Mating Season: A Cabin Fever Novella

By Alice Gaines

Being stuck together in a redwood forest can really bring your inner animal out . . .

The last thing Gayle Richards wanted was to spend days alone in a cabin with Nolan Hersch, fellow professor and macho loudmouth. How could she observe the animals' mating habits alongside a man who made her blood boil . . . and not just in anger? The only thing more frustrating than Nolan's opinions on male sexual superiority was how much he made her want to rip his clothes off.

Well, the thin air in the mountains must have gone to Gayle's head, because she sets up a challenge: three days to prove who's more insatiable in bed. With Gayle and Nolan making their best efforts to wear each other out, this may just be the sexiest experiment of all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins
• Release date: Aug 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9780062210616

Alice Gaines

Alice Gaines likes her fiction hot, hot, hot. Alice has a PhD from the University of California at Berkeley. She shares a house in Oakland, California, with her pet corn snake and a stray cat that lives in her yard. When Alice isn't making up stories in her head, she spends her time cooking, gardening, and listening to her favorite band, Tower of Power.

Book preview

Mating Season

A

C

ABIN

F

EVER

N

OVELLA

ALICE GAINES

avon_red.tif

Dedication

For Jackie2Style, Kenny Gee, and the gang at the Rosenblum Cellars tasting room. Thanks for the laughs and the yummy wine!

Contents

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

An Excerpt from Heat Rises

Chapter One

About the Author

Also by Alice Gaines

An Excerpt from Night of Fire by Nico Rosso

Chapter One

An Excerpt from Storm Bound by Alice Gaines

Chapter One

An Excerpt from The Short and Fascinating Tale of Angelina Whitcombe by Sabrina Darby

Chapter One

Copyright

About the Publisher

Chapter One

THE FOUR-WHEEL DRIVE monstrosity came over the crest of the hill with a growl of gears and headed down the path toward the cabin, bringing Gayle Richards’s worst nightmare with it. Professor Nolan Hersch didn’t drive any old SUV to research sites, like normal people did. No, he had to command something hypermacho, a vehicle one might pilot out into the bush to harass lions.

The trees had stopped dripping after the recent early fall rain, but the ground remained damp, and the ferns drooped with moisture. The redwood duff, which in summer had consisted of a fine powder that coated everything that touched the ground, now made an equally fine mud. Hersch’s vehicle followed the path her own tires had made until he pulled up in front of the cabin and turned off the engine.

Dressed in khakis and with his sandy hair attractively tousled, he resembled a big game hunter more than what he was—an evolutionary biologist with an ego almost as big as his reputation. She instinctively took a step backward as he climbed out. She would have wrapped her arms around her ribs, too, but he’d recognize that as a defensive gesture, so she let them hang by her sides.

He gave her his usual killer smile—perfect teeth and all—and extended his hand. Professor Richards.

She gave him her own hand and shook firmly. Businesslike. Assertive. Welcome, Professor Hersch.

Somehow, despite Northern California’s notorious fog, his arms were tanned and covered with bleached golden hairs that set off the silver band of his heavy watch. His wrist made hers appear tiny as his hand engulfed hers. Appealing and intimidating all at once. When she’d satisfied the bounds of collegiality—and stopped staring at his skin—she pulled back.

Good of you to have me, he said. I enjoyed your last paper.

Oh he had, had he? Despite the fact that it blew a hole the size of his SUV through his own last journal article? Courtesy would suggest she compliment his work in return. She didn’t.

He put his hands on his hips and glanced up at the cabin, which gave her a view of his Adam’s apple and the gap of his shirt where he’d opened the top two buttons to reveal more tanned skin.

Good-looking facility, he said.

Room for four, she answered. Where are the others, by the way?

There’s a road washed out back a few miles. I barely made it through, he said. Dave and Susan should make it here in a couple of days.

Days? she repeated. She’d arranged for four researchers on this trip. She’d written that specifically into the grant proposal. She might need this man’s collaboration on her research to win herself more visibility in her field and therefore more advancement at her university, but she sure as hell hadn’t arranged a vacation for the two of them. Especially not one that involved watching large animals having sex.

