I'm Back

What? What? You read the title of the blog. Just because the reviews are of things that aren't old doesn't mean they won't be late too.

Okay. I know I've maybe mentioned that I listen to a lot of books on CD and I usually go for ones that are around six discs because then I can get two reviews out in a week.

Well, here's what happened. I listened to Caramelo, which was thirten discs and that kind of wore me down. The review was tough to write and I'm still a bit unthrilled by it. Then I listened to music for a day and comedy for a day. And then I listened to P.G. Wodehouse's masterful Jeeves and the Mating Season.

I simply can not and will not review Wodehouse. It is impossible. I can't do it. Sure, I can find flaws; yes, I see how each book is very very similar to every other book. And yet, I could read all of them in a row and never tire.

So don't expect a Wodehouse review in these here parts.

I will tell you how thrilled I am though that the local library is getting the audio versions put out by the lovely folks at Chivers Audio Books and are not buying any more of the ones from Blackstone Audio. Chivers Wodehouse selections are read by the incomparable Jonathan Cecil while Blackstone Audio boasts Frederick Davidson who should be boiled in oil.

The difference betwixt these two readers could not be overstated. Davidson is used, I believe, by the FBI to break the will of suspects. His simper for female characters has to be heard to be believed and once heard will forever scar your soul. His American accent sounds as bad as my British and that's really unforgivable in a professional. It's Kevin Costner as Robin Hood bad. It's Marlon Brando trying to be southern in Sayonara bad.

Cecil is like listening to the sound of the hummingbirds and bees who make laughter and joy as they toil gleefully in celestial bliss. His very hair grins. You can tell when you hear him.

And so that's why you had to wait so long for a good review. But don't worry. I've got things in the hopper. Tomorrow I start listening to Ian Fleming, so that ought to be good. I also have a bitty tiny review of the New Yorker summer fiction issue. I know some of you have a bone to pick with the fiction department there so you can just wait and see.