This is a novel by the master of ironically trivial comedy. The reason it is so funny is not so much the plot, which is all about really posh people with too little to occupy them doing what posh people do, but the way the narrator – Bertie Wooster – perceives and describes the world with a brilliant mixture of accidental insight and self-delusion, which is so subtly presented that you are never quite sure if there is irony upon irony. And the interplay of words between the learned Jeeves, his manservant, and Wooster himself who only partially understands Jeeves, much of the time, is superb.

Really entertaining and funny. Oh, by the way, the plot concerns a cow creamer, which is a silver jug of some particular sort, engagements between two silly couples, and a character clearly lampooning Oswald Mosley, the British Fascist of the 1930s. I won’t attempt to explain how it all fits together.

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