Wodehouse's People: The Good, the Bad & the Goofy

It will help a humorous novel if your characters were funny. That is an understatement, gross, even.

"The principle I always go on in writing a novel is to think of the characters in terms of actors in a play. " - Wodehouse

Wodehouse's characters are sillier, freakier, funnier than life, and their priorities are all skewed up. They gamble like hell, staking their precious possessions at times, said possessions frequently being their butler or cook. They are not above committing minor crimes, and bribing or blackmailing the representatives of the law when caught. These are usually the good guys.

In the world of Blandings, imposters are good guys and the law-abiding victims are the baddies. In 'Leave it to Psmith,' Psmith is the hero who steals Lady Constance's pearl necklace, while Baxter, the loyal and efficient secretary, is the villain. Baxter has a suspicious nature, which is at cross-purposes to whatever the 'good' guys, who, apart from being imposters, plan to do. Pinching paintings, pearl necklaces, pigs or whatever happens to be the treasure of that particular Blandings story.

Rupert Baxter, the Earl of Emsworth's indefatigable private secretary, was one of those men whose chief characteristic is a vague suspicion of their fellow human beings. He did not suspect them of this or that definite crime; he simply suspected them. He prowled through life as we are told the hosts of Midian prowled.

 - Something Fresh

In serious literature, the treasure would be gold, a peace treaty, an emerald, the Holy Grail or the Philosopher's Stone. As any good writer, or reader, knows, it could be anything as long as the main characters attach value to it. In Wodehouse, the treasure could range from normal treasure like necklaces or bonds to eccentricities like pigs, scarabs or cow-creamers. Or objets de blackmail like diaries, letters or photographs.

"Well, see here . . . I collect scarabs. I'm crazy about scarabs. Ever since I quit business, you might say that I have practically lived for scarabs."

"Though it sounds like an unkind thing to say of anyone," said Ashe.

- Something Fresh

My point is that, in a tightly-plotted Wodehouse story, one wouldn't know which came first: the character or the plot. The character dictates the plot, and the plot dictates the choice of characters.  If it's a plot using his favourite 'imposters vs guardians' motif, Wodehouse would pick an efficient imposter from his range of heroes or their minions: Galahad, Ickenham, Psmith ...

For a good guardian, he would turn to his rogues gallery: Baxter, Aunt Constance, Spode,  or any other unpleasant 'authority figure.' Priorities, as I mentioned earlier, being all skewed up.  This 'unpleasantness' is the key to understanding  the morality of a Wodehouse novel. His villains are unpleasantly authoritarian, snobbish, and most are hypocrites. Wodehouse was at heart a public school boy, and he judged virtue and vice on public schoolboy scales. Bertie Wooster's code is just a version of the unwritten code of the schoolboy.

The avuncular masters at school were the good guys while the stiff and starched ones were the baddies. Boys who stick on side are absolutely barred. Though sneaking out after lights out was fine. It was okay for boys to flout the official rules, but only an absolute rotter would snitch. You could pinch food, but not money. Wodehouse's morality for his characters is all about good form and bad form.

Even after having grown to man's estate,  Wooster and other heroes keep the schoolboy code. They pinch policemen's helmets but never cold cash. They may enter a castle under false pretences and pinch a pig or two but will never do the dirty on a pal.

Q. But why did Wodehouse always have a tricky, witty and bold hero to foil the establishment?
A. The literary secret is that, to defeat a villain in power you require a trickster type of hero.  Wit and audacity are perfect foils to authority and order.  The villain goes by the rule book; the trickster goes by the joke book. Krishna from Indian Mythology and Odysseus from  Greek are famous examples;  Robin Hood who takes on Prince John and the Sheriff of Nottingham is from English legend.  Zorro and the Scarlet Pimpernel are trickster heroes in literature.

Wodehouse has three brilliant tricksters up his sleeve: Psmith, Galahad and Ickenham.  They have much in common: they are unorthodox in their methods; they are not above doing something illegal; they are socialists mingling freely with all, and they talk, talk, talk. Now you know why it is impossible to have more than one of these in the same story. One is quite sufficient!

'Who are you?' snapped Mr Rossiter, turning on him.

'I shall be delighted, Comrade—'

'Rossiter,' said Mike, aside.

'Comrade Rossiter. I shall be delighted to furnish you with particulars of my family history. As follows. Soon after the Norman Conquest, a certain Sieur de Psmith grew tired of work—a family failing, alas!—and settled down in this country to live peacefully for the remainder of his life on what he could extract from the local peasantry. He may be described as the founder of the family which ultimately culminated in Me. Passing on—'

Mr Rossiter refused to pass on.

'What are you doing here? What have you come for?'

'Work,' said Psmith, with simple dignity. 'I am now a member of the staff of this bank. Its interests are my interests. Psmith, the individual, ceases to exist, and there springs into being Psmith, the cog in the wheel of the New Asiatic Bank; Psmith, the link in the bank's chain; Psmith, the Worker. I shall not spare myself,' he proceeded earnestly. 'I shall toil with all the accumulated energy of one who, up till now, has only known what work is like from hearsay. Whose is that form sitting on the steps of the bank in the morning, waiting eagerly for the place to open? It is the form of Psmith, the Worker. Whose is that haggard, drawn face which bends over a ledger long after the other toilers have sped blithely westwards to dine at Lyons' Popular Cafe? It is the face of Psmith, the Worker.'

'I—' began Mr Rossiter.

'I tell you,' continued Psmith, waving aside the interruption and tapping the head of the department rhythmically in the region of the second waistcoat-button with a long finger, 'I tell you, Comrade Rossiter, that you have got hold of a good man. You and I together, not forgetting Comrade Jackson, the pet of the Smart Set, will toil early and late till we boost up this Postage Department into a shining model of what a Postage Department should be. What that is, at present, I do not exactly know. However. Excursion trains will be run from distant shires to see this Postage Department. American visitors to London will do it before going on to the Tower. And now,' he broke off, with a crisp, businesslike intonation, 'I must ask you to excuse me. Much as I have enjoyed this little chat, I fear it must now cease. The time has come to work. Our trade rivals are getting ahead of us. The whisper goes round, "Rossiter and Psmith are talking, not working," and other firms prepare to pinch our business. Let me Work.'

Two minutes later, Mr Rossiter was sitting at his desk with a dazed expression, while Psmith, perched gracefully on a stool, entered figures in a ledger.

 - Psmith in the City