The last, and not the best, yet I enjoyed it very much. ( )

This is the last of 17 Wodehouse novels that I read this fall. He's a good comic writer, but there seems to be an awful lot of redundancy from one book to the next. The same general plot appears over and over. The illustrations by Cox in the Folio Society editions magnify this repetition in that all of the young women look the same, as do most of Wooster's old school chums.

This book, like the others, was a pleasant read, and I very possibly might buy more Wodehouse novels in the future, but I'm not expecting any surprises! ( )

There is nothing like Wodehouse, there really ain't.

Let it be said that Aunts Aren't Gentlemen is not a shining gem in the Jeeves canon. It was written in the author's nineties, and was the final novel he completed, after an output of well over 100 books. The plotting is a lot simpler, some of the recurring jokes wear a bit thin, and there's a sense that reader and writer alike were skating along on mutual bonhomie.

Having said that, even an average Wodehouse is hysterical, and this still hits the spot page after page. It's a little comedy of errors that satisfies mostly with the endless wit of Bertie and Aunt Dahlia, and a general sense of antediluvian silliness. It's a fun read but something is missing. Newcomers to Jeeves and Wooster might find this rather bland. Start in the early years, and let this be a kind of delicate after-dinner mint once you've enjoyed the banquet. ( )

Absolutely hilarious! Laugh out loud funny! Jonathan Cecil is a delightful narrator, he really makes it all come together. Such a great escape! ( )

When Bertie Wooster discovers pink spots on his chest, he consults a physician who recommends a sojourn in the country, where he can breathe fresh air and indulge in exercise. Fortunately one of Bertie’s many aunts is staying in just such a place, so Bertie takes housing nearby, only to find himself embroiled in a plot to steal a neighbourhood cat so that his aunt can win a horse-racing bet; it is, of course, up to Jeeves to set things right once again…. One either knows the Jeeves oeuvre or one does not; this was published in 1974, the last novel before Wodehouse’s death (in the UK, it was published as Aunts Aren’t Gentlemen, the final thought in the book), something that I found rather jarring because there are occasional references to the climate of that time whereas Jeeves and Wooster are, really, forever ensconced in the 1920s. As a result, the casual attitudes of racism and sexism, acceptable in the 1920s but certainly not in the 1970s, can be a bit shocking; on the other hand, while a slight novel this book *does* contain a good amount of humour and bumbling, the very reasons one loves the series in the first place! ( )