Sunset indeed, alas, alas. What we have here is Wodehouse's unfinished symphony--16 chapters (there were to have been 22) of his last book, the festive beginning and middle of another love/theft/pigs weekend at wondrous Blandings Castle. It's a pleasure to have this to remember him by: last glimpses of Lord Emsworth (and his beloved sow, whose portrait is at last being painted); of Galahad Threepwood (""He was too elderly to be rejoicing in his youth, but he gave the impression of rejoicing in something""); and of unshakable butler Beach. Not such a pleasure are the footnotes that defile these final glorious pages--perpetrated by scholar Richard Usborne, who uses the master's unfinished business as a springboard for terminal pedantry: half the book consists of notes on Wodehouse's notes and essays on Blandings trivia. Fellow academics will no doubt devour this impedimenta, and a few fans will be interested to see how hard Wodehouse worked to make it look so easy. Most of us, however, will move directly from the last page of unfinished Wodehouse here to a gluttonous rereading of some other marvelous autumnal work, like (just a suggestion, mind you) No Nudes Is Good Nudes.