Being a longtime fan of Bill Bryson, and a Britophile, it
was only a matter of time before I picked up this book. I’ve always found Bryson to be rather an
unlikely traveler, and this, I suppose, is part of the inherent humor in his books. His approach is a bit haphazard, and
he sort of ping-pongs to all corners of Britain—the well-known spots as well as
the “undiscovered” bits, and even the less attractive parts.
At the start of the book he proposes a diagonal
axis, the “Bryson Line” from Bognor Regis to Cape Wrath in Scotland, which he
intends to follow, but doesn’t really. Rather, he seem to end up going just where he
pleases—Sailsbury Plain, Cornwall, Wales, London, Norfolk, Yorkshire… True, as others have noticed, in this volume
he seems frequently grumpy and at times overly nostalgic for the times when
every hamlet was defined by an independent ironmonger, a post office, a tea
room, and a butcher. But just as
frequently he rhapsodizes about what makes Britain unique, and what anyone who
has ever traveled there will identify as its allure—the history, the
landscape, the railroads, the tea shops…
There are still so many magical places in Britain, and when he writes
about the green countryside and the charming villages he is at his best. Sure,
there are things that Britain has lost, but so much survives.
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| UK cover |
I loved looking up spots where he wandered like the
Pembrokeshire Coast, Tenby, the Settle-Carlisle railway, and an earthworks
sculpture called Northumberlandia. He always
reveals a corner of Britain that is worth exploring, if only via the pages of a book.
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