There is no one in English literature quite like Bertie Wooster, and no pleasure quite like the one awaiting you in Right Ho, Jeeves. Bertie, as he himself will tell you with disarming candor, is a gentleman of ample means and absolutely no sense. When he decides to take on Gussie Fink-Nottle's romantic woes personally, leaving Jeeves to tend to his (admittedly pressing) white jacket crisis, the stage is set for spectacular catastrophe. At Aunt Dahlia's country estate, Brinkley Court, Bertie must oversee the prize-giving at Market Snodsbury Grammar School, mediate a broken engagement, stop genius chef Anatole from resigning in a huff, and somehow orchestrate Gussie's union with Madeline Bassett. What could possibly go wrong? Everything, naturally, and yet somehow, through the silent workings of Jeeves behind the scenes, order emerges from chaos. Wodehouse's prose is a marvel of controlled absurdity, every sentence engineered for maximum comic payoff. This is escapism at its finest: sunlit, witty, and wickedly sharp.
