Friends and Books

Last Thursday, one of my friends recommended a book to me.  He claimed it was a "laugh out loud comedy book that he could read again and again."

The book?  Leave it to Psmith by P.G. Wodehouse.

My friend also made a point to say that Wodehouse has a way with the English language which he personally feels can only be equaled in the writing of Rudyard Kipling.  I would guess he knows; he has read 92 of Wodehouse's 96 novels.

I've had friends recommend books before:

One person recommended his favorite book.  I read it, was disappointed with it and thought less of the man from then on.  It was a lot of pressure for one little book that the man had liked several years previous.

Recently, I have fared better.  One friend recommended a book.  I read it, didn't like it at all, and never thought less of the person.  In fact, when he has recommended other books, I gave them a try and found I really liked them.  Other people have recommended books that I have felt free to like or dislike with no bad feeling on either side.  (I hope)

When this friend, then, recommended Leave it to Psmith (the p is silent) I was determined to read it with an open mind and not connect him to it.

The result?

I read the book over the weekend and thoroughly enjoyed it.  In fact, I was sorry to have it come to an end, not because the plot was lacking tying up its ends but because it was a book that entertained from start to finish.

But try as I might, I could not get my friend out of my head.  I felt like I was coming to a better understanding on how he saw the world and what he truly enjoyed.  I found myself rejoicing to know such a friend as him.