Elk might not be closely related to humans, but the males had penises and they did the deed doggie style, with a lot of grunting and snorting. So no, she hadn’t planned on watching animal porn alone with Nolan Hersch.

Something wrong? he asked.

There’s a lot of work, she said. There’s supposed to be four of us.

It’s only a few days, he said. The mating season will last longer than that.

I know how long mating season is, she said. I just didn’t think . . . you and I . . .

Oh, brother. That wasn’t a sentence she could finish anytime soon, if ever. She wouldn’t tell him about where her mind wandered during his presentations at conferences. She wouldn’t mention her delusions that every time he mentioned receptive females his gaze lingered on her. She wouldn’t share the fact that every time he turned to a chalkboard she rememorized the curve of his ass.

Just because she didn’t bring any of those things up didn’t prevent him from watching her whenever she became uncomfortable in his presence. Like right now. There was that pleasant expression—the half smile—that did little to hide the fact that he was assessing her with as much care as he used in studying his research subjects.

She lifted her chin and smiled right back. I guess we have enough supplies.

He gestured with his head toward his SUV. I have more than enough for myself. We can share.

No need. I’m well stocked. Come on inside. She turned and climbed the stairs to the cabin. Because he still had to unload his things, it would take him a while to follow, and she could catch a breath before having to allow Nolan Hersch into her space. She’d spent the last two days alternating between steeling herself for his arrival and telling herself it was no big deal.

The others were supposed to come with him. His two graduate students would have acted like a buffer, always underfoot, always between them. She wouldn’t have had to imagine him alone in the next bedroom because he’d have a roommate, as would she. And when he spouted some bit of sexist bullshit from his research, she’d have support from at least one other woman. Alone, she’d end up wanting to tear him apart one way or another in an hour. Two, tops.

She went to the kitchen area of the cabin, poured herself a glass of water from the tap, and turned to lean against the counter to drink it. After a minute or two, Hersch entered with more than enough stuff for a season in the field. He needed several trips to haul it all in. Among the boxes and cases stood one of those canvas carriers wine stores sold. The necks of six bottles stuck out the top.

A treat, he explained. You and I can share a bottle before the others get here.

I don’t think—

Say, that’s a fine genealogy you’ve done. He walked to the wall where she’d unrolled butcher paper so that she could create a visual display of the relationships among the animals they’d be observing.

He lifted a hand to trace one particular family’s line. You have three generations here.

I’ve been studying these guys for years.

So why did you invite me? he asked.

An innocent question. A logical one. She could lie and tell him that she’d come around to his way of understanding animal sexual behavior. Or she could give him the truth . . . that he was top in the field and papers they did together had an easy shot of getting into the best and most-read journals. She wouldn’t add that spending time with him in the forest was supposed to be chaperoned by the others.

I thought it was time we collaborated, she said.

Instead of yelling at each other at conferences? His eyes took on the gleam of challenge she’d seen in them so many times. The blue of his irises always seemed to darken, as they did now.

I don’t yell.

He made a noise that was half humph and half snort. Maybe more than half snort.

All right, I raise my voice, she said. But your theory ignores the female in the mating equation.

He crossed his arms over his chest. I promise you, I’ve never ignored the female.

Cute. Double entendre. His typical ploy to make his presentations sexy. But you do. You make it sound as if the cows stand around, grazing, while the bulls do all the work. Fighting with each other. Then she has no choice and the winner climbs on and slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am.

He laughed. I don’t think I ever put it quite like that.

That’s what you mean.

You think I believe that? he said. That females have no sex drive at all?

She glared at him, using every bit of willpower not to grind her teeth. We’re talking about animals here.

I am. What are you talking about?

The way you look at things, she said. You’re completely androcentric.

One of his sandy brows quirked upward. You think I’m fixated on the male point of view and incapable of understanding the female?

Something like that. Damn it all, it hadn’t even taken an hour for him to get under her skin. Not even half an hour.

And I imagine you’re going to show me how females look at things, he said.

