A Pelican at Blandings

There are few literary destinations quite so agreeable as Blandings Castle, provided, of course, one is not Lord Emsworth, in which case the arrival of relatives, prospective visitors, romantic complications and assorted human disturbances can make life something of a trial. In A Pelican at Blandings, published in 1969, that amiable gentleman once again finds his peace threatened by the activities of people who, one suspects, would be considerably happier if they devoted themselves to gardening and pig-raising instead of meddling in the affairs of their fellow creatures.

This delightful addition to the Blandings saga brings together the familiar ingredients of Wodehouse’s comic genius: an aristocracy of magnificently limited practical abilities, romantic entanglements of bewildering complexity, an assortment of suspicious characters, an American millionaire, a questionable work of modern art and, hovering majestically over the entire proceedings, the incomparable Empress of Blandings.

Blandings Castle, that agreeable establishment in the county of Shropshire, is presided over by Clarence, the ninth Earl of Emsworth. Lord Emsworth is a gentleman whose interests are agreeably uncomplicated. His garden, his horticultural experiments and, above all, his beloved prize pig occupy practically the whole of his mental landscape. The wider world, with its social conventions, financial transactions and romantic complications, is something he would prefer to leave to those with stronger constitutions.

Unfortunately, the wider world has other ideas.

The first of these takes the form of his formidable sister, Lady Constance, whose arrival is about as welcome to Lord Emsworth as a tax inspector at a garden party. Possessing a commanding personality and an inexhaustible appetite for arranging other people’s lives, she has an unfortunate habit of converting peaceful households into establishments resembling military headquarters.

Matters are further complicated by the anticipated arrival of the Alaric, Duke of Dunstable, a gentleman whose aristocratic self-importance is exceeded only by his capacity for making himself thoroughly objectionable.

Finding the situation rapidly getting beyond his powers of comprehension, Lord Emsworth summons his younger brother, Galahad Threepwood, affectionately known as Gally. This is a decision of considerable wisdom. Gally, a former member of the celebrated Pelican Club, is a gentleman who has spent enough time observing human nature to recognise that most people can be persuaded to do almost anything, provided one knows which particular button to press.

Where Lord Emsworth sees a bewildering collection of difficulties, Gally sees opportunities for the application of ingenuity, persuasion and, when circumstances demand it, a little judicious blackmail.

The principal source of the ensuing commotion is a modern painting depicting a reclining nude lady. The Duke of Dunstable has acquired this masterpiece, believing that it represents a potentially profitable investment. His intention is to dispose of it to Wilbur Trout, a wealthy American businessman, at a suitably handsome figure.

There is, however, one small difficulty. Lord Emsworth, upon examining the picture, discovers that the lady bears a striking resemblance to his beloved Empress of Blandings. This artistic observation, which might not commend itself to the more sophisticated members of the Royal Academy, strikes Lord Emsworth as perfectly reasonable. Indeed, one can imagine the Empress herself receiving the comparison with considerable equanimity, although she might have preferred a more flattering pose.

The painting soon becomes the centre of a complicated affair involving questions of authenticity, substitution and financial advantage. The proceedings acquire an additional layer of mystery with the presence of Howard Chesney, whose activities are sufficiently suspicious to make an honest man wonder whether he has accidentally wandered into a police investigation.

Meanwhile, Lady Constance has introduced Vanessa Polk, ostensibly the daughter of the wealthy American Mr. Polk, with the intention of bringing about an alliance between her and the Duke of Dunstable. One suspects that Lady Constance regards matchmaking as a branch of public administration and that, given sufficient authority, she would arrange the marriages of the entire British aristocracy before breakfast.

Vanessa, however, is a young lady with a mind of her own and considerably more powers of observation than some of the other occupants of the castle. She begins to suspect that the gentlemen involved in the painting business are not necessarily the paragons of commercial integrity they would have the world believe.

There is also the romantic predicament of Johnny Halliday, a young barrister and godson of Galahad Threepwood. Johnny is devoted to Linda Gilpin, the Duke of Dunstable’s niece, but an unfortunate misunderstanding arising from his professional involvement in a legal case has placed their engagement in jeopardy.

Linda believes that the relationship has come to an end, while Johnny, who takes a rather different view of the matter, is anxious to restore the situation to its former agreeable condition. He appeals to Gally, whose experience in matters of the heart and other human weaknesses makes him an obvious person to consult.

The Duke, naturally, is not enthusiastic about the proposed union. Indeed, his attitude towards the young couple suggests that he regards romance as an unfortunate affliction which ought to be treated before it becomes contagious.

Gally, however, is not a man to be discouraged by the objections of elderly aristocrats. He has encountered worse obstacles in his time, and few things delight him more than the prospect of arranging a happy ending while simultaneously making life uncomfortable for those who deserve it.

As the various strands of the story become increasingly entangled, the painting affair develops into a thoroughly entertaining exercise in deception, impersonation and misplaced confidence. Pictures disappear, identities become uncertain, and characters find themselves in situations which would have caused a lesser novelist to reach for the smelling salts.

Lord Emsworth, meanwhile, continues to experience the miseries of having too many people under his roof. His devotion to the Empress leads him into an unfortunate predicament involving the pigsty, while his subsequent movements around the castle add considerably to the general confusion.

