Something Fresh / A Damsel in Distress

I've been, for no good reason, neglecting the Blandings series so far - certainly as compared to the Jeeves books. This is odd, because I have a tremendous affection for Blandings Castle and its denizens (though I do feel the series ran out of fuel rather badly after Uncle Fred in the Springtime (1939). At any rate, as a first step towards rectifying matters, here is the first in the series, Something Fresh (1915).

Strangely enough, this title was not published by Penguin until 1979. The Ionicus illustration therefore dates from that year. The book was made and printed in Great Britain by Richard Clay (the Chaucer Press), and the type is Monotype Times. The orange spine has a tendency to fade, and I know from a previous copy of mine that the gum in the spine will crack, shedding pages, given half a chance. I'm therefore taking care with this present copy. The type is very no-nonsense, and looks like this:

Something Fresh (in the U.S., Something New) really is something fresh. The first Blandings novel, it is also, in my opinion, one of the best. Later Wodehouse was, as we know, 95% formula (and none the worse for it) but in these early days PGW was still striking out, exploring stories, themes and ideas for the first time. The hero, Ashe Marson, is a jobbing writer of detective stories (I sometimes feel I wouldn't mind reading a few of his Gridley Quayle shockers) who, for reasons which, as usual, are too complicated to explain here, travels to Blandings Castle in the guise of manservant to dyspeptic mogul J. Preston Peters (no Wodehouse plot is truly complete without a dyspeptic mogul). Some of the strongest and most original scenes come from Ashe's initiation into the complex social rituals of the servants at a large country house. I am convinced that Julian Fellowes must have drawn rather largely on Something Fresh for his picture of the world of the servants in both Gosforth Park and Downton Abbey. The tone is, of course, light, but we don't yet achieve the delirious farce of later titles, and Lord Emsworth has not yet acquired that pearl of sows, Empress of Blandings.

The Ionicus scene is well chosen, showing Lord Emsworth (right), Mr Peters (centre) and the Efficient Baxter (left, back), as well as the object which is the motor of the entire plot, a Cheops Scarab of the Fourth Dynasty, pinched and re-pinched by the characters for their own ends until happiness can be achieved. The scene takes place in the cluttered museum room at the Castle, giving Ionicus plenty of opportunity to draw the furniture and other decorations that he so enjoyed. The figures are well depicted too, every character clear and correct. However, as sometimes happened he appears to have given up at the thought of doing the floor.

I'm taking this opportunity to include A Damsel in Distress (1919) as well, a less successful cover but still worthy of coverage in this ongoing survey:

This book was first published by Penguin in 1961, being reprinted in 1987 with the Ionicus cover. The type, dating from the 1960s version, is in Monotype Garamond:

The more fancy styling of "Chapter 1" is a clear token of the older typesetting.

A Damsel in Distress feels similar to the Blandings series, though it is not one of them, as the characters have different names and the setting is Hampshire, not the more northerly Shropshire. I seem to remember Wodehouse later saying that he regretted settling on Blandings for the series, as it was so remote from London - though that is part of its charm. (By the way: yes, this book was indeed the source for the later Gershwin/Astaire film of the same name.)

I was struck, on rereading Damsel a couple of months ago, by an odd thing. It is quite apparent that this book about England, written by an Englishman (indeed, the quintessential Englishman) is nevertheless rather American in tone. I'm aware that Wodehouse deliberately developed his style as a way of portraying England for Americans, but I don't think I have ever been so aware of this fact as I was in rereading this book.

For example, at the beginning of Chapter Two Wodehouse is describing a side street in the West End of London, and this is what he writes as narrator: "Cats washed themselves on doorsteps, preparatory to looking in for lunch at one of the numerous garbage cans which dotted the sidewalk." Garbage cans rather than dustbins, sidewalk and not pavement? PGW could hardly have made the point clearer.

The hero, George Bevan, is an American composer over in England to see his latest show through its West End production. Naturally, he falls in love, and follows the lady to her country retreat at Belpher Castle, Hants. This is how, in Chapter 7, Wodehouse describes the village in which George finds himself, and while the American references make greater sense now that we are viewing things from George's point of view, they're also clearly for the benefit of the American reader: "It is to be questioned whether in the whole length and breadth of the world there is a more admirable spot for a man in love to pass a day or two than the typical English village. The Rocky Mountains, that traditional stamping-ground for the heart-broken, may be well enough in their way; but a lover has to be cast in a pretty stern mould to be able to be introspective when at any moment he may meet an annoyed cinnamon bear. In the English village there are no such obstacles to meditation. It combines the comforts of civilization with the restfulness of solitude in a manner equalled by no other spot except the New York Public Library."

Ionicus sometimes had a weakness for depicting scenes from very near the end of a book, and indeed containing what we would now consider serious "spoilers". This is one of those illustrations. It is, without going into detail, the moment when the scales finally fall from the eyes of the heroine, paving the way for happy endings all round. The ill-favoured bounder on the right is a young solicitor passing over a summons for Breach of Promise, and doesn't really deserve the honour of being on the cover. Well, never mind.