’s uncle, owner of Easeby, writing a family history
    • Oakshott, the butler
  • Aubrey Fothergill – friend of Bertie’s
    • Meekyn – his valet
  • Bruce ‘Corky’ Corcoran- American artist in New York, failing to be a portrait painter and so living off an allowance from…
  • Alexander Worple – Corky’s uncle, made his pile in jute, as a hobby is an expert ornithologist of American birds
  • Miss Muriel Singer – Corky’s girlfriend, chorus girl – ‘in the chorus of that show Choose your Exit at the Manhattan’
  • Lady Malvern – friend of Aunt Agatha – ‘a hearty, happy, healthy, overpowering sort of dashed female, not so very tall but making up for it by measuring about six feet from the O. P. to the Prompt Side. She fitted into my biggest arm-chair as if it had been built round her by someone who knew they were wearing arm-chairs tight about the hips that season’
  • Wilmot, Lord Pershore aka Motty – her son
  • Rollo – the bull-terrier Motty wins in a raffle
  • Rocky Todd – pal Bertie goes to stay with – ‘a rummy sort of a chap who lives all alone in the wilds of Long Island’
  • Mr Francis Bickersteth aka Bicky
  • the Duke of Chiswick – Bicky’s uncle
  • Rockmetteller ‘Rocky’ Todd – ‘Constitutionally the laziest young devil in America, he had hit on a walk in life which enabled him to go the limit in that direction. He was a poet’
  • Isabel Rockmetteller – Rocky’s stern aunt
  • Charles Edward Biffen – ‘Old Biffy’ – ‘As vague and woollen-headed a blighter as ever bit a sandwich’ I’m no master-mind myself but compared with Biffy I’m one of the great thinkers of all time
  • Sir Roderick Glossop – the great nerve specialist whose daughter, Honoria, Bertie was briefly engaged to
  • Oliver Randolph Sipperley
  • Professor Pringle – in Cambridge – ‘a thinnish, baldish, dyspeptic-lookingish cove with an eye like a haddock’
  • Mrs Pringle – her ‘aspect was that of one who had had bad news round about the year 1900 and never really got over it’
  • Heloise Pringle – daughter – unnervingly reminiscent of Honoria Glossop
  • Pringle’s aged mother
  • Pringle’s Aunt Jane
  • Egbert – a police constable and cousin of Jeeves’s
  • Mr Freddie Bullivant – engaged to…
  • Miss Elizabeth Vickers
  • Aunt Dahlia – Dahlia Travers, wife of (Uncle) Tom Travers, editor of Milady’s Boudoir
  • Tom Travers – husband of Dahlia Travers and thus Bertie Wooster’s uncle, Uncle Tom – made a fortune doing business in the Far East and funds his wife’s magazine Milady’s Boudoir
  • Anatole – Bingo Little’s outstanding French cook
  • Uncle George Wooster – always overeating and having to be sent off to spas
  • Mrs Schofield – Bertie’s sister (her only mention in the canon)
  • Peggy Mainwaring – schoolgirl Jeeves and Bertie pick up in their car
  • Miss Tomlinson – headmistress of the girls’ school in ‘Bertie Changes His Mind’

Aspects of their characters

Jeeves smiled paternally. Or, rather, he had a kind of paternal muscular spasm about the mouth, which is the nearest he ever gets to smiling.

Bertie: I’m a quiet, peaceful sort of bloke who has lived all his life in London.

In New York Bertie stays on 57th street.

For the first time in our long connection I observed Jeeves almost smile. The corner of his mouth curved quite a quarter of an inch, and for a moment his eye ceased to look like a meditative fish’s.

I was sitting in the apartment one afternoon, about a month after the thing had started, smoking a cigarette and resting the old bean, when the door opened and the voice of Jeeves burst the silence like a bomb. It wasn’t that he spoke loud. He has one of those soft, soothing voices that slide through the atmosphere like the note of a far-off sheep.

There was the faintest flutter of sound in the background. It was the respectful cough with which Jeeves announces that he is about to speak without having been spoken to.

Bertie: ‘I know perfectly well that I’ve got, roughly speaking, half the amount of brain a normal bloke ought to possess.’

Now, those who know me, if you ask them, will tell you that I’m a chump. My Aunt Agatha would testify to this effect. So would my Uncle Percy and many more of my nearest and—if you like to use the expression—dearest. Well, I don’t mind. I admit it. I am a chump.

Aunts and uncles

It’s a curious thing how many of my pals seem to have aunts and uncles who are their main source of supply. There is Bicky for one, with his uncle the Duke of Chiswick; Corky, who, until things went wrong, looked to Alexander Worple, the bird specialist, for sustenance. And I shall be telling you a story shortly of a dear old friend of mine, Oliver Sipperley, who had an aunt in Yorkshire. These things cannot be mere coincidence. They must be meant. What I’m driving at is that Providence seems to look after the chumps of this world; and, personally, I’m all for it. I suppose the fact is that, having been snootered from infancy upwards by my own aunts, I like to see that it is possible for these relatives to have a better and a softer side.

Sippy is by way of being an author, though mainly dependent for the necessaries of life on subsidies from an old aunt who lives in the country, and his conversation often takes a literary turn.

Bertie’s cheerful philistinism

I remember, as a kid, having to learn by heart a poem about a bird by the name of Eugene Aram, who had the deuce of a job in this respect. All I can recall of the actual poetry is the bit that goes:

Tum-tum, tum-tum, tum-tumty-tum,
I slew him, tum-tum tum!

‘Sam Patterson would do it for a hundred dollars. He writes a novelette, three short stories, and ten thousand words of a serial for one of the all-fiction magazines under different names every month.’

The older I get, the more I agree with Shakespeare and those poet Johnnies about it always being darkest before the dawn and there’s a silver lining and what you lose on the swings you make up on the roundabouts.

I’m not absolutely certain of my facts, but I rather fancy it’s Shakespeare—or, if not, it’s some equally brainy bird—who says that it’s always just when a fellow is feeling particularly braced with things in general that Fate sneaks up behind him with the bit of lead piping.

The situation floored me. I’m not denying it. Hamlet must have felt much as I did when his father’s ghost bobbed up in the fairway.

Who was that lad they used to try to make me read at Oxford? Ship—Shop—Schopenhauer. That’s the name. A grouch of the most pronounced description.

‘Emerson,’ I reminded him, ‘says a friend may well be reckoned the masterpiece of Nature, sir.’
‘Well, you can tell Emerson from me next time you see him that he’s an ass.’
‘Very good, sir.’

‘Jeeves, have you seen that play called I-forget-its-dashed-name?’
‘No, sir.’
‘It’s on at the What-d’you-call-it. I went last night.’

Slang

I was reluctantly compelled to hand the misguided blighter the mitten. [fire, sack]

Uncle Willoughby had been somewhat on the tabasco side as a young man. [wild]

‘Oh, Jeeves,’ I said; ‘about that check suit.’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Is it really a frost?’ [no go, inappropriate]

Now, a great many fellows think that having a rich uncle is a pretty soft snap.

He has got a pippin of an idea… [corker, good one]

Time, instead of working the healing wheeze, went and pulled the most awful bone and put the lid on it.

‘Promising Young Artist Beans Baby With Axe.’ [brains, hits on head with]

For perhaps a minute there was one of the scaliest silences I’ve ever run up against.
That was one of the scaliest affairs I was ever mixed up with…

I gave Motty the swift east-to-west.

Motty was under the surface. Completely sozzled. [drunk]

Devilish efficient sort of bird, and looked on in commercial circles as quite the nib!’ [bee’s knees, top thing]

It will show you pretty well how pipped I was when I tell you that I as near as a toucher put on a white tie with a dinner-jacket.

‘Aren’t you bucked?’ I said.
‘Bucked!’
‘If I were in your place I should be frightfully braced.

The old boy came to lunch here to give me the once-over, and Jeeves arranged matters so that he went away firmly convinced that I was off my onion.’ [mad]

Biffy’s first slosh smashed the glass all to a hash.

‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘Poor old Biffy’s only gone off his crumpet.’ [mad]

Honoria was the daughter of Sir Roderick Glossop, the loony-doctor, and I had been engaged to her for about three weeks, much against my wishes, when the old boy most fortunately got the idea that I was off my rocker and put the bee on the proceedings. [ended]

‘The bit about soft silk shirts got in amongst him a trifle; but you can take it from me, Aunt Dahlia, that they are the latest yodel and will be much seen at first nights and other occasions where Society assembles.’

Jeeves’s mysterious modes of locomotion

I rang the bell. ‘Sir?’ said Jeeves, kind of manifesting himself. One of the rummy things about Jeeves is that, unless you watch like a hawk, you very seldom see him come into a room. He’s like one of those weird birds in India who dissolve themselves into thin air and nip through space in a sort of disembodied way and assemble the parts again just where they want them.

I told him to stagger in, and he floated noiselessly through the doorway like a healing zephyr. That impressed me from the start. Meadowes had had flat feet and used to clump. This fellow didn’t seem to have any feet at all. He just streamed in.

Then he seemed to flicker, and wasn’t there any longer.

Jeeves shimmered out

It was Jeeves. He had shimmered in, carrying my evening things…

Jeeves had projected himself into the background.

Jeeves flowed in…

Jeeves floated silently into the dining-room…

Jeeves had projected himself in from the dining-room and materialized on the rug.

At this juncture the door-bell rang. Jeeves floated out to answer it.

Jeeves filtered in with the tea.

In this matter of shimmering into rooms the man is rummy to a degree. You’re sitting in the old arm-chair, thinking of this and that, and then suddenly you look up, and there he is. He moves from point to point with as little uproar as a jelly-fish.

Jeeves flowed in with the tray, like some silent stream meandering over its mossy bed.

Jeeves projected himself into the room with the tea.

It was all so home-like when he floated noiselessly into the room that I nearly broke down.

Then he streamed imperceptibly towards the door and flowed silently out.

‘Indeed, sir?’ said Jeeves. And, with not another word, he slid out.

Stunts

As you might have noticed, I’ve singled out the use of the word ‘stunt’ in other 1920s authors, specifically Agatha Christie. At that time ‘stunt’ denoted ‘anything done with the intention of improving or advertising one’s image or gaining an advantage over rivals, a gimmick or device for attracting attention.’

‘My private impression is that, without knowing it, I’ve worked that stunt that Sargent used to pull—painting the soul of the sitter.’

Comic phrases

It was one of those still evenings you get in the summer, when you can hear a snail clear its throat a mile away.

Uncle Willoughby meandered back to the library, and there was a silence that you could have dug bits out of with a spoon.

I went to my room and rang for Jeeves. He came in looking as if nothing had happened or was ever going to happen. He was the calmest thing in captivity.

‘This is the first time I’ve been let out alone, and I mean to make the most of it. We’re only young once. Why interfere with life’s morning? Young man, rejoice in thy youth! Tra-la! What ho!’
Put like that, it did seem reasonable.

Won’t you have an egg or something? Or a sausage or something? Or something?’
‘No, thank you.’
She spoke as if she belonged to an anti-sausage society or a league for the suppression of eggs.

Bicky rocked like a jelly in a high wind.

He picked up his glass and drained it feverishly, overlooking the fact that it hadn’t anything in it.

The chappie writhed like an electric fan.

She looked at me in rather a rummy way. It was a nasty look. It made me feel as if I were something the dog had brought in and intended to bury later on, when he had time.

‘On the liner going to New York I met a girl.’ Biffy made a sort of curious gulping noise not unlike a bulldog trying to swallow half a cutlet in a hurry so as to be ready for the other half.

Honoria, you see, is one of those robust, dynamic girls with the muscles of a welterweight and a laugh like a squadron of cavalry charging over a tin bridge. A beastly thing to have to face over the breakfast table.

I never met a man who had such a knack of making a fellow feel like a waste-product.

The whole strength of the company gazed at me like a family group out of one of Edgar Allan Poe’s less cheery yarns, and I felt my joie de vivre dying at the roots.

It was what happened in the case of Honoria Glossop. She was notoriously one of the brainiest women of her year at Girton, and she just gathered me in like a bull pup swallowing a piece of steak.’

She had had her back to me, and at the sound of my voice she executed a sort of leap or bound, not unlike a barefoot dancer who steps on a tin-tack half-way through the Vision of Salome.

The policeman was regarding me in a boiled way.

Comic critiques of privilege

The stories overflow with entertaining critiques of Bertie’s character, often from his own mouth – but some of them have the extra pointedness of making him stand for an entire decadent class of faineant slackers.

‘Aunt Isabel doesn’t like you. She asked me what you did for a living. And when I told her you didn’t do anything she said she thought as much, and that you were a typical specimen of a useless and decaying aristocracy.’

Describing how the valet he had before Jeeves, came back from a Christian revivalist meeting:

I remember, back in England, the man I had before Jeeves sneaked off to a meeting on his evening out and came back and denounced me in front of a crowd of chappies I was giving a bit of supper to as a useless blot on the fabric of Society.

Heloise Pringle reports of Bertie that:

‘The man surely can’t be so interesting a companion as all that. Uncle Roderick says he is an invertebrate waster.’

And even the dimwit Bertie is given a comic passage where he’s dimly aware of the fantastically privileged life he leads.

As I stood in my lonely bedroom at the hotel, trying to tie my white tie myself, it struck me for the first time that there must be whole squads of chappies in the world who had to get along without a man to look after them. I’d always thought of Jeeves as a kind of natural phenomenon; but, by Jove! of course, when you come to think of it, there must be quite a lot of fellows who have to press their own clothes themselves, and haven’t got anybody to bring them tea in the morning, and so on. It was rather a solemn thought, don’t you know. I mean to say, ever since then I’ve been able to appreciate the frightful privations the poor have to stick.

Compare and contrast with the appalling privations described in the pioneering work of social documentary, Life As We Have Known It, which describes working class existence around the same time.

Freud

If you’ve read my Agatha Christie reviews you’ll know I’m noting the spread of references to Freud in popular fiction of the 1920s. Here’s one from ‘The Rummy Affair of Old Biffy’ published in 1924.

The sort of girl who reduces you to pulp with sixteen sets of tennis and a few rounds of golf and then comes down to dinner as fresh as a daisy, expecting you to take an intelligent interest in Freud.

Mind you the point about Honoria, the girl in question, is that her father is a nerve specialist aka psychiatrist, so it’s a pertinent reference. But also an interesting indication of how Freud’s name had percolated through to popular culture.


Related links

Related reviews

Agatha Christie: An English Mystery by Laura Thompson (2007)

Key facts

Agatha Christie was born Agatha Mary Clarissa Miller on 15 September 1890. So just add a ten to the year of publication of any of her books to get her age when it was published – ‘Murder on the Orient Express’ 1934: 34 + 10 = 44 (in fact 43, as it was published in January and she was born in September, but you get the basic idea).

The surname Christie derives from her first husband, Archie Christie, who she married on Christmas Eve 1914, as the First World War was settling in for the long haul (p.94).

In total Agatha Christie published 66 detective novels and 14 short story collections, as well as six non-detective novels under the pseudonym Mary Westmacott.

She created the famous fictional detectives Hercule Poirot and Miss Marple who have featured in countless movie and TV adaptations, not to mention radio, video games and graphic novels. Over 30 movies have been based on her works.

She wrote the world’s longest-running play, the murder mystery ‘The Mousetrap’, which has been performed in the West End of London since 1952.

She is the best-selling fiction writer of all time, her novels having sold more than two billion copies.

Her novel ‘And Then There Were None’ is the world’s best-selling mystery novel and one of the best-selling books of all time, and with over 100 million copies sold.

Childhood

Christie was born into a wealthy upper middle-class family in Torquay, Devon, and was largely home-schooled.

Frederick and Mary Boehmer

Her parents were an odd couple. Her mother, Clarissa ‘Clara’ Margaret Boehmer was born in Dublin in 1854 to British Army officer, Frederick Boehmer, and his wife Mary Ann West. Boehmer died in Jersey in 1863, leaving Mary to raise Clara and her brothers on a small income.

Nathaniel and Margaret Miller

Two weeks after Boehmer’s death, Mary’s sister, Margaret West, married the widowed American dry-goods merchant, Nathaniel Frary Miller.

Foster Clara

To help her impoverished widowed sister, Margaret and Nathaniel agreed to foster nine-year-old Clara Boehmer. In other words, at a very early age Clara was taken away from her mother and brothers and raised by her aunt and never ceased to regret it.