Animals.

Animals, he said. Should be interesting.

NOLAN COULDN’T HELP chuckling to himself as he sat at the long trestle table, setting up his laptop. To say that he made the woman uncomfortable was an understatement. Every time he got near to her, she either backed away or vibrated with nervous energy. He really shouldn’t enjoy nettling her so much, but Professor Gayle Richards made such a delicious opponent. She didn’t hang back from a debate, pretending detachment and citing references. She charged into the argument, intellectual fists flying.

The fact that her skin flushed and her dark eyes seemed to shoot sparks only added to the fun. She probably wasn’t aware that her lips pursed and her hair—curls the color of dark chocolate—fell into her face as she lit into his ideas. This afternoon, Nolan would have tucked her hair behind her ear for her, but that would most likely have gotten his hand slapped. So he’d stood there smiling in the way he knew would most irk her and enjoyed the view.

Finally, she’d huffed and stalked off to disappear inside her room. Before she’d left, he’d gotten another view of the fun side of her. A truly voluptuous figure hidden inside worn blue jeans and a T-shirt from her university. She obviously had no idea what the faded denim did for her hips and butt or how it made her legs seem to go on forever. And if she’d wanted to hide the swell of her breasts, she should have bought a larger shirt.

Intellect, body, and the most kissable mouth this side of the Continental Divide. He hadn’t lied when he’d told her it was going to be an interesting few days.

He was probably invading her space more than necessary by putting his computer right next to hers, where they’d share body heat if they tried to get some work done together. They had quite a history, although they’d never worked together. They sparred in scientific papers, and every time they ended up in the same room they forged a physical connection. Sometimes arguing, sometimes avoiding each other, but each of them always knew where the other was. Just as he now felt her every movement in his bones as she moved around the corner of the room that served as a kitchen.

Something smelled really good back there, and he’d sneaked a look long enough to see her put a large pot of water on the stove to boil. Dinner would be pasta of some kind, and if he could think up a good one-liner, he’d needle her about her domestic skills.

She thought he was a sexist creep, although she never used those words. Instead, she referred to him with jargon like androcentric or masculinity-obsessed. Silly, politically correct arguments did no justice to her otherwise excellent intellect, but they made great ammunition for the sort of heated debates he most enjoyed. Alone here for several days, he could yank her chain and enjoy the sparring to his heart’s content. So he would.

Smiling to himself, he searched through the file of videos on his laptop until he found the one he wanted. After turning up the speaker, he clicked the play button. An image of a full-grown elk with impressive antlers appeared. After a few seconds with no sounds but bird calls, the male threw back his head and bugled loudly enough to echo off the trees.

Back in the kitchen, something crashed, and Gayle muttered,

Reviews for Mating Season

[therebelprince · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Oh, Wodehouse. Always delightful, ever reliable. I think Wodehouse's absolute funniest moments are generally his short stories, where his wordplay and wit were at their peak. However, the novels give him a chance to showcase his tight plotting skills, and the barrage of mistaken identities and double-crossing - which reached its pinnacle in "The Code of the Woosters" - makes "The Mating Season" another blissful Bertie Wooster romp. Almost a contrast to the following novel, "Ring for Jeeves", in which Wooster doesn't appear, this book gives Jeeves a very minor role, but he isn't missed among the outstanding supporting cast. Top marks particularly to any moments involving Madeleine Bassett, and to the uproarious provincial variety night. The book has a slightly odd relationship with time, and I'll be interested to see if this goes further in later novels. Wodehouse wrote this in 1949, and has his characters making reference to things of the era and speaking much more forthrightly than when the series premiered 30 years earlier. Yet in other ways, life for the characters hasn't changed much (and they're definitely not 30 years older). It's reminiscent of Hercule Poirot's unusual aging process, but with a kind of willful playfulness. A gem of a book from one of my favourite frothy comedy series of all time.

[philsyphe · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Not up to the usual standard of the Jeeves series. Jeeves himself hardly appears, which is perhaps one of the reasons why it didn’t hit the mark.Best parts for me are the few scenes featuring Madeline Basset. She’s an hilarious character, and it’s a shame she doesn’t appear more.

