It is, of course, superb. Bertie finds himself in the soup once more, up to the thorax, at one point, courtesy of one of those aunts, a run-in with a would-be Dictator, a magistrate, a leather-covered notebook and a cow-shaped creamer. Or some such. The details are not important – the delight comes mostly from the magnificent wordplay, uniquely English manners and the beautiful bumble-headedness of the hero. Jeeves, of course, eventually pulls said hero from the soup and everything ends up quite peachy for B. W., which is quite as it should be.
I am not ashamed to say that this made me laugh out loud on the bus, which doesn’t happen very often. The only problem is that it’s not possible to read this without imagining Fry and Laurie as Jeeves and Wooster, but even that is not too bad, as they couldn’t really be more perfect for the roles.
The Fry Chronicles – it’s quite clear where a lot of S. F.’s tone comes from when you read them close together.