Frederick Miller

Now Nathaniel had a son, Frederick from his previous marriage. Fred was born in New York City and travelled extensively after leaving his Swiss boarding school, returned for visits as Clara grew up. In 1969 i.e. six years into this fostering arrangement, Nathaniel Miller, like Frederick Boehmer before him, died young, leaving Margaret a widow.

Frederick Miller marries Clara Boehmer

Fifteen years after Clara’s father died and nine years after Nathaniel Miller died, in 1878, this Frederick Miller, now 32, proposed to Clara, now 24, and she accepted. They were married in London in 1878.

Madge and Monty

Their first child, Margaret ‘Madge’ Frary, was born in Torquay in 1879. The second, Louis Montant ‘Monty’, was born in Morristown, New Jersey, in 1880, while the family was on an extended visit to the United States.

Fred and Clara buy Ashfield

When Fred’s father (and Clara’s foster father), Nathaniel, had died in 1869, he had left Clara £2,000, something like a quarter of a million in today’s money. In 1881 Fred and Clara used this to buy a villa in Torquay named Ashfield. It was here that their third and last child, Agatha, was born in 1890. Note the age difference between her elder siblings: Madge was 11 years older, Monty 10 years older.

Home schooling

Clara actively prevented Agatha from going to school, believing she should be home schooled. The result was Agatha largely taught herself, not least by voraciously reading everything in her father’s library.

Fred Miller dies

In 1901 Agatha’s cheerful, lazy father Fred died from pneumonia and chronic kidney disease. Christie later said that her father’s death when she was 11 marked the end of her childhood. Two points about this:

1) Fred never worked a day in his life and cheerfully lived off investments. However, income from these had steadily declines, with suspicions of embezzlement or sharp dealing by his American trustees. Whatever the precise reason, Fred’s death left Clara severely straitened for funds. Not that impoverished – she could still afford the upkeep of Ashfield and some servants but could no longer afford to entertain or maintain the traditional upper middle class lifestyle (p.58).

The matriarchy

The other point is The Matriarchy. All these men died young, and the womenfolk lived on with the result that Agatha was raised in a household of women (Clara and Madge), and made regular visits to her great-aunt the ‘magnificent’ (p.77) Margaret Miller in Ealing and maternal grandmother Mary Boehmer in Bayswater.

Nice old ladies

There are dashing young chaps in her novels, older professional men such as judges and police and so on, but I think Agatha’s upbringing in a matriarchy left a strong impression on her fictional world. Her novels abound with highly enjoyable older women, Miss Marple just being the most obvious. The utterly conventional values attributed to characters like Miss Marple or Miss Peabody or numerous others, have such warm-hearted authority because they are, in fact, the values of the utterly conventional Agatha.

  • Miss Jane Marple – elderly spinster who lives in the village of St. Mary Mead
  • Mrs Price Ridley, Miss Wetherby, Miss Hartnell – Miss Marple’s three friends who make up the quartet of old ladies in St. Mary Mead, in the first Miss Marple book, ‘Murder at the Vicarage’
  • Mrs Harfield – who Katherine Grey is a companion to (The Mystery of the Blue Train)
  • Miss Lavinia Pinkerton – suspects there is a murderer at work in the village of Wychwood under Ashe (Murder Is Easy)
  • Miss Caroline Peabody – tubby, sharp and witty spinster lives at Morton Manor, and is the oldest resident of Market Basing (Dumb Witness)

Laura Thompson on Agatha’s childhood

It’s Agatha’s childhood, girlhood and teenage years, mostly spent at the women’s family home of Ashfield, which Laura Thompson’s biography really dwells on. It gives a vivid and sympathetic portrait of a late-Victorian childhood and a girl growing into a young woman during the Edwardian decade, raised with traditional values which Thompson clearly sympathises with.

Music

Music for a while was a passion. Agatha learned piano as a girl and as a teenager took singing lessons to a very high standard. Thompson has page after page quoting Agatha’s diary and letters and the autobiography she wrote at the end of her life to describe her intoxication with music. She had a classic late-Victorian sensibility, with lots of vapouring about beauty, fancy dress balls where people dressed as characters out of Tennyson, she had a lifelong love of Wagner’s music (Wagner died in 1883, so by the 1910s when she was in love with it, it was 30 or more years out of date) (p.61).

Paris

In 1905, Clara sent Agatha to Paris, where she was educated in a series of pensionnats (boarding schools), focusing on voice training and piano playing. She was very good at both but not good enough to take them up professionally. Agatha stayed in Paris for nearly two years. Presumably this influenced the nationality of her greatest creation, Hercule Poirot – not the fact that he’s Belgian so much as Agatha’s confidence in rendering his French speech patterns.

Conventional

Thompson tried to make much of her heroine’s intelligence and Agatha was fluent and articulate and thoughtful, there’s lots of works and autobiography to quote from –but all of it is second rate. There is nothing about ideas or challenging books she read or intellectual pursuits. Instead, as she hit 18 and ‘came out’ to society, Agatha spent all her time going to parties and dances and concerts, amateur theatricals and attending fox hunts (p.64), flirting with large numbers of eligible young men, endlessly discussing their merits with her watchful mother, Clara.

As to her beliefs, she was a run of the mill, ordinary, devout Anglican. As to feminism and women’s rights, Agatha thought it was her role and fate in life to get married. That’s what women of her age and class did, and she never changed her view.

So it’s no surprise to learn that she was a lifelong Conservative voter (p.353).

The Mary Westmacott novels

In describing Agatha’s early years, Thompson draws heavily on the set of six Westmacott novels. Christie was so unstoppably prolific that alongside her murder mysteries she wrote six ‘ordinary’ non-detective novels, about love and relationships etc, sometimes described as ‘romantic’ novels’. They gave her ‘the chance to better explore the human psychology she was so intrigued by, freed from the expectations of her mystery fans’ as her grand-daughter explained.

To distinguish them from the murder mysteries she came up with a nom be plume based on her own middle name (Mary), Westmacott being the blandly English name of some distant relatives. The six Westmacott novels are:

  • Giant’s Bread (1930)
  • Unfinished Portrait (1934)
  • Absent in the Spring (1944) – she wrote this in less than a week!
  • The Rose and the Yew Tree (1947)
  • A Daughter’s a Daughter (1952)
  • The Burden (1956)

Thompson quotes from them extensively. Thus ‘Giant’s Bread’ concerns a sensitive young musician named Vernon Deyre, and Thompson reckons Christie poured into it a lot of her own feelings for classical music, for studying, practicing and performing; and similarly with autobiographical elements of the other books.

Marrying off Agatha

Clara had successfully married Madge off in 1902 to James Watt who had taken her off to his family home in the Midlands. Monty had joined the army and was posted overseas. What about Agatha? For Clara, and Agatha herself, adulthood meant marriage.

1907 to 1908: Trip to Egypt

Clara decided to spend the winter of 1907 to 1908 in the warm climate of Egypt, which was then a regular tourist destination for wealthy Britons. They stayed for three months at the Gezirah Palace Hotel in Cairo. Christie attended many dances and other social functions; she particularly enjoyed watching amateur polo matches.

First story

At 18 Agatha wrote her first short story, ‘The House of Beauty’, while recovering in bed from an illness. It was 6,000 words about ‘madness and dreams’. Her imagination had a decidedly Gothic turn. Subsequent stories dealt with spiritualism and the paranormal. Some of this lingered on into her mature novels, such as the powerful séance scene at the start of The Sittaford Mystery (p.78).

1909: first novel

Around the same time, in 1909 Christie wrote on her first novel, ‘Snow Upon the Desert’ based, predictably enough, on the winter she’d just spent in Egypt (p.67).

Conventional

Agatha was utterly conventional. About everything she had ‘the conventional, sensible attitude’ (p.116). As she came out, aged 18, she took to a life of country house parties, riding, hunting and countless dances, and numerous flirtations with eligible men.

‘Cairo meant nothing to me – girls between eighteen and twenty-one seldom thought of anything but young men’ (Agatha’s Autobiography, quoted p.68)

She had short-lived relationships with four men and an engagement to another (p.74). And Laura Thompson comes over as every bit as conventional, expecting no depths or insights from her heroine. She writes so well about Agatha’s life because she functions at the same shallow, Readers’ Digest level.

It was delight, all of it; the life that any normal, healthy, attractive, young girl would want to live (p.60)

1912: Archie Christie

In October 1912 she was introduced to Archibald ‘Archie’ Christie at a dance given by Lord and Lady Clifford at Ugbrooke, 12 miles from Torquay (p.73). The son of a barrister in the Indian Civil Service and an Irishwoman Ellen, known as Peg, Archie was a year older than Agatha (born September 1880). He was a Royal Artillery officer who was seconded to the Royal Flying Corps in April 1913.

Archie proposes

The couple quickly fell in love. Three months after their first meeting, Archie proposed marriage, and Agatha accepted. (She was something of a pro at all this, having already received three proposals of marriage, and actually being engaged to someone else when Archie proposed, to one Reggie Lucy, p.79.)

Anti-feminism

‘I hate a slobbering female,’ said Miss Percehouse. ‘I like one who gets up and does things.’
(The Sittaford Mystery, Chapter 17)

A naive feminist like Lucy Worsley thinks Agatha is a feminist heroine, but Christie was expressly anti feminist in both the tendency of her characters and stories, and explicitly, in her letters and autobiography – in fact anywhere and everywhere she could express an opinion.

Satirising feminist characters

The novels feature a number of loud-mouthed feminists who Agatha heartily satirises, boomingly women’s libbers like Lady Westholme in ‘Appointment with Death’ or the pretentious (and alcoholic) feminist author Salome Otterbourne in ‘Death on the Nile’. Rather:

[Christie] had a deep regard for working women. Not the strident ones who waved the feminist flag, like the politician Lady Westholme in ‘Appointment with Death’, proclaiming that ‘If anything is to be accomplished, mark my words, it is women who will do it’… (p.85)

Agatha’s anti-feminist attitudes

Pages 83 to 84 are just some of the many where Thompson makes crystal clear how utterly conventional Agatha was in her notions of gender roles. It was a woman’s responsibility to get married. She never considered a career of any kind. I’m going to quote from these pages to really convey the flavour.

To Agatha [marrying Archie] was fate; it was her female destiny. Having been brought up to express herself in any way she chose, she expected only to marry. This was her upbringing, which she had no urge to question. Girls of her sort did not have careers. They had husbands.

Agatha, despite her extraordinary achievements, would always assert that a career was a man’s job – ‘Men have much better brains than women, don’t you think?’ was a typical comment – and that the true value of a woman lay within the personal arena.

‘It makes me feel that, after all, I have not been a failure in life – that I have succeeded as a wife,’ she wrote to her second husband, Max, in 1943.

So as a girl she never chafed against the limits of her life: the conventions, the corsets, the need to speak low or sing to a teddy bear. Unlike her near-contemporary Dorothy L. Sayers – who, at the time of Agatha’s entry into the marriage market, was chewing the intellectual fat over cocoa at Somerville [college] – she had no desire to break free. She felt free anyway.

For all that she loved the novels of May Sinclair, she shared none of her feminist concerns. The frustrations of a girl like Vera Brittain, then at Oxford with Sayers, whose Testament of Youth rages against the male-dominated conventions of the time, would have been utterly remote from her.

The truth is that she liked a man’s world. She saw beyond it, although not in a political sense; later she would live beyond it, with her success and self-sufficiency; yet she loved being female and never felt circumscribed by her sex. She had grown up in a matriarchy after all. And she understood – as ‘cleverer’ girls perhaps do not – that female strength could show itself in many different ways… (pages 83 to 84)

Romantic love

Thompson has page after page after page describing Agatha’s initial love for Archie. Although her mother instantly saw the danger that he was a) selfish and b) attractive to other women, Agatha (who Thompson repeatedly tells us was immature and still basically ‘a girl’) saw the whole situation in Victorian terms, as something out of Tennyson, she as the pure-hearted lady Elaine cleaving to her handsome Sir Lancelot etc etc. He was ‘her dream come true’.

1914: VAD

When the war broke out Archie was sent to France almost immediately and Agatha hastened to join up as a nurse in a VAD:

Voluntary Aid Detachments (VADs) were organizations that provided support to the military during World War I. These detachments, formed by the British Red Cross and the Order of St. John, played a vital role in staffing hospitals and providing various services like nursing, cooking, and general aid.

Doctors

Dr Lord approached the bed, Nurse O’Brien fluttering behind him. Mrs Welman said with a twinkle: ‘Going through the usual bag of tricks, Doctor: pulse, respiration, temperature? What humbugs you doctors are!’
(Sad Cypress, part 1, chapter 5)

As a nurse Agatha saw at first hand how pompous and incompetent many doctors are. There’s a police doctor in most of the murder mysteries, but some doctor characters play larger roles and, by and large, they’re pretty unflattering characters.

  • The Mysterious Affair at Styles – Dr Bauerstein, sinister
  • The Murder of Roger Ackroyd – Dr Sheppard, the murderer
  • Why Didn’t They Ask Evens? – Dr Nicholson, a sinister drug addict
  • Murder is Easy – Dr Thomas
  • Cards on the Table – Dr Donaldson
  • The Sittaford Mystery – Dr Warren
  • And Then There Were None – Dr Armstrong, the murderer

Thompson describes Agatha as being as unflappable and sound in her work as a nurse, calmly describing the amputations, the severed limbs, the crying men, briskly getting on with the work (p.94). This is very much of a piece with the attitude which comes over in the books, brisk and no-nonsense, ‘Stop crying, girl! There’s a job to be done! Pull yourself together!’

And with her extraordinary ability to be interrupted at any point of writing a novel, go out for lunch or dinner, go to a party, come back and pick up exactly where she left off, and carrying on writing. Extraordinarily nerveless and anxiety-free (p.129). What a gift!

1916: The dispensary

In 1916 a drug dispensary was opened at Torquay hospital and Agatha switched to it from nursing. The hours were shorter and the pay better (p.103). The detailed knowledge of drugs, medicines and poisons she acquired her was to stand her in good stead for the rest of her life. The murder in her first detective novel, The Mysterious Affair at Styles, is entirely premised on professional knowledge of the action of poisons.

Twenty-four years later, in ‘One, Two, Buckle My Shoe’, the feel for drugs and poisons acquired in Torquay hospital dispensary, along with the relationships between the processions involved, was still underpinning the storyline of a dentist who appears (for a little while at least) to have poisoned a patient with a combination of adrenaline and prococaine.

‘These things happen—they happen to doctors—they happen to chemists…Careful and reliable for years, and then—one moment’s inattention—and the mischief’s done and the poor devils are for it. Morley was a sensitive man. In the case of a doctor, there’s usually a chemist or a dispenser to share the blame—or to shoulder it altogether. In this case Morley was solely responsible.’
(‘One, Two, Buckle My Shoe’, Chapter 2, section 1)

Unintellectual

Thompson tries to persuade us how imaginative Agatha was and yet what comes over is how utterly unimaginative she was, uninterested in politics, uninterested in suffragettes or feminism, uninterested in any social issues, in philosophy or any of the humanities – but with a vivid sense of her class of people, conceived as stock types.

Surely that’s one of the secrets of her success, is how utterly unthreatening her books are; how populated they are by reassuringly conventional jolly good chaps and plucky chapesses, stern judges, reassuring police inspectors, and so on. Everyone observes the decencies and common courtesies. It’s their lovely manners and good behaviour which are so attractive, reassuring and comforting. Seen from this angle the murders almost don’t register.

Readability

And this goes a long way towards explaining probably the biggest single explanation of her success, which is her immense readability.

The invention of Poirot

Poirot arrived fully formed in her first novel. Later she at various times tried to explain his creation but couldn’t because she was a deeply unreflective, unintellectual writer. Belgian refugees during the war provided the nationality, the rest she plucked from circumstances around her and voilà, he was fully formed. A miracle. What’s so impressive about Poirot is how much he doesn’t change over the next 40 years.

The feature which struck me most about Poirot from his first appearance is that he is old, in fact he has retired from being a detective on his first appearance. And he is old like Miss Marple. So Christie’s two great characters are outwith any concern for sex, outside relationships, the marriage market, the whole thing. Outsiders to the fierce competition over sex, mates, children, resources, jobs, reputations, money. It’s because of this that the books they appear in can observe the silliness of human sex lives – and family rivalries and bitterness about money – with such detachment and amusement.