[raizel_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Bertie pretends to be Gussie, so Catsmeat Pribright pretends to be his valet and then Gussie pretends to be Bertie, and Jeeves is himself. Bertie once again does everything he can to keep Gussie and Madeline together, Madeline is yet again convinced that Bertie is tragically in love with her, a policeman angers a friend of Bertie and she convinces someone infatuated by her to handle the situation to her satisfaction (although not to the policeman's), there are a bunch of aunts and an evening of local entertainment with a rowdy crowd, and Jeeves saves the day and the romantic relationships of Bertie's friends. The switching of identities is necessary because Gussie is such a bad dinner companion that only by getting drunk can one survive an evening with him. And yet, he is a good friend, even though Bertie and Gussie have only bad things to say about each other. Friendship in these stories is based on shared experiences; friends are like family.

[gpower61 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I’ve spent a lifetime not reading P.G. Wodehouse. Too artificial, too contrived, too cosy. I was adamant on the matter. Having, over the last couple of years, taken the radical step of actually reading some of his books, I am happy to confirm that the rest of the world was correct when they said Wodehouse is one of the most entertaining writers who ever drew breath. I can also attest that Wodehouse on the page is much better than any of the various television adaptations. I say this with the total authority of a man who has never watched any of the various television adaptations. It’s a safe bet, though, as the greatness of Wodehouse lies in the narrative voice and that’s a tricky thing to replicate on the telly. This man was a poet wearing cap ‘n’ bells. Words? He made them dance. He was also, of course, no slouch at dialogue and could whip up a delightful soufflé of a farcical plot with the best of them. This one concerns the course of true love never running smooth and a gaggle of obligatory fearsome aunts at the equally obligatory country house. For the purposes of the obligatory labyrinthine plot, Wooster arrives pretending to be Augustus Fink-Nottle followed by Fink-Nottle pretending to be Wooster. The expected hilarious, not to mention convoluted, consequences ensue.The world of Jeeves and Wooster never existed so it never dates. Wodehouse creates an entirely innocent world peopled with benign characters (‘fearsome aunts’ very much included) and makes it blissfully funny. No mean feat and a blessed relief given the cynicism and darkness of much of what passes as contemporary comedy.A true joy.

[sueincyprus · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Bertie Wooster goes to stay at Deverill Hall, in fear that Madeleine Bassett will decide to marry him. Complex and amusing situations tidily resolved by Jeeves, as ever. Gentle humour and clever plotting.

[quibee · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

An enjoyable reread of a favourite author.

[addunn3 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Great story.

[leslie398 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Another wonderfully convoluted plot with Bertie pretending to be Gussie Fink-Nottle at a country house party, his friend Catsmeat Purbright pretending to be his manservant, and eventually Gussie pretending to be Bertie! Romantic entanglements & misunderstandings abound along with maiden aunts, a small but fierce dog and a village entertainment require performances from all three friends.

