Amazon are wonderful at making money and keeping everybody happy. Publishing out-of-copyright 1920s novels and selling them for £0.49 is quintessential ‘pile it high, sell it cheap’.1 Kindle accessibility, ultra-cheap prices, no storage – swoon! But what of the product?
These novels are relentlessly petty. It’s village life dissected and diced and the humour is side-splitting (if you like that sort of thing, which I do). Try this:
It had been a trying day, and the Major was very lame. A drenching storm had come up during their golf, while they were far from the clubhouse, and Puffin, being three up, had very naturally refused to accede to his opponent’s suggestion to call the match off. He was perfectly willing to be paid his half-crown and go home, but Major Flint, remembering that Puffin’s game usually went to pieces if it rained, had rejected this proposal with the scorn that it deserved.
The novels relate to a by-gone era of servants, utterly consuming snobbery and point scoring as an obsession. I loved them. Thank you Amazon.
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