Yes, amusement, that’s the watchword, the key quality of Christie’s novels and the main reason I like them. I don’t care that much about the murders and the silly clues and the ludicrous explanations; I enjoy the humour of the characters and, above all, the amused, smiling tone of her narrative voice.

1919: Parenthood

The war ended, Archie was demobilised fairly quickly and got a job at the Air Ministry. The couple took to living together as man and wife, something they hadn’t actually done during the war. Within a year Agatha was pregnant and delivered of a baby girl. Like everything else in her life, Agatha accepts pregnancy as the fate of a young wife here, as in everything, adopting the conventional, sensible attitude.

But she wasn’t a natural mother for the simple reason that she herself was still a girl.

Agatha did not need a perfect child: she herself was perfect to Clara. So in love was she with being a daughter… that she was unable to find true fulfilment as a mother. (p.122)

It is a recurring theme in her later novels that mothers often don’t like or resent their daughters (p.123). Lots of evidence that she never really bonded with Rosalind.

Something about this marvellous, bright, sharp-edged child seems to have shrivelled Agatha’s maternal impulses in the bud’ (p.268)

Nonetheless, they came to have a respectful relationship, joshing bonhomie concealing the underlying tension. Thompson quotes a character from the novel ‘Five Little Pigs’:

Many children, most children, I should say, suffer from over attention on the part of their parents. There is too much love, too much watching over the child. It is uneasily conscious of this brooding, and seeks to free itself, to get away and be unobserved. With an only child this is particularly the case, and, of course, mothers are the worst offenders.

Or this from Dumb Witness:

‘What is she like, your cousin?’
‘Bella? Well, she’s a dreary woman. Eh, Charles?’
‘Oh, definitely a dreary woman. Rather like an earwig. She’s a devoted mother. So are earwigs, I believe.’

She was sometimes angry or frustrated that she would never be to her daughter what her mother, Clara, had been for her, her all-in-all.

Writing for money

Archie suggested she write another novel, in fact he actively supported her writing career. ‘The Mysterious Affair at Styles’ made her £25 for serialisation rights in the Weekly Times. Its sequel ‘The Secret Adversary’ made the grand total of £50 and sold better than Styles. There followed in quick succession ‘The Murder on the Links’, ‘The Man in the Brown Suit’ and a bunch of Poirot stories.

1922: tour of the white Empire

Archie was offered a job touring the white Empire nations (Canada, South Africa, Australia, New Zealand) to promote the upcoming 1924 Empire exhibition. He took Agatha and they were abroad travelling for most of 1922.

Thompson judges the novel she wrote during and about the trip, ‘The Man in the Brown Suit’, to be her most joyful and sexy. The heroine, Anne Beddingfield, falls madly in love with the tall adventurer Harry Rayburn and is given to bold idealistic speeches:

‘I shouldn’t dream of marrying any one unless I was madly in love with them. And of course there is really nothing a woman enjoys so much as doing all the things she doesn’t like for the sake of some one she does like. And the more self-willed she is, the more she likes it.’
‘I’m afraid I disagree with you. The boot is on the other leg as a rule.’ He spoke with a slight sneer.
‘Exactly,’ I cried eagerly. ‘And that’s why there are so many unhappy marriages. It’s all the fault of the men. Either they give way to their women—and then the women despise them, or else they are utterly selfish, insist on their own way and never say ‘thank you.’ Successful husbands make their wives do just what they want, and then make a frightful fuss of them for doing it. Women like to be mastered, but they hate not to have their sacrifices appreciated. On the other hand, men don’t really appreciate women who are nice to them all the time. When I am married, I shall be a devil most of the time, but every now and then, when my husband least expects it, I shall show him what a perfect angel I can be!’

Archie was often quite ill on the trip. On their return his job in the City had gone to someone else and he was unemployed and miserable for months. Their (relative) impecunity is turned to comic account of the start of the first Tommy and Tuppence novel, The Secret Adversary.

1924: Brown and money

In 1924 the Evening News offered Agatha £500 for the serialisation rights of ‘The Man in the Brown Suit’. This brought home to her and Archie (and her sister and mother, Clara) that Agatha was looking at the makings of a real career and serious money. With the money she bought her first car, a grey Morris Cowley (p.153).

Agatha always drove a hard bargain, as producers at the BBC were later to complain. Money is a central preoccupation of her books and their characters. Money is the motive in 36 of the 55 murder mystery novels.

There was a silence, and then Tuppence burst out:
‘Money, money, money! I think about money morning, noon and night! I dare say it’s mercenary of me, but there it is!’
‘Same here,’ agreed Tommy with feeling.
(The Secret Adversary, Chapter 1)

In 1924 she signed a three book deal with Collins, who were to remain her publisher for the rest of her life, having left Bodley Head after her initial five-book deal which she felt had taken advantage of her.

1925: Chimneys

In Thompson’s view ‘The Secret of Chimneys was perhaps the happiest book that Agatha ever wrote’ (p.143).

1926: Ackroyd

Her first book for Collins, ‘The Murder of Roger Ackroyd’, transformed her reputation. It is often described as the ‘ultimate detective story’. This is for the simple reason that the narrator, honest-sounding Dr Sheppard, turns out to be the murderer. That’s it.

In ‘Roger Ackroyd she revealed for the first time her natural quality of translucency: her ability to control every sentence of her books, yet allow them breathe free. Agatha did not impose. Nor did she interpose one atom of herself between her writing and her readers. Her words communicate exactly and only what is required; which is not the same as saying they have no life beyond what is on the page. They have, in fact, the mystery of simplicity. They are the conduits for her plots, which are ultimately simple. (p.156)

Agatha’s qualities

Agatha was not a naturally descriptive writer. (p.139)

‘She was by nature remarkably unobservant’ she wrote of herself in ‘Unfinished Portrait’ (quoted p.139)

Agatha was not an especially humorous woman. (p.143)

Chimneys is what nowadays would be called a snobbish book…Impossible to deny that Agatha lived in an enclosure, that of the upper middle class into which she was born. (p.145)

Archie and Agatha grow apart

In 1924 Archie finally got a job in the City and was happy. He was taking home £2,000 a year. He took up golf and slowly this became an obsession. Soon he played every weekend, and resented anyone coming to stay who didn’t play. Agatha tried her best but wasn’t very interested and wasn’t very good. She had thickened since having Rosalind. She was 35 and her young good looks had gone. She rarely drank alcohol (good) but her favourite drink became a mix of milk and cream, such as she had loved as a girl at Ashfield. She put on weight. Archie began to dislike her schoolgirl gushiness, her chunkiness, her resentment at his weekends at the golf course.

Clara dies

Then her mother, Clara, died, on 5 April 1926. Agatha (‘too much of a child herself’) was devastated and went down to Ashfield to spend months clearing out the house of her childhood. Archie reacted badly: he disliked illness and hadn’t wanted to hear about Clara’s decline and refused to go down to comfort or help Agatha. It was the end of the marriage though she didn’t realise it.

Agatha disappears

The most famous incident in Agatha Christies life was when she went missing for 11 days and sparked a nationwide frenzy. She left her car abandoned off a lane on the North Downs overlooking a quarry with a deep pool nearby. The Surrey police were convinced she had killed herself. Day after day more volunteers joined the search scouring the Surrey countryside and numerous people claimed to have sighted the missing woman all around the UK.

Thompson devoted pages a slightly staggering 72 pages to the incident, page 186 to 258. Frankly I find this kind of thing quite staggeringly boring, as it doesn’t really seem to have impacted her writing – certainly not as much as her projection of herself into upper middle class settings, her xenophobia, her ingenuity, and her thumpingly conventional view of human nature do – based on her ‘obtuse and childlike’ character (p.179).

In Thompson’s the whole thing was a ploy to win back Archie’s love. While Agatha was away in Torquay weeping over her lost childhood, Archie decisively fell in love with a younger, sexier woman, named Nancy Neele. Archie told Agatha about it in August 1926, and asked Agatha for a divorce. After many recriminations, they agreed on a three-month trial period to try and save the marriage, but the months passed and Archie continued to spend much time in London or at friends’ house parties with Nancy in attendance.

Finally, in December things came to a head. On 3 December 1926 they had a big argument after Archie announced his plan to spend the weekend with friends, unaccompanied by his wife, but in the presence of Nancy.

Late that evening Christie disappeared from their home in Sunningdale. The following morning, her car, a Morris Cowley, was discovered at Newlands Corner in Surrey, parked above a chalk quarry with an expired driving licence and clothes inside. It was feared that she might have drowned herself in the Silent Pool, a nearby beauty spot.

The disappearance quickly became a news story. One newspaper offered a £100 reward. Over 1,000 police officers, 15,000 volunteers, and several aeroplanes searched the rural landscape. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle gave a spirit medium one of Christie’s gloves to find her.

Christie’s disappearance made international headlines, including featuring on the front page of The New York Times. According to Thompson she wrote and posted a letter to Archie’s brother, Campbell Christie, i.e. her brother-in-law, explaining that she needed time away and was going to a spa in Yorkshire and she caught a train from London to Harrogate where she checked in under the name Mrs Neele. That, of course, was the name of his husband’s mistress.

In Thompson’s view, Campbell Christie was intended to get the letter on the Monday morning, ring up Archie who would have been distressed at her disappearance, and got on the next train to Yorkshire. Harrogate, according to Thompson, is the kind of Yorkshire equivalent of Sunningdale, very posh, and so it shouldn’t have taken Archie long to track her down.

According to eye witnesses (notably a Mr Pettelson, a cultivated Russian exile) she had a lovely time in the Swan Hydropathic Hotel where she checked in, spending the days sightseeing and the evening joining in singing and music making or billiards in the drawing room.

The main source of the delay and the escalation of a private marital squabble into a national manhunt appears to have been the obsession of the police officer in charge of the investigation, police Superintendent Kenward, that Agatha had killed herself. Even when (belatedly) informed of the letter in which she simply explained that she’d gone to stay in Yorkshire, he refused to believe it. Only when guests at the hotel approached the local police to claim that the mysterious Mrs Neele looked strikingly like the missing Agatha, did the cops intervene and invite Archie up. He walked into the hotel at dinner time on the tenth evening and simply identified Agatha, for himself and to a detective who’d accompanied him.

So it appears to have been a pitiful cock-up by the police, egged on by a tabloid press always keen for a scandal. To the members of the press who quickly flooded the hotel, and the railway stations on the route to her sister’s house outside Manchester, then back at their home in Surrey – Archie gave out the same rather desperate story that Agatha had suffered a breakdown accompanied by complete amnesia. The press and most of the public didn’t believe this and Thompson thinks it’s a lie.

Failure and divorce

As an attempt to win Archie back by sparking panic and regret, it was a miserable failure.

Having, as she thought, helped to destroy her marriage by leaving Archie alone while she grieved for her mother, she had now delivered its death blow by making herself an object of public ridicule, and Archie an object of public loathing. (p.256)

Archie lived at the unhappy family home in Sunningdale while he tried to sell it, Agatha lived in a flat in London with her daughter. They met once in 1927, where she begged him again to return but he simply stated he was in love with Nancy and only waiting for her to return from the round the world cruise her family had packed her off on to get her out of the limelight, before he wanted to marry her. So in spring 1928 Agatha petitioned for divorce and was granted a decree nisi against her husband in April 1928. This was made absolute in October 1928 and two weeks later Archie married Nancy Neele. Game over.

(Incidentally Archie remained married to Nancy for the next 20 years, till her death from cancer in 1958. It wasn’t just a flash in the pan.)

(Also incidentally, Agatha, up till then a fairly devout Anglican, never attended communion again after her divorce, p.290.)

The relevance of Agatha’s disappearance for her books

Thompson cites a shrewd quotation from P.D. James who says that Archie’s betrayal and desertion was the first real trauma she’d ever faced in her pampered protected life, that she never really recovered from it – and that this shaped her fiction.

Anybody who’s written about Christie’s novels makes the same point which is that, no matter how brutal the murder(s) and how byzantine the plot and backstories, in the end, everything comes out right: the guilty party is identified, everyone else is vindicated, surprisingly often one or more couples who we’ve met during the narrative end up getting married; and Poirot makes everything better, by tying up all the loose ends and leaving us with one of his little quips, very much like the Afterword to an Elizabethan play craving their audience’s indulgence.

On this reading, every single one of her detective stories does the same thing, which is throw us into death, disorder and ever-more bewildering confusion before… slowly, slowly leading us back up into the light. Thus every one of the novels can be seen as a cathartic experience. Almost every one leaves us with a jaunty smile on our faces.

For Thompson, the failure of her marriage represented Agatha finally growing up after 38 years of pampered privilege: not financially (the couple had been hard-up after the war, and Agatha had independent income from her writing) but in psychological terms. Her mother and her husband abandoned her, within a matter of months. No longer young or attractive or living a life of dreamy illusions, Agatha changed character, buckled down, and became a really professional writer.

The comment about no longer good-looking may sound sexist but it’s Thompson’s view that it came as a liberation.

Without the burden of normal female expectations, she found herself free. There was no longer an obligation to be a certain kind of woman: slim, pleasing, feminine. She could absent herself from these restraints. She could formulate a persona and wear it like a suit of armour – present it to the world in place of herself – and inside she could be whoever she chose. That was the freedom of the creator.

And so she became the staggeringly prolific professional writer. Between 1930 and 1939 Agatha produced 17 full-length novels, plus short stories. Although ‘Agatha Christie’ was her legal name, after the divorce it became a pen-name, a fictional name, a persona. And she used it to create radical reinventions of the detective novel:

  • the murderer who pretends to be a victim
  • the murderer who pretends to be a serial killer
  • the murderer who is also the investigating policeman
  • the cast of suspects who are all innocent
  • the cast of suspects who are all guilty

Mary Westmacott

But while she addressed the murder mystery novel with a kind of cold-blooded forensic experimentalism, at the same time she embarked what became a series of six novels under the alter ego of Mary Westmacott. See the section above. Knowing that they were written soon after her life-changing divorce sheds a different light on them and explains why Thompson mines them so heavily to depict the ‘real’ Agatha.

Travels and Max

In 1928 Christie left England and took the (Simplon) Orient Express to Istanbul and then onto Baghdad. Obviously the Orient Express trip provided the material for the book of the same name.

In Iraq she became friends with archaeologist Leonard Woolley and his wife, Katherine. They stayed with her at her new London home and then invited her to return to their dig in February 1930. On that second trip, she met archaeologist Max Mallowan, 13 and a half years her junior. She was 39, he was just 25 (Max b. 6 May 1904; Agatha b. 15 September 1890) (p.284). The precise occasion was when he took her and a group of tourists on a tour of his expedition site in Iraq.

By the standards of the day it was a fairly quick romance. Christie and Mallowan married in Edinburgh in September 1930. Unlike her first marriage, and like Archie and Nancy, Agatha and Max’s marriage lasted the rest of their lives, until Christie’s death in 1976.

Agatha accompanied Mallowan on all his subsequent archaeological expeditions, and her travels with him contributed background to several of her novels set in the Middle East, notably ‘Murder in Mesopotamia’, ‘Death on the Nile’ and ‘Appointment with Death’. His last trip back to Ur, the ancient city being excavated by Woolley was in 1931.

According to Thompson, Woolley’s wife, Katherine Woolley appears only thinly disguised in ‘Appointment with Death’ as the murderee, Mrs Leidner, a cold woman who enjoyed trifling with all the men around her – a rare instance of Agatha basing a character on an identifiable real life person.

Critics accused young Max of being a gold-digger and Agatha certainly funded his expeditions, notably one to Arpachiyah in Iraq in 1933. In 1935 he took Agatha to Chagar Bazar in Syria. Max wasn’t a brilliant excavator but he was brilliant at organising digs and keeping up to 200 local workmen under discipline. Agatha wasn’t that interested in the finds, but happily played the loyal wife and was also very interested in exotic wildflowers.

It was also, often, extremely uncomfortable, but Agatha was tough and healthy, and always despised complaining women. (p.314)

It’s true she featured archaeologists in some of her books: in ‘Murder in Mesopotamia’ but most critically in ‘Death in the Clouds’ where the narrator mocks the pretensions of the father and son team of archaeologists.