[breic-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Good Wodehouse.> As I put hat on hat-peg and umbrella in umbrella-stand, I was thinking that if God wasn't in His heaven and all right with the world, these conditions prevailed as near as made no matter. Not the suspicion of an inkling, if you see what I mean, that round the corner lurked the bitter awakening, stuffed eelskin in hand, waiting to soak me on the occiput. > This young prune is one of those lissom girls of medium height, constructed on the lines of Gertrude Lawrence, and her map had always been worth more than a passing glance. In repose, it has a sort of meditative expression, as if she were a pure white soul thinking beautiful thoughts, and, when animated, so dashed animated that it boosts the morale just to look at her. Her eyes are a kind of browny hazel and her hair rather along the same lines. The general effect is of an angel who eats lots of yeast. In fine, if you were called upon to pick something to be cast on a desert island with, Hedy Lamarr might be your first choice, but Corky Pirbright would inevitably come high up in the list of Hon. Mentions. > I subjected Catsmeat to a keen glance. I am told by those who know that there are six varieties of hangover - the Broken Compass, the Sewing Machine, the Comet, the Atomic, the Cement Mixer, and the Gremlin Boogie, and his manner suggested that he had got them all. "So you were lathered last night?" I said. "I was perhaps a mite polluted," he admitted.> She took his head in both hands and shook it, causing him to shoot ceilingwards, this time with a cry so little stifled that it rang through the room like the death rattle of a hundred expiring hyenas.> "So!" he said, and his voice was cold and hard, like a picnic egg … She drove off, Gussie standing gaping after her transfixed, like a goldfish staring at an ant's egg. … He had been standing with a rather morose expression on his face, like an elephant that has had its bun taken from it… At the outset he listened dumbly, his eyes bulging, his lips moving like those of a salmon in the spawning season… He must have noticed the tense, set expression on my face, rather like that of a starving wolf giving a Russian peasant the once-over> I levered up a forkful of kipper and passed it absently over the larynx, endeavouring to adjust the faculties to a set-up which even the most intrepid would have had to admit was a honey.> And as the days went by, these unsettled outlooks became more unsettled, those V-shaped depressions even V-er… No, the root of the trouble, the thing that was giving me dizzy spells and night sweats and making me look like the poor bit of human wreckage in the "before taking" pictures in the advertisements of Haddock's Headache Hokies, was the sinister behaviour of Gussie Fink-Nottle . Contemplating Gussie, I found my soul darkened by a nameless fear. I don't know if you have ever had your soul darkened, by a nameless fear. It's a most unpleasant feeling.> As I walked, I was thinking hard and bitter thought; of Corky, the fons et origo, if you know what I mean by fons et origo, of all the trouble.> I had almost permanently now a fluttering sensation at the pit of the stomach, as if I had recendy swallowed far more mice than I could have wished… The mice in my interior had how got up an informal dance and were buck-and-winging all over the place like a bunch of Nijinskys… The floor seemed to heave beneath me like a stage sea. The mice, which since that letter sequence and the subsequent chat with Corky had been taking a breather, sprang into renewed activity, as if starting teaming for some athletic sports.> There are letters which sow doubts as to whether this bit here couldn't have been rather more neatly phrased and that bit there gingered up a trifle, and other letters of which you say to yourself "This is the goods. Don't alter a word". This was one of the latter letters.> "No, Catsmeat, The code of the Woosters restrains me. The code of the Woosters is more rigid than the code of the Catsmeats. A Wooster cannot open a telegram addressed to another, even if for the moment he is that other, if you see what I mean. I'll have to submit them to Gussie." … The catch about the code of the Woosters is that if you start examining it with a couple of telegrams staring you in the face, one of them almost certainly containing news of vital import, you find yourself after a while beginning to wonder if it's really so hot, after all. I mean to say, the thought creeps in that maybe, if one did but know, the Woosters are priceless asses to let themselves be ruled by a code like that … Ask the first lion cub you meet, and it will tell you that, once you've tasted blood, there is no pulling up, and it's the same with opening telegrams… I could no more stop myself opening it than you can stop yourself eating another salted almond.> Yes, that was the torpedo that exploded under my hows, and I had the feeling you get sometimes that some practical joker has suddenly removed all the bones from your legs, substituting for them an unsatisfactory jelly.> It is a pretty well established fact that the heart bowed down with weight of woe to weakest hope will cling, and that's what mine did> I found myself musing, as I have so often had occasion to do, on the callous way in which Nature refuses to chip in and do its bit when the human heart is in the soup. Though howling hurricanes and driving rainstorms would have been a more suitable accompaniment to the run of the action, the morning - or morn, if you prefer to string along with Aunt Charlotte - was bright and fair… Did Nature care? Not a hoot. The sky continued blue, and the fatheaded sun which I have mentioned shone smilingly throughout.> The room in which I found myself was bright and cheerful, in which respect it differed substantially from Bertram Wooster.> Presently, unable to stand the sight of him any longer, I turned away and began to pace the room like some caged creature of the wild, the only difference being that whereas a caged creature of the wild would not have bumped into and come within a toucher of upsetting a small table with a silver cup, a golf ball in a glass case and a large framed photograph on it, I did.> My heart, ceasing to stand still, gave a leap and tried to get out through my front teeth.> "I tell you, Jeeves, the spirits are low. I don't know if you have ever been tied hand and foot to a chair in front of a barrel of gunpowder with an inch of lighted candle on top of it?"> It was loud in spots and less loud in other spots, and it had that quality which I have noticed in all violin solos, of seeming to last much longer than it actually did.> I have spoken earlier of the tendency of the spirit of the Woosters to rise when crushed to earth, but there is a limit, and this limit had now been reached. At these frightful words, the spirit of the Woosters felt as if it had been sat on by an elephant. And not one of your streamlined, schoolgirl-figured elephants, either. A big, fat one.> "I noticed, Jeeves, that when I started telling you the bad news just now, one of your eyebrows flickered." "Yes, sir. I was much exercised."> "I am not sanguine. It would mean that Fate was handing out lucky breaks, and my experience of Fate-" I would have spoken further and probably been pretty deepish, for the subject of Fate and its consistent tendency to give good men the elbow was one to which I had devoted considerable thought…> There come times in a man's life when he rather tends to think only of self, and I must confess that the anguish of the above tortured souls was almost completely thrust into the background of my consciousness by the reflection that Fate after a rocky start had at last done the square thing by Bertram Wooster. My mental attitude, in short, was about that of an African explorer who by prompt shinning up a tree has just contrived to elude a quick-tempered crocodile and gathers from a series of shrieks below that his faithful native bearer had not been so fortunate. I mean to say he mourns, no doubt, as he listens to the doings, but though his heart may bleed, he cannot help his primary emotion being one of sober relief that, however sticky life may have become for native bearers, he, personally, is sitting on top of the world.> In dishing up this narrative for family consumption, it has been my constant aim throughout to get the right word in the right place and to avoid fobbing the customers off with something weak and inexpressive when they have a right to expect the telling phrase. It means a bit of extra work, but one has one's code. We will therefore expunge that "came" at the conclusion of the previous spasm and substitute for it "curvetted".> Constable Dobbs's was not a face that lent itself readily to any great display of emotion. It looked as if it had been carved out of some hard kind of wood by a sculptor who had studied at a Correspondence School and had got to about Lesson Three.

