The Pile of Books

To write an r. about a Wodehouse, is pretty tough. It tests the beans. Every Wodehouse isn't the same, but a common thread runs through them all; not they-make-you-split-your-sides-with-laughter, that's so obvious; its that it makes me want to close my eyes and live forever in that idyll.  Of course, it has its thorns. The insufferable aunts and stingy uncles, and untamed brats of nephews/nieces, equally untamed dogs and cats and a stray quaint anti-social elements. But the cynosure for the senses lies in the vast manors and gardens with their rhododendron walks and yew alleys, the lakes, the excellent cooking and of course, the impeccable judgement of one Jeeves. Ah, what would I not give to trade places with Bertie Wooster... Floating back to the ground, Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves  was such a pleasure. The story is set in Totleigh Towers, amidst the weird bunch that inhabits it, where, as the title suggests. Bertie and Jeeves land for a few days. The former h

Last week, I went three days without reading a page. Things were pretty tight at work, so on one of the mornings, while I was waiting for the bus, I suddenly realised that I felt a bit brain-dead. Of course, I wasn't fainting or perspiring beyond normal in the early-summer morning; there was just this part of my brain which felt like an automobile without gas.  These moments come quite often, when reading becomes a luxury. While it doesn't really bore into you, but conversations with people who follow the habit of a-few-pages-before-sleeping have revealed that  not reading is as good as a skipped medication. The impact is gradual, that is, as the next day starts/the existing one progresses, the lack of variety in our lives kicks in. I'm not sure, but adventurers may not be facing this issue (heck, they are the ones whose stories we read, after all), but for the mundane folk like us, a slice of a world that is not our own, is an addiction.   So how do we sor