Thompson analyses the relationship at length but what it boiled down to was that Max restored her faith and trust and allowed her to return to a kind of state of pampered childhood, the state she enjoyed with her beloved mother and, at first, with Archie, till he got fed up of her gushing girliness: Max restored it to her and, thus liberated, her imagination was set free to roam far and wide, taking the detective story genre to pieces, and putting it back together in all kinds of interesting forms.

Buying houses

During the 1930s Agatha bought a number of houses with her earnings. At one point Thompson mentions properties at:

  • Sheffield Terrace
  • Campden Street
  • Half Moon Street
  • Park Place
  • a mews cottage at 22 Cresswell Place, Chelsea, SW1 (1929)
  • Lawn Road (p.344)

She finally, reluctantly, allowed beloved Ashfield to be sold but she had bought a comfortable home at Wallington near Oxford (Winterbrook; 1934) abut her romantic purchase was of the grand white house named Greenway, which overlooked the banks of the River Dart in Devon (also 1934).

On page 348, Thompson states that Agatha owned four houses: so presumably that’s Winterbrook, Greenway and two in London, so the other properties must have been flats.

Second World War

Max had a distinguished war career. According to his Wikipedia entry:

After the beginning of the Second World War he served with the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve in North Africa, being based for part of 1943 at the ancient city of Sabratha in Libya. He was commissioned as a pilot officer on probation in the Administrative and Special Duties Branch on 11 February 1941, promoted flying officer on 18 August 1941, flight lieutenant on 1 April 1943 and for some time he also had the rank of wing commander. His first role with the RAF was as a liaison officer with allied forces and, later in the war, as a civilian affairs officer in North Africa.

Thompson summarises Max’s career rather differently on page 319, emphasising the initial struggle he had to find a post.

Peripatetic

Greenway was commandeered by the military before being handed over to the American navy in 1942.(Naval officers billeted there painted a mural round the cornices of the library, celebrating their feats, which sounds like a bit of a liberty).

So Agatha spent the war years in London, moving between her half dozen properties, but mostly at Lawn Road Flats in Hampstead.

Agatha’s prolific war years

Agatha kept on writing at a prodigious rate. Between September 1939 and August 1945, she published:

  • And Then There Were None (1939)
  • Sad Cypress (1940)
  • One, Two, Buckle My Shoe (1940)
  • Evil Under the Sun (1941)
  • N or M? (1941)
  • The Body in the Library (1942)
  • Five Little Pigs (1942)
  • The Moving Finger (1943)
  • Towards Zero (1944)
  • Absent in the Spring (1944)
  • Death Comes as the End (1945)
  • Sparkling Cyanide (1945)

And this doesn’t include the plays she adapted from her own novels, sometimes radically rewriting the endings. Prodigious output, eh?

Five Little Pigs

Of all of these, Thompson singles out ‘Five Little Pigs’ as the masterpiece. This is because of the unusually intense and real feeling with which she describes a marriage on the rocks, as the husband falls for a much younger woman (although, typically, the situation turns out not to be quite as straightforward as it seems for the first three-quarters of the book). It has a ‘lived’ quality, which most of her novels don’t, really.

Stephen Glanville

During the war, while Max was away, Agatha had a brief flirtation, of sorts, with Stephen Glanville, a historian and Egyptologist ten years her junior. He helped her write her strangest novel, a murder mystery set in ancient Egypt, ‘Death Comes as the End’ (pages 330 to 335).

Shakespeare

She developed an intense passion for Shakespeare, attended numerous productions, and adapted her novel, ‘Ten Little N******’ for the stage, in 1943.

Hospital volunteering

In 1940 Agatha began to give a few days a week to voluntary work at University College Hospital, in the dispensary, the same kind of work she’d done during the first war.

Rosalind comes of age and marries

Thompson uses her war chapter to bring us up to speed with the life of Agatha’s difficult daughter Rosalind. Born in 1919, she ‘came out’ in 1937. In 1940, aged just 21, after a brief courtship, she surprised Agatha and Max by marrying a soldier, Major Hubert de Burr Prichard, in Wales. In 1943 they had a child, Mathew Prichard. A year later Major Prichard was killed in the invasion of Normandy. Five years later (in 1949) she married the lawyer Anthony Hicks and kept the married name Rosamond Hick to the end of her life.

Fat as a psychological defence

According to Thompson it was really during the war years that Agatha completely lost her youth and figure and became the stout middle-aged woman we know from the photos. Becoming fat made her sad but ‘she loved to eat’ (p.328). Thompson has a lyrical paragraph describing the change in Agatha’s self image:

It was a long way from the slender, fairy-like girl who had married Archie Christie: between those two there had been the mystery of physical allure, which Agatha still conjured in her books but had deliberately destroyed for herself. She had, indeed, coarsened. She did not merely his behind the public persona of ‘Agatha Christie’; she sheltered within a shroud of flesh, dense and unwieldy, a symbolic defence against the sharp agonies of the past. (p.328)

And even more so after the war:

Her large comfortable physicality was a defence against wounds, and after the war it grew more massive still. She lost the last trace of the attractions she had held, until her early fifties, for a man like Stephen Glanville. Her weight rose to nearly fifteen stone, her legs swelled immensely and she became extraordinarily sensitive about photographs.

And quotes a friend of Stephen Glanville’s daughter who met her in Cambridge in the 1950s:

‘I thought the sight of her surprising, with a fat, somewhat uncoordinated body and messily applied lipstick.’ (p.364)

It made her unhappy but this was the course she had adopted.

Tax troubles

To the amazement of Agatha, her agents in both the UK (Edward Cork of Hughes Massie) and the States (Harold Ober), towards the end of the 1930s she got into trouble with the tax authorities in both countries, trouble with ramified and complexified and ending up dogging her for decades. Thompson’s account begins on page 345 and then the theme recurs for the rest of the book.

As far as I can make out, the problem had two causes. Until the later 1930s Agatha had been categorised by the US tax authorities as a ‘non-resident alien author’ and so didn’t have to pay tax on income earned through the sale of her copyrights in the US, plus the increasing amount of movie and theatrical rights sales. All this changed when the US authorities decided that the wildly successful popular British novelist, Rafael Sabatini, did have to pay tax on the income he earned in the States. In 1938 the US tax authorities began to pry into Agatha’s affairs, quickly revealing how much she earned in the Sates and backdating her tax liability to the start of her career (in 1920). They started impounding her US earnings while the case went through the courts.

But in the meantime, back in the UK Agatha continued to live an upper middle class life, maintain her half dozen properties, with staff etc, and enjoy the high life, but with no income coming in from the States (p.359). She began to go into debt and borrowed to maintain her lifestyle. But at the same time, although she continued to be prolific and popular, wartime conditions in Britain also hit sales, revenue and publishers payments.

Then in 1945, the new Labour government put up tax thresholds to fund the welfare state and other policies, and people like Agatha, well off but not rich, were penalised.

A combination of all these factors means that the war years were marked by growing concerns about her income, her tax, and her lifestyle, worries which dogged her for decades to come.

The impact of war

Several novels Agatha published just after the war deal with its impact:

  • The Hollow (1946)
  • Taken at the Flood (1948)
  • The Rose and the Yew Tree (1948)

With their mood of restlessness and dissatisfaction (p.351).

The post-war

Thompson commences her account of Agatha’s post-war years with a couple of generalisations:

It was in the middle of the century that the phenomenon of ‘Agatha Christie’ really took off. In 1945 she was a popular and successful author whose new books always sold out a print run of 25,000. But by 1950 she was a global brand estimated to have sold 50 million books! And receiving increasing amounts of fan mail (p.361).

Two paradoxes about this:

1. It is generally agreed that this huge popularity came just as the quality of her novels began to fall away. In the 30 years from 1945 to 1976 she wrote a handful of outstanding books, but most of them war solid, reliable, formulaic. Not many matched the brilliance of the 20 or so year before (1926 to 1945) and especially ‘the period of intense, sustained creativity around the war which marks the high point of her achievement’ (p.356).

2. The other paradox is that her fame became truly enormous more from the adaptations of the books than the books themselves. Thus movie versions of:

  • Love From A Stranger (1937)
  • And Then there Were None (1945)

And theatrical adaptations of:

  • And Then there Were None (1943)
  • Hidden Horizon (adaptation of Murder on the Nile; 1944)
  • Murder at the Vicarage (1949)
  • The Hollow (1951)
  • The Mousetrap (1952)
  • Witness for the Prosecution (1953)

Not to mention radio, for example a series of weekly adaptations of the Poirot stories on American radio.

Goodbye

And with that, with Agatha having married off her daughter, undergone a period of prolific productivity, had a brief flirtation but remained fundamentally true to the man who rescued her wounded heart (Max), settling into middle-age and overweight, becoming a global brand but sinking into ever-murkier disputes with the tax authorities in two countries – I’m going to leave this biography. Maybe, when I’ve read the later books, I’ll pick it up and review the post-war years. But not now.


Credit

‘Agatha Christie: An English Mystery’ by Laura Thompson was published in 2007 by Headline Review. Page references are to the 2008 paperback edition.

Related reviews

The Kraken Wakes by John Wyndham (1953)

The Kraken Wakes is told in retrospect, by a man living in a drowning world, when most of England is under water due to the melting icecaps, looking back over the events which slowly led up to this catastrophe [in fact the action of the book seems to cover about ten years], who tells us he is setting out to piece together an account of the events leading up to the catastrophic present.

It began so unrecognisably. Had it been more obvious – and yet it is difficult to see what could have been done effectively even if we had recognised the danger. Recognition and prevention don’t necessarily go hand in hand. We recognised the potential dangers of atomic fission quickly enough – yet we could do little about them. If we had attacked immediately – well, perhaps. But until the danger was well established we had no means of knowing that we should attack – and then it was too late. However, it does no good to cry over our shortcomings. My purpose is to give as good a brief account as I can of how the present situation arose – and, to begin with, it arose very scrappily….

Like Day of the Triffids, Kraken is a first-person narrative told by a polite and well-meaning, middle-class man, in this case named Mike Watson. He’s a journalist with the (fictitious) English Broadcasting Corporation, which, in a recurring joke, people are always mixing up with the BBC. The fact that both stories are told by very much the same kind of young middle-class man made me speculate that Wyndham probably realised he needed a different tone or register for his narrator in order to prevent the two books sounding the same.

So that’s probably the reason why, whereas Bill Masen’s account in The Day of The Triffids is consistently grim and often horrifying, the narrator of this book keeps up a chirpy, facetious tone throughout. In fact, the central feature of this book is the narrator’s relationship with his smart and sassy wife, Phyllis, herself a documentary scriptwriter, with whom he keeps up a solid stream of jokey banter and backchat and has a very 1950s kind of relationship, to the extent that it’s made jokily clear that it’s very much the wife who wears the trousers:

‘But, with a pressure of tons, and in continual darkness, and – ‘ I began, but Phyllis cut across me with that decisiveness which warns me to shut up and not argue…

‘A man of perception,’ I said. ‘For the last five or six years – ‘
‘Shut up, Mike,’ said my dear wife, briefly. (p.124)

‘Mike, darling, just shut up; there’s a love,’ said my devoted wife.

This snappy husband-and-wife banter completely differentiates the books from the rather grim, serious-minded tone of Triffids and makes this catastrophe feel much more like a bank holiday outing. This tone is established in the short prologue, or ‘Rationale’ as he calls it, which opens the book, Mike and Phyl are looking out over the English Channel, nowadays full of icebergs because the Arctic icecaps are melting and the sea-level is drastically rising, and he first suggests writing some kind of account of the disaster which has overtaken the world. Good idea, she says, and offers to help.

Plot summary

Phase one (pages 11 to 72)

Journalist Mike Watson is on a honeymoon cruise with his new wife, Phyllis, when they see five red shapes, fuzzy and gaseous, speed across their wake and crash into the sea. So he was lucky enough to be in at ‘the start’. There are other sightings, including from an RAF fighter pilot who encounters some of these flying speedballs, shoots one which promptly explodes. The years go by and Watson becomes the meteor specialist at his broadcaster, all the letters from cranks and flying saucer spotters are sent on to him. And yet reports continue to come in of groups of red dots flying at high speed across the sky and into the ocean, generally at its deepest parts.

At ECB Watson finds himself lumbered with reporting on the steady trickle of sightings of the fireballs and builds up a reputation as an expert. As such he is invited to the Admiralty where a Captain Winters shows him a map of the oceans with lines drawn showing the descent of the many fireballs reported over the past few years, which shows how they have all entered the water near the oceans’ deepest points, up to five miles deep, where the water pressure is up to five tons per square inch!

And that’s why he and Phyllis are invited aboard a Royal Navy mission to the Caribbean, where a bathysphere containing two men is lowered deeper than any such vehicle has gone into the deep sea before. It’s a tense and detailed description which leads to the inevitable – at the deepest depths where no fish are, the two men in the little metal sphere think they see some vague shape moving just out of reach of the lights. Next thing they are cut off. The cable is winched up and the hawser it was attached to hasn’t been cut, it has been fused. They try again with an unmanned sphere carrying cameras, this too gets to about the same depths, the watching crew see something, then all power is cut.

Actually they’re invited to witness this expedition because of Phyllis. She is a documentary scriptwriter (while the narrator Mike is a straight journalist). So the idea of having a husband and wife team means Wyndham gives his pair twice as many chances to be invited on expeditions or to meet and interview key figures and experts as the story unfolds.

In this respect, the solo nature of the narrator of Triffids emphasises the sense of loneliness and isolation which is one of the harrowing aspects of that book which describes how one man slowly uncovers the impact of the catastrophe; whereas the dynamic in Kraken is the exact opposite – he needs a number of sources in order to present a synoptic overview of events: and so having what are in effect two protagonists doubles the number of contacts and interviews and sources the book can use.

And a great deal of it is second-hand, in the sense that Mike and Phyllis – having been on the doomed bathyscaphe expedition – begin following every aspect of the story and scouring the news for related stories.

Thus, after another interview with Captain Winter back at the Admiralty, they go on to monitor new developments. So they meet up and interview a journo from NBC who accompanied an American version of the bathyscaphe expedition. All the hacks were on a separate ship accompanying the navy vessel and were watching their bathyscaphe via remote cameras when shouts from above brought them all up on deck in time to see some kind of electric charge surge up the cable, light up the ship like a Christmas tree, and then it exploded.

Something is down there, snipping the wires of these bathyscaphes, and then sending up enormous electric charges. The NBC guy tells them it’s not the only one. Another research ship has disappeared near the Aleutian Isles.

Time passes, three years to be precise (p.41) during which Mike and Phyllis celebrate the birth of son William and then mourn his death 18 months later. And then more reports of sinkings come in: the Americans lose a cruiser off the Marianas, the Russians east of the Kuriles, a Norwegian research ship in the Southern Ocean. I.e. the pattern extends.

When the Americans lose a destroyer their patience snaps. They invite half the world’s press along to witness an experiment with an atom bomb, which is towed out to above the deepest part of the sea off the Philippines where the destroyer was lost – it is released and allowed to sink several miles into the depths, then detonated. Mike and the other spectators see the eruption of water, the cloud forming above it and then their ship is buffeted by the wave, but little apart from that.

Back in London our pair have dinner with another couple of journos who swap theories and opinions. One of them recounts the theory put forward by a certain Bocker, which is the one the reader has figured out by now, which is that the ‘fireballs’ are some kind of spaceships carrying intelligent passengers who have evolved in a deep sea environment and now have come to colonise earth’s. They didn’t take kindly to the investigating bathyspheres, took to destroying the ships attached to them and now – they speculate – will not take kindly to having an atom bomb exploded over their heads.

In the coming months several more atom bombs are dropped into the depths with unmeasurable affect (p.53). But through the grapevine Mike and Phyllis learn that several of them failed to go off. That’s worrying (p.57). Several more research ships have disappeared.

Phyllis interviews Dr Matet, noted oceanographer and friend of Captain Winters of the Admiralty. He tells her oceanographers have begun to notice major discoloration of the oceans’ major flowstreams, as if vast amounts of the ooze on the ocean beds is being disturbed (pp.59-61).

They jointly interview Alastair Bocker, eminent geographer (pp.63-65). He has developed his theories further. If intelligent life has come from beyond earth, and if it thrives at the enormous pressures of the deep ocean, then they can be seen as settlers or colonists who will set about making the found environment more congenial to their civilisation. And if someone starts dropping massive bombs on their heads, we shouldn’t be surprised if they retaliate.