[brokentune · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

‘Still,’ I said, feeling that it was worth trying, ‘it’s part of the great web, what?’‘Great web?’‘One of Marcus Aurelius’s cracks. He said: “Does aught befall you? It is good. It is part of the destiny of the Universe ordained for you from the beginning. All that befalls you is part of the great web.”’From the brusque manner in which he damned and blasted Marcus Aurelius, I gathered that, just as had happened when Jeeves sprang it on me, the gag had failed to bring balm. I hadn’t had much hope that it would. I doubt, as a matter of fact, if Marcus Aurelius’s material is ever the stuff to give the troops at a moment when they have just stubbed their toe on the brick of Fate. You want to wait till the agony has abated.This was ridiculously good fun. I love Jeeves and Wooster series but some stories are better than others, and this was one of the best ones. Dare I say, it was on the same level as the one with Aunt Dahlia and the cow creamer? I like that one, too. Anyway, in this one Bertie is trying to help a couple of his friends to untangle some obstacles in their love lives, and of course, just makes it worse. What stood out from the start in this one, however, is that Bertie is not just having to deal with one of his own aunts, but also no less than five aunts of one of his friends' betrothed...and five aunts is really more than anyone should be expected to deal with.While there is slapstick galore in this story, we also get to see Bertie from new angles. For example, we learn that he - as many of us do - resorts to reading to calm his nerves:"I have generally found on these occasions when the heart is heavy that the best thing to do is to curl up with a good goose-flesher and try to forget, and fortunately I had packed among my effects one called Murder At Greystone Grange. I started to turn its pages now, and found that I couldn’t have made a sounder move. It was one of those works in which Baronets are constantly being discovered dead in libraries and the heroine can’t turn in for a night without a Thing popping through a panel in the wall of her bedroom and starting to chuck its weight about, and it was not long before I was so soothed that I was able to switch off the light and fall into a refreshing sleep, which lasted, as my refreshing sleeps always do, till the coming of the morning cup of tea."

