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3.54 AVERAGE
3.54 AVERAGE
3.5 stars. Bryson is grumpy and curmudgeonly but this time with good reason. He is also hilarious and educates as well entertains. He loves his adopted country and is frustrated when it isn't cared for as it should be. And after reading this book, I'm grumpy too at all those who fail to care for the gorgeous country of Britain. And I'm ready to hop on a plane and explore the UK for myself!
Love Bill Bryson's sense of humor and writing style! Counting this for my book about a road trip in the Reading Challenge.
Perhaps I've changed, or Bryson has. He's not very funny anymore; his grumbles are often mean-spirited, and he's very bitter about aging. I still laugh when I read The Lost Continent or his previous book on Britain, and I love his books on language. But this is one I'll not be buying for my own library.
Not so much Notes From a Small Island as Easy Day Trips From My Home.
My dad picked this book up for me at a library sale. As I had been to England once for a study trip (and had a deep love for the country), it seemed right up my alley. Indeed, I was laughing so hard about the traffic barrier incident, the British fear of cows, and getting lost in an H&M that I would have probably gotten an email for being at risk for A STROKE. I read snippets to my parents and we all laughed and said this was just as witty and wonderful as Dave Barry. However, as the book trotted along the charm of the first few dozen pages began to fade away. Eventually, it got to the point of feeling like a chore to finish it. (Though I did out of sheer determination)
The smaller complaint:
When you read how similar Bryson's humorous observational writing is to Barry's (and get the same sense while reading it yourself), unconscious expectations form. This is my own fault, I know. Nostalgia is a wonderful bane of many and is heartsickening with the disappointment is realized. For those in the comments, I'm noticing it's the expectation of comparing to Bill's older work. For me, it was comparing it to Dave Barry. I grew up with my Dad regularly reading to me or the whole family Dave Barry anecdotes and sharing a laugh. I can't speak for recent works as well, but as these bits were from the humor columns in the newspaper--they were clean of language and hid innuendo well enough to go over any naive kid's head. To be clear, I'm not a puritan aghast of any swearing in written form. But it's very sobering to read and realize for one reason or another--you can't read this for one's future kiddos. Much less let my older beloved relations read (sorry, gran) even if they adore England.
Bryson's language begins with a snapping passerby telling him off crudely. So as bummed as I was to see the language, I figured it was just a quote for the sake of humorous posterity. Unfortunately, and increasingly, the saltiness continues to his own internal monologue as he internally snips anyone that ticks him off. Which leads me into my next complaint...
The larger complaint:
I admit, the "Old Man Yells at Clouds" meme regularly came to mind as I continued reading. (I see I wasn't the only one.) But I imagine, on the impossibly small chance Bryson would wistfully feel the need to peruse his Goodreads' reviews, leaving it at a meme reference would only have him brush me off derisively as a young twit.
Now Bryson makes several good and moving points on the nature of the government to not really assess things as carefully as they should or pursue other options instead of jumping on the bandwagon of progress and spend insane amounts of money. It's good to see Bryson even trying to exact some change by joining a group to preserve England's beauty and countryside. There's a relatable melancholy even to read about struggling towns and cities that were once thriving. After all, you don't have to be Bryson's age to go through similar experiences of witnessing a beloved place or thing deteriorate or close. (I still grieve my favorite used bookstore that was unjustly shut down after 20+ years with the businesses around it because the landlord wanted to sell. The derelict building is STILL there 5 years later...unsold and now unused.)
However, it's one thing to wistfully sigh, grieve, or even humorously bemoan (i.e. The art of food or tea is lost in the sake of speed...etc). It's another thing entirely to snip and snarl at everything--from the institution to the individual. I'm sure Mr. Bryson has met with many hysterically unpleasant people in his lifetime, but this was draining. The warm reminiscences of friendship and the love of his wife and family were lost in mocking and cursing caricatures of tourists, political leaders, or anything else that gave him an off day. Bryson regrettably makes the same mistakes many of his despised politicians do--losing a good message or need in the sea of insult and self-injury.
On the lighter side, this is my first Bill Bryson book and I at least have the comfort of knowing (judging by some of the reviews) that it will get better if I read his earlier stuff.
