The Clicking of Cuthbert

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Createspace Independent Pub, 18.04.2014 - 98 Seiten
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This book marks an epoch in my literary career. It is written in blood. It is the outpouring of a soul as deeply seared by Fate's unkindness as the pretty on the dog-leg hole of the second nine was ever seared by my iron. It is the work of a very nearly desperate man, an eighteen-handicap man who has got to look extremely slippy if he doesn't want to find himself in the twenties again. As a writer of light fiction, I have always till now been handicapped by the fact that my disposition was cheerful, my heart intact, and my life unsoured. Handicapped, I say, because the public likes to feel that a writer of farcical stories is piquantly miserable in his private life, and that, if he turns out anything amusing, he does it simply in order to obtain relief from the almost insupportable weight of an existence which he has long since realized to be a wash-out. Well, today I am just like that. Two years ago, I admit, I was a shallow farceur. My work lacked depth. I wrote flippantly simply because I was having a thoroughly good time. Then I took up golf, and now I can smile through the tears and laugh, like Figaro, that I may not weep, and generally hold my head up and feel that I am entitled to respect. If you find anything in this volume that amuses you, kindly bear in mind that it was probably written on my return home after losing three balls in the gorse or breaking the head off a favourite driver: and, with a murmured "Brave fellow! Brave fellow!" recall the story of the clown jesting while his child lay dying at home. That is all. Thank you for your sympathy. It means more to me than I can say. Do you think that if I tried the square stance for a bit.... But, after all, this cannot interest you. Leave me to my misery. POSTSCRIPT.-In the second chapter I allude to Stout Cortez staring at the Pacific. Shortly after the appearance of this narrative in serial form in America, I received an anonymous letter containing the words, "You big stiff, it wasn't Cortez, it was Balboa." This, I believe, is historically accurate. On the other hand, if Cortez was good enough for Keats, he is good enough for me. Besides, even if it was Balboa, the Pacific was open for being stared at about that time, and I see no reason why Cortez should not have had a look at it as well.

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LibraryThing Review

Nutzerbericht  - PhilSyphe - LibraryThing

Think I would’ve enjoyed these short stories more if I understood at least some golfing terms and rules. As it is, I don’t know any! Still, the humour surrounding the golf course makes this a worthwhile read if, like me, you appreciate P. G. Wodehouse’s comic talents. Vollständige Rezension lesen

LibraryThing Review

Nutzerbericht  - stevierbrown - LibraryThing

I do love Wodehouse and there is at least a smile if not a laugh on every page; so three stars? Where I think I went wrong was in treating this as a novel. It really is not, it is a collection of ... Vollständige Rezension lesen

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Über den Autor (2014)

P. G. Wodehouse was born in Guildford, United Kingdom on October 15, 1881. After completing school, he spent two years as a banker at the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank in London and then took a job as a sports reporter and columnist for the Globe newspaper. His first novel, The Pothunters, was published in 1902. He wrote over 100 novels and short story collections during his lifetime including A Perfect Uncle, Love Among the Chickens, The Swoop, P. Smith in the City, Meet Mr. Milliner, Doctor Sally, Quick Service, The Old Reliable, Uneasy Money, A Damsel in Distress, Jill the Reckless, The Adventures of Sally, A Pelican at Blandings, The Girl in Blue, and Aunts Aren't Gentlemen. His most famous characters, Bertie Wooster and his manservant, Jeeves, appeared in books such as Much Obliged, Jeeves. He also wrote lyrics for musical comedies and worked as screenwriter in Hollywood in the 1930s. In 1939, he bought a villa in Le Touquet on the coast of France. He remained there when World War II started in 1939. The following year, the Germans appropriated the villa, confiscated property, and arrested him. He was detained in various German camps for almost one year before being released in 1941. He went to Berlin and spoke of his experience in five radio talks to be broadcast to America and England. The talks themselves were completely innocuous, but he was charged with treason in England. He was cleared, but settled permanently in the United States. He became a citizen in 1955. He was made a Knight Commander of the Order of the British Empire in 1975. He died from a heart attack after a long illness on February 14, 1975 at the age of 93.

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