They read about a tsunami killing 60 or so people on the remote island of Esperanza. Neither of them know where that and Phyllis has never heard the word tsunami.

Phase one ends with a couple of pages of Phyllis reading out a draft script for ECB, written in amazingly purple prose about the mysterious depths of the great oceans, and bringing together all this scattered evidence to wonder what’s afoot…

Phase two (pages 73 to 182)

Part one – Ships being sunk

Years earlier they had bought a cottage in Cornwall with money left by an aunt of Phyllis’s. It has a fine view across a river, more land and to the sea beyond. I always think that, if you’re appearing in an apocalyptic end-of-the-world novel, it’s always a good idea to have a comfy country bolthole to retreat to.

In the Times is a report of a Japanese ocean liner, the Yatsushiro, which sank in moments, drowning over 700 passengers and crew. A day or two later an official statement is put out blaming it on ‘metal fatigue’. Our heroes are sceptical, sounds like a cover-up story. Phyllis imagines all those men, women and children as the freezing water gushed into their cabins, and is inconsolably upset.

Guests come to stay (Harold and is posh wife, Petunia or ‘Tuny’) and the posh wife without hesitation blames all these incidents on the Russians and lambasts Western politicians who are, she thinks, refusing to name names and, in effect, appeasing the commies. In her view Bocker is a fellow traveller propagating a Soviet cover story. General conversation, the guests go to bed and leave a few days later.

Mike works on a book commission for a history of royal love lives, Phyllis is writing a history of a stately home. A month later they hear the news on the radio that the huge British liner, the Queen Anne, has sunk. Half an hour later the head of EBC news and features rings up and says they want a half hour feature about it – why? Because rumour is going round that the Russians did it and might swell into enough of a movement to begin to pressurise the government to do something, risking escalation into, ultimately war.

Having written it they drive back up to London and arrive to hear that two more ships, American this time, have gone down. Now the Americans are angry and send a flotilla of battleships to the area loaded with high explosive and another atom bomb. But two of them are blown up as they get near the area, one was carrying the bomb primed to detonate at five miles depth, the other ships turn and flee, a few more being caught in the eventual blast, five surviving.

But now it’s official – there’s something down there. A global conference is held, at which the Russians walk out in protest. Watson is typically sarcastic about business as usual being resumed. Scientists devise anti-vibration protection and ‘dolphins’ which are supposed to spot the enemy, close in and blow up, and we get a description of an apparently successful trial. Governments declare the seas sailable again, and prematurely declare that ‘the Battle of the Deeps’ has been won (p.111). But it hasn’t. A month later a clutch more ships are sunk.

Part two – The sea tanks (pages 112 to 182)

But the real thrust or point of phase two is an entirely new development, which is the advent of the so-called sea tanks and their revolting sticky anemone weapons.

Reports start to come in from remote islands in the Pacific of some kind of attacks taking place on remote communities. A ship which investigates the next day discovers a poor shorefront settlement completely denuded of people, all the houses, trees and other objects glistening with a foul-smelling slime, and huge regular grooves running up the sand (pages 114 to 121).

As more and more reports come in, the authorities realise they are co-ordinated attacks. Bocker is consulted for his opinion. Mike is invited for a drink by EBC’s head of news and features (Freddy Whittier) who tells him that one of the stations’ sponsors is fed up with the lack of knowledge about these creatures and so is sponsoring an expedition to go and find out more. He has commissioned Bocker to lead it, since he has been right about the situation from early on. And since Bocker now holds advanced theories about the location of the enemy bases in the deepest parts of the oceans, Bocker calculates the next attacks will come in the Caribbean.

Since Phyllis and Mike have been in on it from the start, Bocker asks for them to come along as representatives of the media. So they fly to the island of Escondida and have barely arrived before there is an attack on a nearby island. (It is typical of the book’s deliberate flippancy that Mike translates Bocker’s scientific work into his own joky idiom when he says, ‘if we were disappointed, we were also impressed. It was clear that Bocker really had been doing something more than a high-class eeny meeny miney mo, and had brought off a very near miss.’ Eeny meeny miney mo 🙂 )

The team consists of Dr Bocker and two close assistants, Bill Weyman and Alfred Haig, Mike and Phyllis, Muriel Flynn, Johnny Tallton, the pilot, Leslie, Ted the cameraman, Alfred who rigs up bright stage lights down at the harbour and the streets into the square in case there’s a night attack.

In the most sustained and imaginatively intense passage in the book, they are woken one night, ten days into their stay, by an attack. They hear screams and shooting from the harbour, then see people fleeing across the main square which their hotel looks out onto. Then they finally see the ‘sea tanks’. Imagine an elongated egg, thirty or forty feet long, made of a dull, lead-like metal. Slice it along its length and place the flat surface on the ground, a bit like half an avocado, except longer than a car (p.138). Well, Mike and Phyllis watch these huge half-avocados made of dull leaden metal slowly moving forward, apparently without wheels, several of them barging through the sides of houses. They take up positions in the square, despite rifle bullets pinging off them. Then very slowly bulges begin to appear in their carapaces, turn into globes attached by spindly threads and then the globes break entirely free and hover in the air.

Then with a crack they explode and unleash scores of very long tentacles or tendrils which whip out in all directions. If they touch inanimate objects they fall to the floor but, somehow, if they touch anything human, even the clothes or shoes of a human, they stick. At the first bang Mike and Phyllis had instinctively recoiled but not fast enough and one thread attaches to Phyllis’s forearm. Almost immediately the thing starts reeling its threads back in, drawing every animate person along with them. Within seconds Phyllis is being drawn from the bedroom where she’d withdrawn, into the main room and towards the balcony. Mike grabs her round the waist and grabs the bed-leg with the other. Now it becomes a trial of strength and for a moment Mike is scared he’ll lose his grip but then Phyllis lets out a scream and the sticky tendril has torn a six-inch strip off her forearm and some of the skin from her fingers but it is withdrawing, without her.

Mike runs to the window in time to see the sequel, which is people from all parts of the square being drawn willy-nilly towards the anemone thing. There’s Muriel from their team, being pulled along by her hair, and Larrie, who seems to have broken his neck in the fall from his hotel window, and now Mike watches the disgusting sight of all these people being drawn closer and closer and finally packed and squidged into a ball of compressed flesh. Then the ball of people goes spinning away back down the street it came from, towards the sea.

Scattered firing from villagers who have rifles continues but makes no impression on the sea tanks which continue to release the anemone weapons until they’re quite done, and then slowly return backwards the way they came back into the sea. Long before that happens Mike is beside Phyllis, washing her wounds and tearing up bed sheets to dress them.

Only then do we learn, from Phyllis’s side of the dialogue, that Mike himself is crying and she is holding him in her arms (p.143). In a very understated, British way, they have both been severely traumatised.

Next day Bocker holds a conference of the survivors. The mood is grim. They speculate about the meaning of the attacks. Is it for food or sheer malice? Bocker gives one of his speeches (of which there are a number punctuating the book) in which he wonders whether man’s domain on earth might be under threat. Maybe humanity’s days are numbered…

Mike and Phyllis fly back to Britain with what film Ted the cameraman was able to take and eye witness accounts. Back in the office they discover similar attacks are proliferating all round the world and the number of sea tanks rapidly escalating into scores. Captain Winters of the Admiralty invites them in to give an eye-witness account to a senior admiral who asks them their opinion of Bocker’s theories and this is the trigger for more earnest, and strategic pondering on what ‘we’ (humanity) should do next.

They go down to the cottage in Cornwall but can’t get away from the news which brings accounts of multiple attacks all round the world. Almost as a throwaway we learn that ocean trade has all but dried up and so Britain is having to airlift in food and other essential supplies. It can be done but is very expensive and so the price of everything has shot up and rationing of some items has appeared. (When Kraken was published post-war rationing had still not completely ended.)

As news comes in of more and more attacks all round the world, Phyllis cracks. She had built herself an ‘arbour’ in the cottage’s garden, somewhere she could work outdoors on her ‘novel’, but one day Mike finds her sitting in it, slumped across the manuscript, crying her eyes out. She can’t think of anything except the state of war, and can’t get the shock of what they saw in Escondida out of her mind. For some relief they motor over to North Cornwall for some surfing and a day’s brisk activity does them good. But on the way back they make the mistake of turning on the radio, immediately hear more bad news, which takes them right back to the horror of the sea tanks, and Phyllis bursts into tears again.

Mike calls a doctor who gives Phyllis a sedative and recommends a Harley Street nerve specialist. It is only now, however, that we learn that part of her problem is that Mike has been talking about the incident on Escondida in his sleep, and makes it clear that in his dreams he sees Phyllis, not Muriel, being dragged across the town square and slowly mashed to pulp along with all the other victims. He too needs rest. And she needs a break from his nightmares and sleep-talking.

And so Mike travels by himself to stay in a room in a manor in Yorkshire, stops work, takes the phone off the hook, and devotes himself to long walks over the moors. After six weeks of rest cure he feels like a new man. Until he drops into a pub after a long hike and the radio is on and he overhears news of a massive attack on a port in north Spain where an estimated 3,000 people lost their lives.

By now the authorities all over the world are fighting back against the aliens. Ports large and small are either abandoned or heavily fortified. Tanks and artillery are deployed. And air forces put on high alert. And this has begun to pay dividends. If the sea tanks are hit by tank shells or airplane cannon shells they explode dramatically. There’s an extended passage describing the attack on Santander and how the local military called in air strikes which proved surprisingly effective. (I had to remind me that all this would have taken place under the military dictatorship of General Franco.)

His restful mood disrupted, Mike returns from his Yorkshire hotel to the cottage in Cornwall only to find Phyllis is long gone. She’s tidied up and locked up and apparently gone back up to London. When Mike arrives at their London flat he is surprised to find it deserted. He phones his pal at EBC, Freddy Whittier, and discovers that Phyllis lasted just a week in the Cornwall cottage by herself before she returned to the London flat and resumed work, writing material about the attacks. Freddy flabbergasts Mike by telling him that Phyllis has gone off with Dr Bocker to Spain, to investigate the scene of the recent Santander attacks. Bored and lonely, Mike spends the evening at his club (p.175). [His club?]

In the early hours of the next morning he gets a call from Freddy and at first panics, thinking it is bad news about Phyllis. Far from it, she’s doing fine in Spain. Freddy is ringing to say a taxi’s on its way, a plane ticket has been organised, and he’s being sent by the EBC to a small fishing village on the west coast of Ireland which has just been attacked by what people are now calling the ‘bathies’. This journey and what Mike finds are not described in any detail. It is simply the trigger for the new development that the bathies now for the first time start to attack the coastline of Britain, which quickly reverts to a spirit-of-the-Blitz state of militarisation. Ports and harbours are mined and barb-wired, military deployed, RAF put on alert.

The British government lends all military aid to the Irish. (It is an interesting sidelight on history, that Mike the narrator sees this as the Irish being prepared to forgive and forget and put ‘the past in the past’ – an interesting insight into the rockiness of Anglo-Irish relations even in 1953.) Anyway, the bathies have lost the element of surprise and large numbers are blown up by the mines they trundle over, by depth charges dropped on them, by air strikes or artillery. Their casualty rate on some raids is 100% while human populations have learned simply to flee out of range at the first warning. The only raids England suffers are in Cornwall, and the only one with any real consequences is an attack on Falmouth Harbour.

A few days after the Falmouth raid, the attacks cease, worldwide (p.179). Dr Bocker makes one of his periodic comments on the situation in a speech in which he says his early suggestions that we try and communicate with the enemy were obviously wrong. Now he recommends a policy of total annihilation, before they launch the next phase of their attack, whatever that might be.

Phase three (pages 183 to 240)

The move from phase one to phase two was relatively smooth and continued the tone of the normal world and its activities. Phase three, however, opens with a jolt, literally, as the small boat Mike and Phyllis as navigating through water at night bumps into a net. As Mike begins tampering with it a flare goes up illuminating the scene and a rifle shot goes off. Mike looks across at the sides of the flooded valley, to the parade of houses which disappears under the water, and hears a voice warning him away. Aha. As Mike fires up the engine and their little boat putters away, Phyllis asks where they are and, as Mike replies, somewhere in the Weybridge area, the reader has his or her suspicions confirmed. Yes, we are clearly in full-scale disaster mode now.

For, as the text quickly explains, the aliens did indeed launch the next phase, though it took a while for humanity to catch on. Quite simply, it was to melt the polar ice caps and flood the world, completely flood it, until it is a world of water – just the way the aliens like it!

As usual it crept up very slowly on an unsuspecting humanity, not least because most trans-ocean shipping had been suspended for some time, and the weather ships which would have noticed changes in temperature and, especially, widespread fogs, had ceased to observe things. But the fogs become increasingly apparent in Siberia and north America. Then spotter planes report back on vast numbers of icebergs being calved from the Arctic and Antarctic ice sheets. All of which leads up to another article by Bocker, this one titled The Devil and the Deeps.

Bocker and polyphony

I’ve come to realise that Bocker’s articles provide a sort of structure, or regular punctuation of the narrative, each appearance of article he writes crystallising the sequence of events to date and then making drastic suggestions, which his readers and hearers are consistently not ready to listen to.

Not only that, but they add to the multiplicity of voices in the book. As it has progressed, Bocker has emerged as a Cassandra figure, the first to speculate the fireballs were from another world, the first to theorise that the incidents of the sinking ships might not be accidents and the great flows of ooze might be more than a natural occurrence, but indicate the work of industrial intelligence in the ocean deeps. His articles have taken on a more and more Biblical tone of apocalypse and prophecy. They add to the spectrum of voices and register, which also includes:

  • the serious factual briefings from Captain Winters or the admiral
  • the scientific briefing about ocean-bottom ooze from Dr Matet
  • eye-witness accounts from the American journos in ships accompanying one of the first to be blown up
  • opinions of fellow journalists (Mallarby of The Tidings and Bennell of The Senate, p.44)
  • radio broadcasts, including the dramatic one of the ship trying to steam away from where a navy ship carrying an atom bomb went down (p.97)
  • newspaper articles and leaders (p.207)
  • even the hammy radio script which Phyllis herself writers (pp.70-72)

It’s a very polyphonic novel.

Anyway, in terms of the plot, Bocker’s article is the first one to grasp the enormity of the situation, something which he then expands on when Mike and Phyllis go to pay their by now regular visit. After some chatter it boils right down to this: the authorities will act too late because they always do; in any case, there’s probably no practical way to stop then; so the best strategy is – find a nice self-sufficient hilltop – and fortify it!

And so it comes to pass. Slowly the sea levels rise. In London the embankment is sandbagged but overflows anyway. But this is just the beginning. Bocker joins Phyllis to review the urgent work put into raising the embankment parapets by ten or 12 feet. Waste of time says baleful Bocker.

All round the world the waters continue their rise. Hundreds of thousands build levees but the smart money starts to abandon the cities and the low-lying ground and move to the country. Mike’s narration takes us through two successive years when, on each year, the spring tides broke through whatever barriers were erected. After the second flooding of London the authorities acknowledge that they’re going to have to leave.

What gives all this a frisson of familiarity is not only the fact that we now know that the ice caps are melting and the sea level is going to rise, but the shambolic response of the authorities to the gathering crisis, a make-it-up-as-you-go-along attitude which we have all seen in the British government’s response to coronavirus (COVID-19).

News comes in of refugees from flooded Holland and Denmark. When they tramped into north Germany, fighting broke out. In England, too, refugees from the drowning East found high land along the Chilterns barricaded off. In London, people moving from the riverside towards Hampstead and Highgate found roads barricaded and snipers taking potshots from windows. And then the barricades were stormed. The emergency electricity supply failed. Looting broke out.

Mike and Phyllis move their stuff through the half-anarchic, half-orderly streets to a last-ditch studio and offices which the EBC have rigged up at the top of the Selfridge’s building in Oxford Street. They hear of increasing panic flights, of cars being stopped their occupants turfed out, widespread looting. Parliament moves to Harrogate, 700 feet above sea level.

Their bosses had imagined the small crew manning the station (complete with oil and petrol reserves, power generators, and as much food as they could loot from the store beneath) would remain and carry on presenting entertaining variety radio programmes until summoned north. In reality, as the year advanced, order broke down, the streets flooded faster than expected and became the prowling ground of armed gangs of looters, who they had to fight off several times.

