This review is of the audio version. I found it way too long. I felt as if she cited every example of boorish behavior she ever heard of. I only made thru four of the eight or so audio parts. ( )

Does the world need another book attempting to explain the inner psyche of the British people? Maybe not. However, if you have never indulged in one of these volumes, this one is a good introduction. Written in a chatty, breezy style reminiscent of articles in Vanity Fair, the author, an American expatriate married to a British writer, explores the differences between two peoples separated by a common language.

Nothing much new is covered here that hasn't been explored by several other authors, notably Jeremy Paxton and Bill Bryson. However, since this book has a more recent publication date (2008), one does get some insights on how consumerism & the culture of credit has seeped insidiously into the British Isles. ( )

I really liked parts of this book -- it was funny, insightful, mortifying and amazing. I love Sarah Lyall's writing style, and I was usually engaged. Except about some of the Parliamentary stuff...ADD took over and I couldn't follow. But I followed their politics more than those in the US.

The only downside of this book is that I'm FASCINATED with all things British, and I borderline covet their lifestyle, history, accents, and culture. So this book was kind of like watching sausage being made. It tainted my imagination a little bit. But I'm sure after some time has passed, I'll have everyone with an English accent back up on that pedestal... ( )

I enjoyed this. Like any ex-pat, the author isn't always consistant about whether or not she enjoys living in the UK. Neither praising all the time, or always finding fault, but commenting on the sorts of things that outsiders notice.

Loved the hedgehog chapter, but then, I love hedgehogs. ( )

The first thing you have to understand when you pick up a book like this, is that it is not a serious work of anthropology any more than are similar books by Bill Bryson et al. It is simply one person's (hopefully humorous) take on a country they are gradually coming to know and, as such, I don't really think it should be treated quite as 'sniffily' as it has been by one or two reviewers.

The main problem with this book could have been corrected by a bit of judicious editing in removing the first chapter (largely addressing the vicissitudes of the ruling classes) and repositioning it further back in the book. By being the first chapter it rather gives the impression that all the English (and, despite its title, the book is at least 99% about the English, NOT the British) are champagne-snorting, weak-chinned owners of country estates (if only). Maybe the author just married into this class and thinks they are the normal ones whereas, in truth, they actually make up such a tiny minority of the English as to be as much of a puzzle to the rest of us as they are to her. If Lyall spent less time hanging around the House of Lords and her friends' country 'piles' and more time talking to ordinary people I suspect this chapter would have been nothing more than an amusing sideline halfway through the book.

But, after 50-something years of living in England, I had quite a struggle finding anything particularly offensive in the rest of the book. In fact, by the end, Lyall seems to be taking a wry look at some of the 'modern' characteristics, like the wave of post-Diana grief that shook the nation, and that -frankly - baffle most of us as much as they baffle her.

Many of the things Lyall complains about (if such a strong word as 'complain' can really be used) are the attitudes that have crept across the ocean from her native America (the recent love of litigation is one good example) and while she stands bewildered, wringing her hands and wondering 'wouldn't life have been better without this?' she fails to notice the majority of the country wringing their hands beside her.

And we can still get our own back. One bit that really made me laugh was Lyall's incredulousness (in a chapter about some of our 'heroes' which is written with much more affectionate admiration than any other quality) about the fact Scott's tragic North Pole expedition ended in the explorers' deaths "just eleven miles from a depot of food supplies"! Maybe she doesn't realise just how far eleven miles would be in zub-zub-zero temperatures, in a snowstorm, on foot, dragging equipment, for half-starved, half-dead men. Maybe, being American, she thought they could have jumped aboard a passing yellow cab?

This kind of book should never be read without a sense of humour (with a 'u'!). Surely one of our best attributes is having the ability to laugh at ourselves? I won't say I rolled around the floor but I certainly managed a chuckle here and there. And she's dead right about the weather. ( )