The Duke, already possessing a somewhat unfavourable opinion of his host’s intellectual equipment, becomes increasingly convinced that Lord Emsworth is not quite in possession of all his faculties. Gally, with the resourcefulness of a man who has never allowed an inconvenient fact to stand in the way of a good scheme, contrives to introduce a supposed medical expert into the proceedings.

The romantic complications reach a decisive stage with Johnny’s arrival at the castle. His encounter with Linda produces the beginnings of a reconciliation, although the Duke continues to stand between the young couple and their matrimonial happiness.

A particularly lively episode involving the castle staircase brings Johnny and the Duke into an encounter which neither is likely to remember with unqualified pleasure. Yet, as so often happens in the Wodehouse universe, what initially appears to be a catastrophe turns out to be a useful stepping-stone towards a satisfactory romantic conclusion.

By this stage, Gally is operating with the confidence of a general who has surveyed the battlefield and discovered that the enemy has very little ammunition. He gradually unravels the mysteries surrounding the painting, exposes the various deceptions and finds ingenious ways of turning the weaknesses of the assembled company to his advantage.

Wilbur Trout and Vanessa Polk eventually rediscover their affection for one another, while Johnny and Linda are brought back together. The Duke’s objections to the latter match are overcome by Gally through a judicious combination of persuasion, psychological insight and the sort of discreet pressure which, in less elevated circles, might be described as blackmail.

Lady Constance, whose presence has been a continuing source of distress to her brother, is eventually recalled to America. The Duke also departs, leaving the inhabitants of Blandings to resume their customary pursuits.

And so peace returns to the castle. Lord Emsworth can once again devote himself to his garden, his horticultural enthusiasms and the contemplation of his beloved Empress, whose superiority over most members of the human race remains, in his opinion, beyond dispute. One can almost hear him heaving a sigh of relief as the last of the troublesome visitors disappears over the horizon.

Gally, meanwhile, has once again demonstrated that there is no social complication, romantic misunderstanding or commercial skulduggery that cannot be satisfactorily resolved by a gentleman with sufficient intelligence, a well-stocked repertoire of stratagems and a healthy disregard for convention.

One of the enduring pleasures of reading Wodehouse is his extraordinary ability to extract comedy from the most commonplace situations. In A Pelican at Blandings, a country-house gathering becomes the setting for an elaborate comedy of errors involving a painting, a prize pig, romantic misunderstandings and a collection of eccentric personalities. The result is a delightful procession of absurdities, each more entertaining than the last.

Galahad Threepwood is undoubtedly one of the principal attractions of the novel. He possesses the confidence of a seasoned man of the world, the resourcefulness of a professional diplomat and the cheerful amorality of someone who regards a little manipulation as perfectly acceptable when undertaken in the interests of happiness. He understands vanity, greed, pride and romantic sentiment, and knows precisely how to employ each to bring about the desired result.

Lord Emsworth, on the other hand, remains one of Wodehouse’s most lovable creations. His innocence, absent-mindedness and touching devotion to his pig make him an irresistible comic figure. He is a gentleman whose greatest ambition is to be left alone, an aspiration which the universe, and particularly his sister Lady Constance, seems determined to frustrate.

Blandings Castle itself is almost a character in its own right. It represents an idyllic corner of English country-house life, where the proper subjects of conversation ought to be the weather, the garden, the livestock and the occasional social engagement. Unfortunately, the people who visit the establishment appear to have been educated in entirely different schools of thought.

Wodehouse’s treatment of the British aristocracy is affectionate but delightfully irreverent. His dukes, earls and other members of the privileged classes possess enormous social standing but frequently demonstrate an alarming inability to manage their personal affairs. The Duke of Dunstable is a splendid specimen of aristocratic arrogance, while Lady Constance represents the authoritarian spirit of the upper classes in its most formidable manifestation.

The prose, as always, is a pleasure in itself. Wodehouse possesses that rare gift of making the English language perform acrobatics without appearing to break into a sweat. His metaphors are unexpected, his comparisons delightfully outrageous, and his dialogue sparkles with understated sarcasm and perfectly timed observations. A seemingly ordinary conversation can suddenly take an unexpected turn and leave the reader chuckling at a sentence that, in less capable hands, might have passed unnoticed.

Ultimately, A Pelican at Blandings is a thoroughly delightful excursion into the Wodehouse universe. Its appeal lies not merely in the ingenious plotting or the procession of eccentric characters, but in the author’s extraordinary capacity to make human folly appear positively charming.

There are no profound philosophical problems to solve here, no grim reflections on the human condition and certainly no shortage of people behaving in a thoroughly unreasonable manner. There is, instead, a magnificent country house, a pig of considerable distinction, a painting of questionable artistic merit, a duke with an inflated opinion of himself and a resourceful Pelican who can put the entire business right.

What more, one might reasonably ask, could a reader possibly desire?

Indeed, if one must encounter the follies of humanity, it is surely preferable to do so in the company of P. G. Wodehouse, where even the most complicated disasters are eventually resolved, the lovers are reunited, the villains are confounded and the prize pig remains the undisputed object of admiration.

A most agreeable state of affairs, and one which leaves the reader with the comfortable feeling that, whatever calamities may be occurring elsewhere in the world, all is once again reasonably well at Blandings Castle.