The smaller complaint:
When you read how similar Bryson's humorous observational writing is to Barry's (and get the same sense while reading it yourself), unconscious expectations form. This is my own fault, I know. Nostalgia is a wonderful bane of many and is heartsickening with the disappointment is realized. For those in the comments, I'm noticing it's the expectation of comparing to Bill's older work. For me, it was comparing it to Dave Barry. I grew up with my Dad regularly reading to me or the whole family Dave Barry anecdotes and sharing a laugh. I can't speak for recent works as well, but as these bits were from the humor columns in the newspaper--they were clean of language and hid innuendo well enough to go over any naive kid's head. To be clear, I'm not a puritan aghast of any swearing in written form. But it's very sobering to read and realize for one reason or another--you can't read this for one's future kiddos. Much less let my older beloved relations read (sorry, gran) even if they adore England.
Bryson's language begins with a snapping passerby telling him off crudely. So as bummed as I was to see the language, I figured it was just a quote for the sake of humorous posterity. Unfortunately, and increasingly, the saltiness continues to his own internal monologue as he internally snips anyone that ticks him off. Which leads me into my next complaint...
The larger complaint:
I admit, the "Old Man Yells at Clouds" meme regularly came to mind as I continued reading. (I see I wasn't the only one.) But I imagine, on the impossibly small chance Bryson would wistfully feel the need to peruse his Goodreads' reviews, leaving it at a meme reference would only have him brush me off derisively as a young twit.
Now Bryson makes several good and moving points on the nature of the government to not really assess things as carefully as they should or pursue other options instead of jumping on the bandwagon of progress and spend insane amounts of money. It's good to see Bryson even trying to exact some change by joining a group to preserve England's beauty and countryside. There's a relatable melancholy even to read about struggling towns and cities that were once thriving. After all, you don't have to be Bryson's age to go through similar experiences of witnessing a beloved place or thing deteriorate or close. (I still grieve my favorite used bookstore that was unjustly shut down after 20+ years with the businesses around it because the landlord wanted to sell. The derelict building is STILL there 5 years later...unsold and now unused.)
However, it's one thing to wistfully sigh, grieve, or even humorously bemoan (i.e. The art of food or tea is lost in the sake of speed...etc). It's another thing entirely to snip and snarl at everything--from the institution to the individual. I'm sure Mr. Bryson has met with many hysterically unpleasant people in his lifetime, but this was draining. The warm reminiscences of friendship and the love of his wife and family were lost in mocking and cursing caricatures of tourists, political leaders, or anything else that gave him an off day. Bryson regrettably makes the same mistakes many of his despised politicians do--losing a good message or need in the sea of insult and self-injury.
On the lighter side, this is my first Bill Bryson book and I at least have the comfort of knowing (judging by some of the reviews) that it will get better if I read his earlier stuff.
About 2/3rd in, and i ran out of patience. Yes, he is funny, but not as frequently as he is grumpy.
Absolutely Splendesto
Definitely a fitting follow up to Notes from a Small Island. Whilst it's very nice to read about places you know, this book really infects you with the travel bug. Mr Bryson manages to make you want to see all these places for yourself, even the less pleasant ones; in many cases, particularly the less pleasant ones. A fine book.
Definitely a fitting follow up to Notes from a Small Island. Whilst it's very nice to read about places you know, this book really infects you with the travel bug. Mr Bryson manages to make you want to see all these places for yourself, even the less pleasant ones; in many cases, particularly the less pleasant ones. A fine book.
Hard as it may be for Bill Bryson fans to believe, his breakthrough book about England, Notes from a Small Island, is now 20 years old. This may just be a little difficult for Bryson to believe also, because it was only after his publisher pointed the anniversary date out to him and inquired about a possible sequel that the author even considered such a thing worth doing. Coincidentally, Bryson had also just become a dual citizen of Great Britain and the United States, so he decided there was no better time to travel around his newly adopted country revisiting a few of the spots he highlighted in Notes from a Small Island and finally making it to some of the other places he had, up to then, managed to miss in his forty years of living on the island. All of this would be accomplished, of course, with the new book firmly in mind.
Early on in The Road to Little Dribbling, Bryson states that he never intended to follow literally in the footsteps of Notes because if he did that he feared that the new book would become little more than a whining narrative about how those places had all changed for the worse. Nonetheless, as the author steadily makes his way around the U.K., a sense of loss begins to overwhelm both him and the reader. In Bryson’s defense, however, his readers will easily understand a feeling they are likely to have often had themselves when revisiting their own pasts.
Times were simpler twenty years ago. Because there were fewer cars on the roads, it was easier (if perhaps slower) to make one's way through a country so well serviced by its public transportation system. People were more optimistic about the future and were enjoying life as the world moved further and further from the aftermath of World War II. Roads were new, seaside resorts were still fresh and well maintained, and a feeling of economic restraint was nowhere to be found in Britain. Today, while the natural beauty of the country is as great as ever, cutbacks and infrastructure deterioration are evident. And despite the well-earned English reputation for stoicism, pessimism now seems more the order of the day.