By spring of the following year the staff in their redoubt have been reduced from 65 to 25, most requesting to be evacuated by the helicopter which can land on the store’s roof. (Note: helicopters play a small but significant role in both Triffids and this novel.) There’s an effective scene when, one bright sunny day, Mike and Phyllis walk down to Trafalgar Square. The water is lapping against the parapet on the north side. There is a sheet of solid water down Whitehall to the half-submerged Houses of Parliament. Seagulls squawk from St Martin’s in the Fields. They are surprised to see a speedboat come roaring under Admiralty Arch and zoom away down Whitehall. Phyllis says let’s leave. Mike agrees. They’ll need a boat.

But they hang on through another season. Their old friend, Freddy Whittier and his wife, who had stayed with them in the Selfridges redoubt, take a helicopter out. A few weeks later he phones to tell Mike and Phyl not to follow them. The government area of the town is under siege. Civil war is about to break out. He promises to get the next chopper back to London but, although it leaves Harrogate it never arrives. A week or so later the Harrogate office are dictating the latest in a long line of forlorn, futile, spirit-raising announcements, denying rumours of fighting and collapse, when the phone line goes dead. It is never restored.

Another winter comes round. The streets are almost empty, though the few people you meet are carrying guns. They hear the counties surrounding London have set up miniature fiefdoms and repel refugees. They still have plenty of food and oil for the generator but when the water level reaches Oxford street and starts to drain into the basement of the Selfridge’s building, they feel it’s time to move. On bright May day Mike finds Phyllis up on the roof looking across the lake that is Oxford Street and crying. She says what all people going through tribulation say, since the time of Job and before:

Look at it, Mike! Look at it! We never did anything to deserve all this. Most of us weren’t very good, though we weren’t bad enough for this, surely. And not to have a chance! If it had only been something we could fight – . But just to be drowned and starved and forced into destroying one another to live – and by things nobody has ever seen, living in the one place we can’t get at them! (p.229)

She’s breaking down. It’s time to go. Mike finds a fibre-glass dinghy and loads it up. They say goodbye to their remaining colleagues and set off upriver. And that’s where we found them as the start of this final section. Turned back by a net and sniper and taking shelter in the top story of a flooded house.

In the middle of the night Mike hears a bumping against the wall and springs out of his sleeping bag in time to see a smaller vessel bumping against the wall before drifting away. He gives chase in the dinghy, grapples and boards it to find the body of a woman shot dead. He turfs the corpse over the side.

It’s a motorboat named the Midge. He and Phyllis transfer their goods into it and take to the coast to navigate (in an amateurish way) down towards Cornwall. In fact first they return to central London and load up with maximum provisions. The last remaining team in Selfridges think they’re crazy and try to persuade them to stay. But once they’ve loaded everything they can think of, they set off downstream towards the Thames Estuary and then round and along the Channel coast. The journey takes a month, with scattered observations of what the English landscape, coast and cliff look like under 100 feet of water.

The cottage is still there. It has been ransacked but is physically sound. Only now does Phyllis reveal that the summer several years ago when she developed an interest in bricklaying and built the arbour, supposedly to shelter and write in… well, she buried a load of stores in it. Nobody’s found them. They should be alright for a while…

Now these are the last pages. Mike tells us he began writing his account in November. Now it’s January. The rate of seawater rise has decreased. The sea tanks have been reported but don’t find many victims and all the little scattered communities post watchers, so the inhabitants know to flee. The hill their cottage sat on has become an island. People leave them alone. The winter has been bitterly cold, with howling gales. Sometimes the sea has frozen. It is becoming an Arctic climate. Soon nothing will grow. They decide to rig the Midget with a sail and dead south, presumably to France.

Two endings

Ending 1

The 1973 British Penguin paperback which I own ends thus:

Just as I was expecting the couple to sail off into the blue, there is a dramatic last-minute reversal. One day as they’re preparing the yacht Midget for her big journey, a strange sailing boat enters their backwater and hails them. The man has a message. Over what radios survive have come messages announcing a government of reconstruction. Speech given Dr Bocker (him again, right here at the end of the narrative) saying the water has ceased rising. Mike and Phyll are astounded to learn that only between a fifth and an eighth of Britain’s land remains. But the population has collapsed. Three hard winters and no medical provision has seen millions die of pneumonia and related diseases.

Now they’re going to try and organise and rebuild. The messages ended with a list of specialist personnel required. Mike and Phyll’s names were on it. They are requested to report to London. The man even tells them the boffins seem to have developed some new device to combat the bathies. A device which emits powerful ultrasonic signals. Developed by the Japanese. Already it’s been trialled by them and the Americans and seems to have cleared some of the shallower deeps. Large amounts of white jelly have floated to the surface, same as what exploded with such force from the sea tanks when they were shelled.

Suddenly, suddenly there is hope. It’s going to be hard surviving in a world changed out of recognition and yet… they will face the future bravely!

Ending 2

Intriguingly, the online version of the novel I referred to ends differently, thus:

This version begins its final section at the same moment, with Mike and Phyllis preparing the Midget for her voyage but, instead of a sailing boat coming up the creek, they are amazed to see a helicopter (Wyndham and his post-apocalyptic helicopters!). It circles their island, then hovers just above the uneven stones and heather, a briefcase is thrown out then a figure clambers down a short rope ladder and dusts himself off as the helicopter lifts off and flies away.

As they run up to him they realise it is Dr Bocker! Again! Phyllis embraces him and bursts out crying. Mike walks up and shakes his hand. He admits it has been lonely, very lonely and depressing. They help him up and down to the house, where Bocker produces a flask of whiskey! and proceeds to explain. He first flew to London where the BC crew told him Mike and Phyl had come to Cornwall and so he followed.

They are going to rebuild, The water has ceased to rise. They have lost a lot of land and a lot of people. But he estimates with what remains they can feed five million people. The population of Britain has collapsed from 46 million to just five million! Bocker says the country has disintegrated into tens of thousands of micro communities each defending their own and utterly isolated.

Step one is to break down that isolation by producing thousands of cheap battery-operated radios and dropping them on the communities, helping them get back in touch, broadcasting the new central authority’s plans. That’s where Mike and Phyll come in. He needs experienced and confident broadcasters to lead the operation.

Mike and Phyl are both stunned, above all by the revival of community, the sense that there are others out there, and they can work together. But what about the bathies, what about the evil aliens lurking in the deeps? And this is when Bocker tells them about the ultrasonics weapons which the Japanese have developed and seem to work really well. They’ve sent plans to the Americans who have started to mass produce them. (America, Bocker tells us, was hit nowhere near as badly as Britain. Britain is a cramped over-crowded place and pays badly for it when put under pressure. America is vaaaast.)

For a while, none of us spoke. I stole a sidelong glance at Phyllis; she was looking as though she had just had a beauty treatment.
‘I’m coming to life again, Mike,’ she said. ‘There’s something to live for.’

What about the Arctic cold? Bocker replies the scientific consensus is that the water will slowly warm up. Improbably, he claims the climate may end up being better than it used to be. In other words, this ending feels as if it was written to order to be significantly more upbeat than ending A. Maybe – along with the reference to America not being hit nearly so badly and about to mass produce the weapons which will save the world – maybe this version was written specially to flatter an American audience.

Thoughts

When I read this as an impressionable adolescent my imagination was fired to extraordinary heights. After H.G. Wells, Wyndham was my god when I was about 13, and the scene in the Caribbean town square where the alien globules explode into masses of sticky tentacles stayed with me for years. However, returning as a jaded adult and a man tired out from raising a family and hanging on to a demanding job, I read and experience this book completely differently.

I am now struck by the cleverness of the book’s narrative structure, and by the tone. By structure I mean two things:

1. One is the way he makes the protagonists journalists in order to allow them not only to be sent to a number of key scenes and incidents (they see the first fireballs land in the sea, they witness the first atom bomb being dropped in the deeps, they are the first Western eye-witnesses of the disgusting coelenterates) but also to interview a number of key experts, namely Captain Winters from the Admiralty and, most importantly, to really get to know Alastair Bocker, the book’s main theorist for the entire sequence of events.

2. Second aspect of structure is the way the story is told by a husband-and-wife team. Mike is the sole narrator but Phyllis gets to interview some of the experts, or they jointly meet other witnesses over dinner or drinks, and her opinions are as important as, and often sharper than, her husband’s. This dyad gives us not only gives the narrative access to more important people and eye witness, it also means the husband and wife team spend a lot of time discussing events, pondering and analysing and speculating and, of course, taking the viewer with them in their theories and speculations.

And this ‘pair structure’ is just part of the way the information about the story comes in from multiple sources. Because they are journalists working for a broadcast outlet, they sit in the nerve centre of an organisation devoted to bringing together information from every possible source, from everywhere round the world. And, after their accidental eye witnessing of some of the earliest fireballs landing in the sea, Mike finds himself early on lumbered with the task of co-ordinating other news on the subject, nobody in the early stages realising it will go on to become the story of the age.

3. But the biggest and most dominant aspect of the book for me as a married man, is the tone. The entire book is drenched in the way Wyndham conveys the relationship between Mike and Phyllis, in fast-talking, witty banter. It reminded me a bit of the Thin Man movies (1934 to 1947) based on the smart-guy, knowing banter between husband-and-wife detectives, William Powell and Myrna Loy.

Mike and Phyllis argue, they make up, she cuts across him during interviews and he knows when to shut up, they discuss ideas for stories and edit each other’s work. Thinking about it, Wyndham obviously not only wanted to differentiate the book, in structure and tone, from Triffids, but possibly also from standard science fiction, of the kind he’d been writing with so little success since the 1930s.

In the 1960s critics came to unkindly dismiss this approach as ‘cosy catastrophe’, but you can turn that critique on its head and point out that Wyndham was trying to take science fiction tropes away from the wide-eyed, boys-own-adventure world of the American SF magazines, and situate it, instead, precisely among the urban, middle-class bourgeoisie. To see what happens when you take characters who could come from a respectable drawing-room drama, who drink sherry before dinner and are oh-so-blasé about news reports and government statements – and then drop them into the middle of a world-shattering catastrophe.

I thought it was a telling moment when Mike and Phyllis are lounging by the pool on the island of Escondida and Phyllis jokingly says she feels as languid as a character in one of Somerset Maugham’s stories from the Far East (p.127). Maugham’s stories (which I have comprehensively reviewed elsewhere in this blog) are set among the pukka, public school-educated, colonial classes, and this passing reference is a reminder of the broader world this story is meant to be set in, and of the class Mike and Phyllis don’t really belong to, but certainly can relate to. What would happen to these pukka sahibs and memsahibs if catastrophe struck their world? Of course they’d carry on talking and acting the same, right up till the bitter end.

So from the point of view of the ‘radical’ 1960s, maybe The Kraken Wakes can be seen as a cosy catastrophe (as Brian Aldiss jokingly dismissed it). But maybe it’s also by way of being an experiment in mixing genres, of applying bubble gum disaster science fiction to drawing room drama characters and seeing what happens.

4. Loneliness I will now compare and contrast Kraken and Triffids. And I’ve already mentioned it, but the lasting impression of The Day of The Triffids is of intense and soul-harrowing loneliness. It’s a book with multiple levels of isolation and aloneness:

  • the protagonist is isolated when the rest of the world is struck blind
  • the entire world’s media (meaning, in those days, the radio and newspapers) ceases to function, so everyone becomes isolated, with no way at all of knowing what’s going on except by world of mouth
  • thus the protagonist has to find out what’s going on utterly by himself
  • and no sooner has he met a potential soul-mate who he can share his feelings with than she is kidnapped and taken off he knows not where, thus redoubling his sense of isolation and abandonment

But the fundamental metaphor at the centre of the narrative – blindness – is itself about eternal isolation from the visual understanding of the world, a theme which is rammed home on numerous occasions, when he either sees the blind in pitiful operation or reflects on the essential isolation which blindness imposes on its sufferers. There’s a searing moment when Masen comments on how quiet a blind world is because everyone is forced to listen to try and figure out what is happening. The only sound is the quiet shuffling of shoes along pavements and the sobbing of the newly blind in their infinite misery.

In the depth to which these tropes extend, in the multiple levels the story taps, Triffids approaches fable or allegory, and I found the totality and intensity of its vision truly terrifying.

So Kraken comes as an extraordinary contrast: it couldn’t be more the opposite, the jokey flippant, knowing, media-savvy tone of the two protagonists meaning the book is buoyed on a tone of knowing flippancy.

‘I wish,’ said Phyllis, ‘that I had been kinder and tried to pay more attention to dear Miss Popple who used to try to teach me geography, poor thing. Every day the world gets fuller of places I never heard of.’

Even when it becomes clear that the incident on Escondida has caused them both some kind of post-traumatic stress disorder, this emerges only obliquely, and all the more movingly because of it. And in the later stages, even when Mike has to go to a rest home and Phyllis goes down to the cottage to recover: the stress and psychological impact is strongly hinted at and sort of described –but in this book the reader is never really as psychologically involved as I felt I was in Triffids.

Cold War references

I’ve mentioned some of the examples as they arise in the text, but it’s worth emphasising how strongly present Cold War themes are throughout the story. This operates at multiple levels.

At a ‘serious’ level, some of the experts, the men from the Admiralty or Bocker, discuss the possibility that the whole thing is a Russian ploy, some kind of new-fangled Russian attack.

In a different way, both Mike and Phyllis make jokey, ironic references throughout the novel to ‘our Russian friends’, ‘the other side’, ‘the Soviets’ and so on. Again and again they invoke, satirise and ridicule the Cold War rhetoric which the Russians had perfected about their ostensible quest for ‘peace’ (despite the obvious fact that they had occupied and continued to oppress all the nations of Eastern Europe).

Here’s an example of Wyndham pastiching Cold War rhetoric when, early on, the American government makes a formal complaint to Russia about the fireballs encroaching US airspace.

The Kremlin, after a few days of gestation, produced a rejection of the protest. It proclaimed itself unimpressed by the tactics of attributing one’s own crime to another, and went on to state that its own weapons, recently developed by Russian scientists for the defense of peace, had now destroyed more than twenty of these craft over Soviet territory, and would, without hesitation, give the same treatment to any others detected in their work of espionage…

The fact that Mike is a journalist allows Wyndham to give satirical swipes at the rhetoric of the press releases and communiques the Soviets perfected during this era, which managed to combine a pious wish for peace with barely disguised threats of retaliation and, always, the comic opera boasting that, whatever new technology the West developed, the Russians thought of it first and had already made it bigger and better.

Mr. Malenkov, interviewed by telegram, had said that although the intensified program of aircraft construction in the West was no more than a part of a bourgeois-fascist plan by warmongers that could deceive no one, yet so great was the opposition of the Russian people to any thought of war that the production of aircraft within the Soviet Union for the Defense of Peace had been tripled. Indeed, so resolutely were the Peoples of the Free Democracies determined to preserve Peace in spite of the new Imperialist threat, that war was not inevitable – though there was a possibility that under prolonged provocation the patience of the Soviet Peoples might become exhausted.

Then there’s the level of public opinion – because it’s a global phenomenon, Wyndham’s journalist protagonists regularly discuss the impact on public opinion of each stage of the ‘invasion’ and part of this public opinion is concern about ‘the other side’, and a predisposition to blame everything bad on the Reds.

This aspect – popular opinion – is actually embodied in one of the characters, Tuny, the self-important, pukka woman from Kensington who is the partner of Harold, an old friend of Mike’s. The pair come down to stay at Mike and Phyl’s Cornish cottage and, over dinner, Tuny leaves no-one in any doubt that she knows the entire thing is a Russian plot and that our government is refusing to say so out of fear. In her florid opinion, it’s appeasement all over again.

Quite distinct from the novel’s ostensible subject matter, all this is fascinating social history. At the end of the day The Kraken Wakes is a middle-brow work of fiction (i.e. has no particular aspiration to purely literary merit) but that makes all the more revealing the kinds of thoughts, conversations, opinions about world politics which Wyndham considered typical of the day (and of his likely readership).

The ‘two intelligent species’ problem

Having now read all of Wyndham’s four great novels, I can see that there is a strong unifying thread or impulse underlying all of them, namely the question: ‘Can two intelligent but completely different species cohabit on the same planet?’

