Cliff Dwellers by George Bellows
"The unchallenged master of English prose, P. G. Wodehouse often shows a fair working knowledge of Marxist theory." So proclaims Christopher Hitchens in his essay, Marx's Journalism, The Grub Street Years, where specific references are made to Wodehouse's Psmith, Journalist.
This essay by the unchallenged modern master of the English snarl prompted me to seek out Psmith, Journalist, the novel containing the beloved British author's strongest social commentary.
Psmith, Journalist - Eton College gentility meets American mauling - mauling of civility, mauling of one's rivals, mauling of the King's English. The novel's humor sparkles on each and every page. The prime reason for the book's humor is all in the contrast: assuming the role of a New York City magazine editor, Psmith, Eton and Cambridge man, an unflappable gent with more than a touch of Reginald-like wit and eccentricity (reading the novel I was frequently reminded of Saki's delightful aristocratic aesthete), maintains his manner and speech when dealing with such as gangsters and boxers as if conversing with his Cambridge chums over tea and crumpets.
As by way of example, here's Psmith outlining his vision to Billy Windsor, acting editor of Cozy Moments, a small magazine devoted to providing family entertainment:
"Assuredly," said Psmith. "And now to decide upon our main scheme. You, of course, are the editor, and my suggestions are merely suggestions, subject to your approval. But, briefly, my idea is that Cosy Moments should become red-hot stuff. I could wish its tone to be such that the public will wonder why we do not print it on asbestos. We must chronicle all the live events of the day, murders, fires, and the like in a manner which will make our readers' spines thrill. Above all, we must be the guardians of the People's rights. We must be a search-light, showing up the dark spot in the souls of those who would endeavour in any way to do the PEOPLE in the eye. We must detect the wrong-doer, and deliver him such a series of resentful buffs that he will abandon his little games and become a model citizen. The details of the campaign we must think out after, but I fancy that, if we follow those main lines, we shall produce a bright, readable little sheet which will in a measure make this city sit up and take notice. Are you with me, Comrade Windsor?"
Notice Psmith addresses Billy Windsor as Comrade. In high-minded socialist, Marxist spirit during his New York sojourn, Psmith calls all his interlocutors Comrade.
Shortly after Psmith convinces Billy Windsor to join him in striking out on a new vision for Cozy Moments (the current editor-in-chief, Mr. Wilberfloss, is off in the mountains for ten weeks), Psmith encounters abominable Lower East Side tenement buildings on Pleasant Street (ah, the irony of the name, P. G. Wodehouse!):
"It was indeed a repellent neighbourhood in which they had arrived. The New York slum stands in a class of its own. It is unique. The height of the houses and the narrowness of the streets seem to condense its unpleasantness. All the smells and noises, which are many and varied, are penned up in a sort of canyon, and gain in vehemence from the fact. The masses of dirty clothes hanging from the fire-escapes increase the depression. Nowhere in the city does one realise so fully the disadvantages of a lack of space. New York, being an island, has had no room to spread. It is a town of human sardines. In the poorer quarters the congestion is unbelievable."
Now our British gent has his star cause - bring this wretched squalor to the public's attention so as to force the tenement owner to provide sanitary, livable housing for these poor men, women and children.
And that's exactly what Psmith and Billy Windsor do. The next issues of Cozy Moments cause a stir - the circulation skyrockets. Predictably, the unnamed, unknown landlord hires thugs and gangsters to force Cozy Moments to discontinue its relentless slam. How do Psmith and Billy respond? A battle cry for the integrity of journalism: "Cozy Moments cannot not be muzzled!"
Thus we have the tale's lively framework which leads to a number of hilarious scenes - not the least of which is Psmith and Billy at a boxing match where our Eton man offers many piquant observations, such as:
"It seems to me, Comrade Windsor," he said, "that this merry meeting looks like doing Comrade Brady no good. I should not be surprised at any moment to see his head bounce off on to the floor."
In a similar vein, by way of his third-person narrator, P. G. Wodehouse's excitement watching the boxing match reaches a high pitch:
"The Cyclone now became still more cyclonic. He had a left arm which seemed to open out in joints like a telescope. Several times when the Kid appeared well out of distance there was a thud as a brown glove ripped in over his guard and jerked his head back. But always he kept boring in, delivering an occasional right to the body with the pleased smile of an infant destroying a Noah's Ark with a tack-hammer. Despite these efforts, however, he was plainly getting all the worst of it. Energetic Mr. Wolmann, relying on his long left, was putting in three blows to his one. When the gong sounded, ending the first round, the house was practically solid for the Cyclone. Whoops and yells rose from everywhere. The building rang with shouts of, "Oh, you Al.!""
Readers of the novel will enjoy many similar descriptions. What a rousing tale. If anybody has the misguided notion P. G. Wodehouse restricted himself to stories about characters like Jeeves and Wooster, Psmith, Journalist will be an eye-opener.
Closing note: American artist George Bellows' two paintings included here are from the same time period as Psmith, Journalist. As a matter of fact, these two painting could very well have been illustrations for P. G.'s novel.
The Knockout by George Bellows
British author P. G. Wodehouse, 1881-1975
“I am Psmith," said the old Etonian reverently. "There is a preliminary P before the name. This, however, is silent. Like the tomb. Compare such words as ptarmigan, psalm, and phthisis.”
― P.G. Wodehouse, Psmith, Journalist
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