But don't let that worry you, as a reader, too much. The old Bill Bryson is still very much in evidence, his sense of humor and irony are still intact, and this book is as much fun to read as I suspect it was for its author to write. In one of my favorite bits from the book, Bryson even takes it upon himself to create what he calls “The Bryson Line,” map included, which more correctly identifies the two points in Britain with the most distance between them. They are not Lands End and John O'Groats (as my journey completion certificate from the nineties attests) but Bognor Regis (well to the east of Lands End) and Cape Wrath (a bit west of John O'Groats). So now I need to earn a new certification or stop telling complete strangers that I once completed the trip between the two most widely separated cities in the U.K. Thanks for an excuse to revisit Britain, Bill.
Traveling with Bill Bryson, even in print, makes for a fun trip because of the way he throws out little tidbits and observations when you least expect to hear them. Here are a couple of my particular favorites:
“It was as if they had died and gone to heaven, albeit a heaven populated largely by people with enormous bellies and neck tattoos...” – this while describing the reaction of his two London grandsons who were seeing an Everton football home match for the first time ever. Previously, the only other live Everton fan they had ever seen was their father.
“They all looked like the sort of people who had never had sex with anything they couldn't put in a closet afterwards. I tried to imagine what the rest of their lives were like if this was the fun part, but couldn't.” – this an observation Bryson made when running across a small group of “trainspotters” in a Lancashire train station.
All in all, The Road to Little Dribbling (a place Bryson is still looking for, by the way) is great fun. Longtime fans are certain to be pleased, and new ones are going to be eager to take more trips with Bill Bryson via his earlier books.
Early on in The Road to Little Dribbling, Bryson states that he never intended to follow literally in the footsteps of Notes because if he did that he feared that the new book would become little more than a whining narrative about how those places had all changed for the worse. Nonetheless, as the author steadily makes his way around the U.K., a sense of loss begins to overwhelm both him and the reader. In Bryson’s defense, however, his readers will easily understand a feeling they are likely to have often had themselves when revisiting their own pasts.
Times were simpler twenty years ago. Because there were fewer cars on the roads, it was easier (if perhaps slower) to make one's way through a country so well serviced by its public transportation system. People were more optimistic about the future and were enjoying life as the world moved further and further from the aftermath of World War II. Roads were new, seaside resorts were still fresh and well maintained, and a feeling of economic restraint was nowhere to be found in Britain. Today, while the natural beauty of the country is as great as ever, cutbacks and infrastructure deterioration are evident. And despite the well-earned English reputation for stoicism, pessimism now seems more the order of the day.
But don't let that worry you, as a reader, too much. The old Bill Bryson is still very much in evidence, his sense of humor and irony are still intact, and this book is as much fun to read as I suspect it was for its author to write. In one of my favorite bits from the book, Bryson even takes it upon himself to create what he calls “The Bryson Line,” map included, which more correctly identifies the two points in Britain with the most distance between them. They are not Lands End and John O'Groats (as my journey completion certificate from the nineties attests) but Bognor Regis (well to the east of Lands End) and Cape Wrath (a bit west of John O'Groats). So now I need to earn a new certification or stop telling complete strangers that I once completed the trip between the two most widely separated cities in the U.K. Thanks for an excuse to revisit Britain, Bill.
Traveling with Bill Bryson, even in print, makes for a fun trip because of the way he throws out little tidbits and observations when you least expect to hear them. Here are a couple of my particular favorites:
“It was as if they had died and gone to heaven, albeit a heaven populated largely by people with enormous bellies and neck tattoos...” – this while describing the reaction of his two London grandsons who were seeing an Everton football home match for the first time ever. Previously, the only other live Everton fan they had ever seen was their father.
“They all looked like the sort of people who had never had sex with anything they couldn't put in a closet afterwards. I tried to imagine what the rest of their lives were like if this was the fun part, but couldn't.” – this an observation Bryson made when running across a small group of “trainspotters” in a Lancashire train station.
All in all, The Road to Little Dribbling (a place Bryson is still looking for, by the way) is great fun. Longtime fans are certain to be pleased, and new ones are going to be eager to take more trips with Bill Bryson via his earlier books.
I know I'm supposed to like Bill Bryson better, and maybe his other books are more engaging, but I felt he was trying too hard in this one. A bit too self-conscious for my tastes.