Hitherto Homo sapiens has regarded itself as unquestionably the most intelligent species on earth and, probably, anywhere, and swanked and lorded it over creation. In Wyndham’s big four novels, humanity is suddenly confronted with creatures which present an existential threat: in Day of the Triffids, it’s the triffids; in Kraken, the deep sea invaders from space; in Chrysalids, the post-apocalyptic survivor communities are confronted by a new superspecies of human whose leaders treat old-style humans as animals to be eliminated; and in Midwich it is the alien children whose hive mind begins to present a threat to humanity.

All of these novels dramatise the plight of a planet divided into two opposing camps, two types of intelligent species who live in an uneasy balance of peace which, in all four novels, is knocked off kilter and in which our side is put on the back foot.

The point I’m driving at is that you could argue that the deep structure of all four novels embodies or reflects the Cold War rivalry between two highly intelligent, highly armed, aggressive camps – the capitalist and communist worlds – who live in an uneasy peace which could, at the slightest incident, be toppled over into catastrophic conflict.

In other words, that John Wyndham’s novels are Cold War novels not just by an accident of history or in incidental details or in the opinions of some of the characters, but in their deepest structure reflect the challenge of how two utterly opposed types of intelligence can inhabit the same planet without wiping each other out.


Credit

The Kraken Wakes by John Wyndham was published by Michael Joseph in 1953. All references are to the 1973 Penguin paperback edition.

Related link

John Wyndham reviews

Other science fiction reviews

Late Victorian

1888 Looking Backward 2000-1887 by Edward Bellamy – Julian West wakes up in the year 2000 to discover a peaceful revolution has ushered in a society of state planning, equality and contentment
1890 News from Nowhere by William Morris – waking from a long sleep, William Guest is shown round a London transformed into villages of contented craftsmen

1895 The Time Machine by H.G. Wells – the unnamed inventor and time traveller tells his dinner party guests the story of his adventure among the Eloi and the Morlocks in the year 802,701
1896 The Island of Doctor Moreau by H.G. Wells – Edward Prendick is stranded on a remote island where he discovers the ‘owner’, Dr Gustave Moreau, is experimentally creating human-animal hybrids
1897 The Invisible Man by H.G. Wells – an embittered young scientist, Griffin, makes himself invisible, starting with comic capers in a Sussex village, and ending with demented murders
1899 When The Sleeper Wakes/The Sleeper Wakes by H.G. Wells – Graham awakes in the year 2100 to find himself at the centre of a revolution to overthrow the repressive society of the future
1899 A Story of the Days To Come by H.G. Wells – set in the same future London as The Sleeper Wakes, Denton and Elizabeth defy her wealthy family in order to marry, fall into poverty, and experience life as serfs in the Underground city run by the sinister Labour Corps

1900s

1901 The First Men in the Moon by H.G. Wells – Mr Bedford and Mr Cavor use the latter’s invention, an anti-gravity material they call ‘Cavorite’, to fly to the moon and discover the underground civilisation of the Selenites, leading up to its chasteningly moralistic conclusion
1904 The Food of the Gods and How It Came to Earth by H.G. Wells – scientists invent a compound which makes plants, animals and humans grow to giant size, prompting giant humans to rebel against the ‘little people’
1905 With the Night Mail by Rudyard Kipling – it is 2000 and the narrator accompanies a GPO airship across the Atlantic
1906 In the Days of the Comet by H.G. Wells – a comet passes through earth’s atmosphere and brings about ‘the Great Change’, inaugurating an era of wisdom and fairness, as told by narrator Willie Leadford
1908 The War in the Air by H.G. Wells – Bert Smallways, a bicycle-repairman from Kent, gets caught up in the outbreak of the war in the air which brings Western civilisation to an end
1909 The Machine Stops by E.M. Foster – people of the future live in underground cells regulated by ‘the Machine’ – until one of them rebels

1910s

1912 The Lost World by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle – Professor Challenger leads an expedition to a plateau in the Amazon rainforest where prehistoric animals still exist
1912 As Easy as ABC by Rudyard Kipling – set in 2065 in a world characterised by isolation and privacy, forces from the ABC are sent to suppress an outbreak of ‘crowdism’
1913 The Horror of the Heights by Arthur Conan Doyle – airman Captain Joyce-Armstrong flies higher than anyone before him and discovers the upper atmosphere is inhabited by vast jellyfish-like monsters
1914 The World Set Free by H.G. Wells – A history of the future in which the devastation of an atomic war leads to the creation of a World Government, told via a number of characters who are central to the change
1918 The Land That Time Forgot by Edgar Rice Burroughs – a trilogy of pulp novellas in which all-American heroes battle ape-men and dinosaurs on a lost island in the Antarctic

1920s

1921 We by Evgeny Zamyatin – like everyone else in the dystopian future of OneState, D-503 lives life according to the Table of Hours, until I-330 wakens him to the truth and they rebel
1925 Heart of a Dog by Mikhail Bulgakov – a Moscow scientist transplants the testicles and pituitary gland of a dead tramp into the body of a stray dog, with disastrous consequences
1927 The Maracot Deep by Arthur Conan Doyle – a scientist, an engineer and a hero are trying out a new bathysphere when the wire snaps and they hurtle to the bottom of the sea, where they discover unimaginable strangeness

1930s

1930 Last and First Men by Olaf Stapledon – mind-boggling ‘history’ of the future of mankind over the next two billion years – surely the vastest vista of any science fiction book
1938 Out of the Silent Planet by C.S. Lewis – baddies Devine and Weston kidnap Oxford academic, Ransom, and take him in their spherical spaceship to Malacandra, as the natives call the planet Mars, where mysteries and adventures unfold

1940s

1943 Perelandra (Voyage to Venus) by C.S. Lewis – Ransom is sent to Perelandra aka Venus, to prevent Satan tempting the planet’s new young inhabitants to a new Fall as he did on earth
1945 That Hideous Strength by C.S. Lewis – Ransom assembles a motley crew of heroes ancient and modern to combat the rise of an evil corporation which is seeking to overthrow mankind
1949 Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell – after a nuclear war, inhabitants of ruined London are divided into the sheep-like ‘proles’ and members of the Party who are kept under unremitting surveillance

1950s

1950 I, Robot by Isaac Asimov – nine short stories about ‘positronic’ robots, which chart their rise from dumb playmates to controllers of humanity’s destiny
1950 The Martian Chronicles – 13 short stories with 13 linking passages loosely describing mankind’s colonisation of Mars, featuring strange, dreamlike encounters with vanished Martians
1951 Foundation by Isaac Asimov – the first five stories telling the rise of the Foundation created by psychohistorian Hari Seldon to preserve civilisation during the collapse of the Galactic Empire
1951 The Illustrated Man – eighteen short stories which use the future, Mars and Venus as settings for what are essentially earth-bound tales of fantasy and horror
1951 The Day of the Triffids by John Wyndham – the whole world turns out to watch the flashing lights in the sky caused by a passing comet and next morning wakes up blind, except for a handful of survivors who have to rebuild human society while fighting off the rapidly growing population of the mobile, intelligent, poison sting-wielding monster plants of the title
1952 Foundation and Empire by Isaac Asimov – two long stories which continue the future history of the Foundation set up by psycho-historian Hari Seldon as it faces attack by an Imperial general, and then the menace of the mysterious mutant known only as ‘the Mule’
1953 Second Foundation by Isaac Asimov – concluding part of the  Foundation Trilogy, which describes the attempt to preserve civilisation after the collapse of the Galactic Empire
1953 Earthman, Come Home by James Blish – the adventures of New York City, a self-contained space city which wanders the galaxy 2,000 years hence, powered by ‘spindizzy’ technology
1953 Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury – a masterpiece, a terrifying anticipation of a future when books are banned and professional firemen are paid to track down stashes of forbidden books and burn them – until one fireman, Guy Montag, rebels
1953 The Demolished Man by Alfred Bester – a fast-moving novel set in a 24th century New York populated by telepaths and describing the mental collapse of corporate mogul Ben Reich who starts by murdering his rival Craye D’Courtney and becomes progressively more psychotic as he is pursued by telepathic detective, Lincoln Powell
1953 Childhood’s End by Arthur C. Clarke one of my favourite sci-fi novels, a thrilling narrative describing the ‘Overlords’ who arrive from space to supervise mankind’s transition to the next stage in its evolution
1953 The Kraken Wakes by John Wyndham – some form of alien life invades earth in the shape of ‘fireballs’ from outer space which fall into the deepest parts of the earth’s oceans, followed by the sinking of ships passing over the ocean deeps, gruesome attacks of ‘sea tanks’ on ports and shoreline settlements around the world and then, in the final phase, the melting of the earth’s icecaps and global flooding
1954 The Caves of Steel by Isaac Asimov – set 3,000 years in the future when humans have separated into ‘Spacers’ who have colonised 50 other planets, and the overpopulated earth whose inhabitants live in enclosed cities or ‘caves of steel’, and introducing detective Elijah Baley who is tasked with solving a murder mystery
1954 Jizzle by John Wyndham – 15 short stories, from the malevolent monkey of the title story to a bizarre yarn about a tube train which goes to hell, a paychiatrist who projects the same idyllic dream into the minds of hundreds of women around London, to a dry run for The Chrysalids
1955 The Chrysalids by John Wyndham – hundreds of years after a nuclear war devastated North America, David Strorm grows up in a rural community run by God-fearing zealots obsessed with detecting mutant plants, livestock and – worst of all – human ‘blasphemies’ – caused by lingering radiation; but as he grows up, David realises he possesses a special mutation the Guardians of Purity have never dreamed of – the power of telepathy – and he’s not the only one, and soon he and his mind-melding friends are forced to flee to the Badlands in a race to survive
1956 The Naked Sun by Isaac Asimov – 3,000 years in the future detective Elijah Baley returns, with his robot sidekick, R. Daneel Olivaw, to solve a murder mystery on the remote planet of Solaria
Some problems with Isaac Asimov’s science fiction
1956 They Shall Have Stars by James Blish – explains the invention, in the near future, of i) the anti-death drugs and ii) the spindizzy technology which allow the human race to colonise the galaxy
1956 The Stars My Destination by Alfred Bester – a fast-paced phantasmagoria set in the 25th century where humans can teleport, a terrifying new weapon has been invented, and tattooed hard-man, Gulliver Foyle, is looking for revenge
1956 The Death of Grass by John Christopher – amid the backdrop of a worldwide famine caused by the Chung-Li virus which kills all species of grass (wheat, barley, oats etc) decent civil engineer John Custance finds himself leading his wife, two children and a small gang of followers out of London and across an England collapsing into chaos and barbarism in order to reach the remote valley which his brother had told him he was going to plant with potatoes and other root vegetables and which he knows is an easily defendable enclave
1957 The Midwich Cuckoos by John Wyndham – one night a nondescript English village is closed off by a force field, all the inhabitants within the zone losing consciousness. A day later the field disappears and the villagers all regain consciousness but two months later, all the fertile women in the place realise they are pregnant, and nine months later give birth to identical babies with platinum blonde hair and penetrating golden eyes, which soon begin exerting telepathic control over their parents and then the other villagers. Are they aliens, implanted in human wombs, and destined to supersede Homo sapiens as top species on the planet?
1959 The Triumph of Time by James Blish – concluding novel of Blish’s ‘Okie’ tetralogy in which mayor of New York John Amalfi and his friends are present at the end of the universe
1959 The Sirens of Titan by Kurt Vonnegut – Winston Niles Rumfoord builds a space ship to explore the solar system where encounters a chrono-synclastic infundibula, and this is just the start of a bizarre meandering fantasy which includes the Army of Mars attacking earth and the adventures of Boaz and Unk in the caverns of Mercury
1959 The Outward Urge by John Wyndham – a conventional space exploration novel in five parts which follow successive members of the Troon family over a 200-year period (1994 to 2194) as they help build the first British space station, command the British moon base, lead expeditions to Mars, to Venus, and ends with an eerie ‘ghost’ story

1960s

1960 Trouble With Lichen by John Wyndham – ardent feminist and biochemist Diana Brackley discovers a substance which slows down the ageing process, with potentially revolutionary implications for human civilisation, in a novel which combines serious insights into how women are shaped and controlled by society and sociological speculation with a sentimental love story and passages of broad social satire (about the beauty industry and the newspaper trade)
1961 A Fall of Moondust by Arthur C. Clarke a pleasure tourbus on the moon is sucked down into a sink of moondust, sparking a race against time to rescue the trapped crew and passengers
1961 Consider Her Ways and Others by John Wyndham – Six short stories dominated by the title track which depicts England a few centuries hence, after a plague has wiped out all men and the surviving women have been genetically engineered into four distinct types, the brainy Doctors, the brawny Amazons, the short Servitors, and the vast whale-like mothers into whose body a twentieth century woman doctor is unwittingly transported
1962 The Drowned World by J.G. Ballard – Dr Kerans is part of a UN mission to map the lost cities of Europe which have been inundated after solar flares melted the worlds ice caps and glaciers, but finds himself and his colleagues’ minds slowly infiltrated by prehistoric memories of the last time the world was like this, complete with tropical forest and giant lizards, and slowly losing their grasp on reality.
1962 The Voices of Time and Other Stories – Eight of Ballard’s most exquisite stories including the title tale about humanity slowly falling asleep even as they discover how to listen to the voices of time radiating from the mountains and distant stars, or The Cage of Sand where a handful of outcasts hide out in the vast dunes of Martian sand brought to earth as ballast which turned out to contain fatal viruses. Really weird and visionary.
1962 A Life For The Stars by James Blish – third in the Okie series about cities which can fly through space, focusing on the coming of age of kidnapped earther, young Crispin DeFord, aboard space-travelling New York
1962 The Man in the High Castle by Philip K. Dick In an alternative future America lost the Second World War and has been partitioned between Japan and Nazi Germany. The narrative follows a motley crew of characters including a dealer in antique Americana, a German spy who warns a Japanese official about a looming surprise German attack, and a woman determined to track down the reclusive author of a hit book which describes an alternative future in which America won the Second World War
1962 Mother Night by Kurt Vonnegut – the memoirs of American Howard W. Campbell Jr. who was raised in Germany and has adventures with Nazis and spies
1963 Cat’s Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut – what starts out as an amiable picaresque as the narrator, John, tracks down the so-called ‘father of the atom bomb’, Felix Hoenniker for an interview turns into a really bleak, haunting nightmare where an alternative form of water, ice-nine, freezes all water in the world, including the water inside people, killing almost everyone and freezing all water forever
1964 The Drought by J.G. Ballard – It stops raining. Everywhere. Fresh water runs out. Society breaks down and people move en masse to the seaside, where fighting breaks out to get near the water and set up stills. In part two, ten years later, the last remnants of humanity scrape a living on the vast salt flats which rim the continents, until the male protagonist decides to venture back inland to see if any life survives
1964 The Terminal Beach by J.G. Ballard – Ballard’s breakthrough collection of 12 short stories which, among more traditional fare, includes mind-blowing descriptions of obsession, hallucination and mental decay set in the present day but exploring what he famously defined as ‘inner space’
1964 Dr. Strangelove, or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb by Peter George – a novelisation of the famous Kubrick film, notable for the prologue written as if by aliens who arrive in the distant future to find an earth utterly destroyed by the events described in the main narrative
1966 Rocannon’s World by Ursula Le Guin – Le Guin’s first novel, a ‘planetary romance’ or ‘science fantasy’ set on Fomalhaut II where ethnographer and ‘starlord’ Gaverel Rocannon rides winged tigers and meets all manner of bizarre foes in his quest to track down the aliens who destroyed his spaceship and killed his colleagues, aided by sword-wielding Lord Mogien and a telepathic Fian
1966 Planet of Exile by Ursula Le Guin – both the ‘farborn’ colonists of planet Werel, and the surrounding tribespeople, the Tevarans, must unite to fight off the marauding Gaal who are migrating south as the planet enters its deep long winter – not a good moment for the farborn leader, Jakob Agat Alterra, to fall in love with Rolery, the beautiful, golden-eyed daughter of the Tevaran chief
1966 – The Crystal World by J.G. Ballard – Dr Sanders journeys up an African river to discover that the jungle is slowly turning into crystals, as does anyone who loiters too long, and becomes enmeshed in the personal psychodramas of a cast of lunatics and obsessives
1967 The Disaster Area by J.G. Ballard – Nine short stories including memorable ones about giant birds and the man who sees the prehistoric ocean washing over his quite suburb.
1967 City of Illusions by Ursula Le Guin – an unnamed humanoid with yellow cat’s eyes stumbles out of the great Eastern Forest which covers America thousands of years in the future when the human race has been reduced to a pitiful handful of suspicious rednecks or savages living in remote settlements. He is discovered and nursed back to health by a relatively benign commune but then decides he must make his way West in an epic trek across the continent to the fabled city of Es Toch where he will discover his true identity and mankind’s true history
1966 The Anti-Death League by Kingsley Amis
1968 2001: A Space Odyssey a panoramic narrative which starts with aliens stimulating evolution among the first ape-men and ends with a spaceman being transformed into a galactic consciousness
1968 Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K. Dick – in 1992 androids are almost indistinguishable from humans except by trained bounty hunters like Rick Deckard who is paid to track down and ‘retire’ escaped ‘andys’ – earning enough to buy mechanical animals, since all real animals died long ago
1968 Chocky by John Wyndham – Matthew is the adopted son of an ordinary, middle-class couple who starts talking to a voice in his head who it takes the entire novel to persuade his parents is real and a telepathic explorer from a far distant planet
1969 The Andromeda Strain by Michael Crichton – describes in retrospect, in the style of a scientific inquiry, the crisis which unfolds after a fatal virus is brought back to earth by a space probe and starts spreading uncontrollably
1969 Ubik by Philip K. Dick – in 1992 the world is threatened by mutants with psionic powers who are combated by ‘inertials’. The novel focuses on the weird alternative world experienced by a group of inertials after they are involved in an explosion on the moon
1969 The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula Le Guin – an envoy from the Ekumen or federation of advanced planets – Genly Ai – is sent to the planet Gethen to persuade its inhabitants to join the federation, but the focus of the book is a mind-expanding exploration of the hermaphroditism of Gethen’s inhabitants, as Genly is forced to undertake a gruelling trek across the planet’s frozen north with the disgraced native lord, Estraven, during which they develop a cross-species respect and, eventually, a kind of love
1969 Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut – Vonnegut’s breakthrough novel in which he manages to combine his personal memories of being an American POW of the Germans and witnessing the bombing of Dresden in the character of Billy Pilgrim, with a science fiction farrago about Tralfamadorians who kidnap Billy and transport him through time and space – and introduces the catchphrase ‘so it goes’