[annejacinta · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Great fun. The classic Wodehouse- Bertie, Jeeves to the rescue, numerous gormless young males of the English upperclass persuasion, a dog, a policeman in pursuit, mixed up identities , an array of fearsome aunts to be quelled, and happy endings for all.

[bjace_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This wonderfully funny book contains some of Wodehouse's funniest scenes. I particularly like the chapter in which he is mistaken for a society burglar and ends up in an awkward tete-a-tete with a girl who thinks he's in love with her. A delight from beginning to end.

[shabacus · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Easily my favorite of the Jeeves books, and that's saying something.Full disclosure: I am a huge Wodehouse fan, and my default rating for any of his books is 4 stars. But this one is something special. This is Wodehouse at the height of his powers, with perhaps the best cast of characters ever assembled in a single Wodehouse book. That so many separate stories can be balanced simultaneously would be a feat for any author, but to do so with such wit, humor, and clarity is something truly special. The description of Bertie and the port ranks, for me, as one of the funniest in all of Wodehouse, and the climax at the village concert is something I can read over and over again.Recommendation: This is not where you should start reading the adventures of Bertie and Jeeves, but it is the pinnacle. Highly, highly recommended.

[jessidee · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Yet another Bertie-and-Jeeves story in which Bertie does something ridiculous that could get him in trouble, and Jeeves has to step in and save the day. In this book, Jeeves is saving him from potential matrimony (the horror!) and a bad reputation. Bertie travels to a country estate in the guise of his friend, Gussie Fink-Nottle, who has been detained by the police for taking a dip in a public fountain after a night of inebriation. The ruse causes assorted romantic mix-ups, of course, and the day can only be saved by Jeeves' dry wit and clear thinking.The diction in these books is one of my main pleasures in reading them, and The Mating Season was no exception: "Jeeves, in speaking of this Fink-Nottle, had, if you remember, described him as disgruntled, and it was plain at a glance that the passage of time had done nothing to gruntle him." Fans of The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks will probably get more out of that quote than others. :) The Mating Season is a great book, very fun and funny; highly recommended.

[ohsnap_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The first thing that struck me about them was how well crafted and well thought out the prose is. Each sentence appears to be both flawless and genius. It may sound an overenthusiastic exaggeration but anyone who reads Wodehouse - this story anyway - would most likely agree with me. Further than just the writing style, the plot is also complex and enthralling. It centres around the humour of mistaken identities and plans going wrong but also seems to be so much more. The characters are believable, Bertie especially is one of the most likeable characters I've ever found in a book.The humour varies from the very subtle to the obvious but is always genuinely funny. I can not think of a bad thing to say about these stories, nor can I find a negative review anywhere on the web. Wodehouse is in a league of his own in terms of fiction writing. I'm just glad that he has written so much - more reading material for years to come.

[greatrakes · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

An earlier Wodehouse and usual plot. The farce is based on misunderstandings, and absurdly misconceived plans, which result in half of the characters impersonating each other. In this one, Bertie is pretending to be Gussie Fink- Nottle, to prevent Gussie's girlfriend leaving while Gussie is besotted with Corky Pirbright who loves Esmond Haddock who is... and on, and on. Comes complete with a coshed policeman and a battalion of aunts. Speaking of aunts, one of them :"...had said with a short, quick sniff that she supposed they ought to consider themselves highly honoured that the piefaced young bastard condescended to sleep in the bally place, or words to that effect."Piefaced young bastard? Bastard just doesn't sound like a Wodehouse word.

[wispywillow · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I liked Right Ho, Jeeves slightly more, but this was still very enjoyable and yet another example of the Wodehouse brilliance!Cecil is a fabulous voice actor and is highly enjoyable to listen to as he brings life to the nutty characters!