What? What?

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It’s one thing for Mr. Faulks to play fast and loose with Ian Fleming’s James Bond, but quite another to presume to touch The Master.  I’m not quite sure what the Wodehouse Estate were thinking of here…We already have around 100 books penned by a genius, I know, let’s get a modern novelist to write a new one, which is, of course, impossible, but what the heck…The mind does indeed boggle.

Anyone who is familiar with the Master’s work will understand why this is not only impossible, but also a very bad idea.  There is no need for a new Wodehouse novel.  Bertie and Jeeves are doing just fine as they are thank you. Wodehouse’s world was, and is unique and cannot be recreated by anyone, regardless of their skill as a writer.  It inhabits its own universe, its own time, perfect and pristine, unchanging through time and space.   One cannot add to the Sistine Chapel or re-imagine Michelangelo’s David, so why do they think they can write like Wodehouse?  You. Can’t. Do. It.

So stop this nonsense at once.   Please write your own books, but leave Plum’s alone.

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