1970s

1970 Tau Zero by Poul Anderson – spaceship Leonora Christine leaves earth with a crew of fifty to discover if humans can colonise any of the planets orbiting the star Beta Virginis, but when its deceleration engines are damaged, the crew realise they need to exit the galaxy altogether in order to find space with low enough radiation to fix the engines – and then a series of unfortunate events mean they find themselves forced to accelerate faster and faster, effectively travelling forwards through time as well as space until they witness the end of the entire universe – one of the most thrilling sci-fi books I’ve ever read
1970 The Atrocity Exhibition by J.G. Ballard – Ballard’s best book, a collection of fifteen short experimental texts in stripped-down prose bringing together key obsessions like car crashes, mental breakdown, World War III, media images of atrocities and clinical sex
1971 Vermilion Sands by J.G. Ballard – nine short stories including Ballard’s first, from 1956, most of which follow the same pattern, describing the arrival of a mysterious, beguiling woman in the fictional desert resort of Vermilion Sands, the setting for extravagantly surreal tales of the glossy, lurid and bizarre
1971 The Lathe of Heaven by Ursula Le Guin – thirty years in the future (in 2002) America is an overpopulated environmental catastrophe zone where meek and unassuming George Orr discovers that his dreams can alter reality, changing history at will. He comes under the control of visionary neuro-scientist, Dr Haber, who sets about using George’s powers to alter the world for the better, with unanticipated and disastrous consequences
1971 Mutant 59: The Plastic Eater by Kit Pedler and Gerry Davis – a genetically engineered bacterium starts eating the world’s plastic, leading to harum scarum escapades in disaster-stricken London
1972 The Word for World Is Forest by Ursula Le Guin – novella set on the planet Athshe describing its brutal colonisation by exploitative Terrans (who call it ‘New Tahiti’) and the resistance of the metre-tall, furry, native population of Athsheans, with their culture of dreamtime and singing
1972 The Fifth Head of Cerberus by Gene Wolfe – a mind-boggling trio of novellas set on a pair of planets 20 light years away, the stories revolve around the puzzle of whether the supposedly human colonists are, in fact, the descendants of the planets’ shape-shifting aboriginal inhabitants who murdered the first earth colonists and took their places so effectively that they have forgotten the fact and think themselves genuinely human
1973 Crash by J.G. Ballard – Ballard’s most ‘controversial’ novel, a searingly intense description of its characters’ obsession with the sexuality of car crashes, wounds and disfigurement
1973 Rendezvous With Rama by Arthur C. Clarke – in 2031 a 50-kilometre-long object of alien origin enters the solar system, so the crew of the spaceship Endeavour are sent to explore it in one of the most haunting and evocative novels of this type ever written
1973 Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut – Vonnegut’s longest and most experimental novel with the barest of plots and characters allowing him to sound off about sex, race, America, environmentalism, with the appearance of his alter ego Kilgore Trout and even Vonnegut himself as a character, all enlivened by Vonnegut’s own naive illustrations and the throwaway catchphrase ‘And so on…’
1973 The Best of John Wyndham 1932 to 1949 – Six rather silly short stories dating, as the title indicates, from 1932 to 1949, with far too much interplanetary travel
1974 Concrete Island by J.G. Ballard – the short and powerful novella in which an advertising executive crashes his car onto a stretch of wasteland in the juncture of three motorways, finds he can’t get off it, and slowly adapts to life alongside its current, psychologically damaged inhabitants
1974 Flow My Tears, The Policeman Said by Philip K. Dick – America after the Second World War is a police state but the story is about popular TV host Jason Taverner who is plunged into an alternative version of this world where he is no longer a rich entertainer but down on the streets among the ‘ordinaries’ and on the run from the police. Why? And how can he get back to his storyline?
1974 The Dispossessed by Ursula Le Guin – in the future and 11 light years from earth, the physicist Shevek travels from the barren, communal, anarchist world of Anarres to its consumer capitalist cousin, Urras, with a message of brotherhood and a revolutionary new discovery which will change everything
1974 Inverted World by Christopher Priest – vivid description of a city on a distant planet which must move forwards on railway tracks constructed by the secretive ‘guilds’ in order not to fall behind the mysterious ‘optimum’ and avoid the fate of being obliterated by the planet’s bizarre lateral distorting, a vivid and disturbing narrative right up until the shock revelation of the last few pages
1975 High Rise by J.G. Ballard – an astonishingly intense and brutal vision of how the middle-class occupants of London’s newest and largest luxury, high-rise development spiral down from petty tiffs and jealousies into increasing alcohol-fuelled mayhem, disintegrating into full-blown civil war before regressing to starvation and cannibalism
1976 The Alteration by Kingsley Amis – a counterfactual narrative in which the Reformation never happened and so there was no Enlightenment, no Romantic revolution, no Industrial Revolution spearheaded by Protestant England, no political revolutions, no Victorian era when democracy and liberalism triumphed over Christian repression, with the result that England in 1976 is a peaceful medieval country ruled by officials of the all-powerful Roman Catholic Church
1976 Slapstick by Kurt Vonnegut – a madly disorientating story about twin freaks, a future dystopia, shrinking Chinese and communication with the afterlife
1979 The Unlimited Dream Company by J.G. Ballard – a strange combination of banality and visionary weirdness as an unhinged young man crashes his stolen plane in suburban Shepperton, and starts performing magical acts like converting the inhabitants into birds, conjuring up exotic foliage, convinced he is on a mission to liberate them
1979 Jailbird by Kurt Vonnegut – the satirical story of Walter F. Starbuck and the RAMJAC Corps run by Mary Kathleen O’Looney, a baglady from Grand Central Station, among other satirical notions, including the news that Kilgore Trout, a character who recurs in most of his novels, is one of the pseudonyms of a fellow prisoner at the gaol where Starbuck ends up serving a two year sentence, one Dr Robert Fender

1980s

1980 Russian Hide and Seek by Kingsley Amis – set in an England of 2035 after a) the oil has run out and b) a left-wing government left NATO and England was promptly invaded by the Russians in the so-called ‘the Pacification’, who have settled down to become a ruling class and treat the native English like 19th century serfs
1980 The Venus Hunters by J.G. Ballard – seven very early and often quite cheesy sci-fi short stories, along with a visionary satire on Vietnam (1969), and then two mature stories from the 1970s which show Ballard’s approach sliding into mannerism
1981 The Golden Age of Science Fiction edited by Kingsley Amis – 17 classic sci-fi stories from what Amis considers the ‘Golden Era’ of the genre, basically the 1950s
1981 Hello America by J.G. Ballard – a hundred years from now an environmental catastrophe has turned America into a vast desert, except for west of the Rockies which has become a rainforest of Amazonian opulence, and it is here that a ragtag band of explorers from old Europe discover a psychopath has crowned himself ‘President Manson’, revived an old nuclear power station to light up Las Vegas and plays roulette in Caesar’s Palace to decide which American city to nuke next
1981 The Affirmation by Christopher Priest – an extraordinarily vivid description of a schizophrenic young man living in London who, to protect against the trauma of his actual life (father died, made redundant, girlfriend committed suicide) invents a fantasy world, the Dream Archipelago, and how it takes over his ‘real’ life
1982 Myths of the Near Future by J.G. Ballard – ten short stories showing Ballard’s range of subject matter from Second World War China to the rusting gantries of Cape Kennedy
1982 2010: Odyssey Two by Arthur C. Clarke – Heywood Floyd joins a Russian spaceship on a two-year journey to Jupiter to a) reclaim the abandoned Discovery and b) investigate the monolith on Japetus
1984 Empire of the Sun by J.G. Ballard – his breakthrough book, ostensibly an autobiography focusing on this 1930s boyhood in Shanghai and then incarceration in a Japanese internment camp, observing the psychological breakdown of the adults around him: made into an Oscar-winning movie by Steven Spielberg: only later did it emerge that the book was intended as a novel and is factually misleading
1984 Neuromancer by William Gibson – Gibson’s stunning debut novel which establishes the ‘Sprawl’ universe, in which burnt-out cyberspace cowboy, Case, is lured by ex-hooker Molly into a mission led by ex-army colonel Armitage to penetrate the secretive corporation, Tessier-Ashpool, at the bidding of the vast and powerful artificial intelligence, Wintermute
1986 Burning Chrome by William Gibson – ten short stories, three or four set in Gibson’s ‘Sprawl’ universe, the others ranging across sci-fi possibilities, from a kind of horror story to one about a failing Russian space station
1986 Count Zero by William Gibson – second in the ‘Sprawl trilogy’: Turner is a tough expert at kidnapping scientists from one mega-tech corporation for another, until his abduction of Christopher Mitchell from Maas Biolabs goes badly wrong and he finds himself on the run, his storyline dovetailing with those of sexy young Marly Krushkhova, ‘disgraced former owner of a tiny Paris gallery’ who is commissioned by the richest man in the world to track down the source of a mysterious modern artwork, and Bobby Newmark, self-styled ‘Count Zero’ and computer hacker
1987 The Day of Creation by J.G. Ballard – strange and, in my view, profoundly unsuccessful novel in which WHO doctor John Mallory embarks on an obsessive quest to find the source of an African river accompanied by a teenage African girl and a half-blind documentary maker who films the chaotic sequence of events
1987 2061: Odyssey Three by Arthur C. Clarke – Spaceship Galaxy is hijacked and forced to land on Europa, moon of the former Jupiter, in a ‘thriller’ notable for Clarke’s descriptions of the bizarre landscapes of Halley’s Comet and Europa
1988 Memories of the Space Age Eight short stories spanning the 20 most productive years of Ballard’s career, presented in chronological order and linked by the Ballardian themes of space travel, astronauts and psychosis
1988 Running Wild by J.G. Ballard – the pampered children of a gated community of affluent professionals, near Reading, run wild and murder their parents and security guards
1988 Mona Lisa Overdrive by William Gibson – third of Gibson’s ‘Sprawl’ trilogy in which street-kid Mona is sold by her pimp to crooks who give her plastic surgery to make her look like global simstim star Angie Marshall, who they plan to kidnap; but Angie is herself on a quest to find her missing boyfriend, Bobby Newmark, one-time Count Zero; while the daughter of a Japanese gangster, who’s been sent to London for safekeeping, is abducted by Molly Millions, a lead character in Neuromancer

1990s

1990 War Fever by J.G. Ballard – 14 late short stories, some traditional science fiction, some interesting formal experiments like Answers To a Questionnaire from which you have to deduce the questions and the context
1990 The Difference Engine by William Gibson and Bruce Sterling – in an alternative version of history, Victorian inventor Charles Babbage’s design for an early computer, instead of remaining a paper theory, was actually built, drastically changing British society, so that by 1855 it is led by a party of industrialists and scientists who use databases and secret police to keep the population suppressed
1991 The Kindness of Women by J.G. Ballard – a sequel of sorts to Empire of the Sun which reprises the Shanghai and Japanese internment camp scenes from that book, but goes on to describe the author’s post-war experiences as a medical student at Cambridge, as a pilot in Canada, his marriage, children, writing and involvement in the avant-garde art scene of the 1960s and 70s: though based on  his own experiences the book is overtly a novel focusing on a small number of recurring characters who symbolise different aspects of the post-war world
1993 Virtual Light by William Gibson – first of Gibson’s Bridge Trilogy, in which cop-with-a-heart-of-gold Berry Rydell foils an attempt by crooked property developers to rebuild post-earthquake San Francisco
1994 Rushing to Paradise by J.G. Ballard – a sort of rewrite of Lord of the Flies in which a number of unbalanced environmental activists set up a utopian community on a Pacific island, ostensibly to save the local rare breed of albatross from French nuclear tests, but end up going mad and murdering each other
1996 Cocaine Nights by J. G. Ballard – sensible, middle-class Charles Prentice flies out to a luxury resort for British ex-pats on the Spanish Riviera to find out why his brother, Frank, is in a Spanish prison charged with murder, and discovers the resort has become a hotbed of ‘transgressive’ behaviour – i.e. sex, drugs and organised violence – which has come to bind the community together
1996 Idoru by William Gibson – second novel in the ‘Bridge’ trilogy: Colin Laney has a gift for spotting nodal points in the oceans of data in cyberspace, and so is hired by the scary head of security for a pop music duo, Lo/Rez, to find out why his boss, the half-Irish singer Rez, has announced he is going to marry a virtual reality woman, an idoru; meanwhile schoolgirl Chia MacKenzie flies out to Tokyo and unwittingly gets caught up in smuggling new nanotechnology device which is the core of the plot
1999 All Tomorrow’s Parties by William Gibson – third of the Bridge Trilogy in which main characters from the two previous books are reunited on the ruined Golden Gate bridge, including tough ex-cop Rydell, sexy bike courier Chevette, digital babe Rei Toei, Fontaine the old black dude who keeps an antiques shop, as a smooth, rich corporate baddie seeks to unleash a terminal shift in the world’s dataflows and Rydell is hunted by a Taoist assassin

2000s

2000 Super-Cannes by J.G. Ballard – Paul Sinclair packs in his London job to accompany his wife, who’s landed a plum job as a paediatrician at Eden-Olympia, an elite business park just outside Cannes in the South of France; both are unnerved to discover that her predecessor, David Greenwood, one day went to work with an assault rifle, shot dead several senior executives before shooting himself; when Paul sets out to investigate, he discovers the business park is a hotbed of ‘transgressive’ behaviour i.e. designer drugs, BDSM sex, and organised vigilante violence against immigrants down in Cannes, and finds himself and his wife being sucked into its disturbing mind-set
2003 Pattern Recognition by William Gibson – first of the ‘Blue Ant’ trilogy, set very much in the present, around the London-based advertising agency Blue Ant, founded by advertising guru Hubertus Bigend who hires Cayce Pollard, supernaturally gifted logo approver and fashion trend detector, to hunt down the maker of mysterious ‘footage’ which has started appearing on the internet, a quest that takes them from New York and London, to Tokyo, Moscow and Paris
2007 Spook Country by William Gibson – second in the ‘Blue Ant’ trilogy
2008 Miracles of Life by J.G. Ballard – right at the end of his life, Ballard wrote a straightforward autobiography in which he makes startling revelations about his time in the Japanese internment camp (he really enjoyed it!), insightful comments about science fiction, but the real theme is his moving expressions of love for his three children