Notes from a Small Island

To my mind, Bryson is the premier travel writer around today, and “Notes From a Small Island” is perhaps the best example of his travelogues. As an American in the UK who married a local and settled down, Bryson is able to spot the absurdities of British life like no one else.

Following Bryson around his then-current journey around the UK, intermixed with flashbacks of his earlier travels around the UK, Bryson seems to be having the trip that I really should have had, were the situation different. Whether he’s negotiating the weird rules surrounding guest houses, his career as a staffer in a psychiatric hospital or the incomprehensible accents of Glasgow, Bryson is always worth a laugh.

I found Bill Bryson's, "Notes from a Small Island" to be a comfortable and comforting read during a long period of enforced isolation and mild stress during the Covid 19 pandemic. Reading Bryson is much like visiting with a friend recently returned from a trip abroad. Every page brought a smile and sometimes a laugh and once or twice a belly shaking, knee slapping roar (I'll not reveal the genesis of those, since you may suspect me having of perverted or at least a peculiar risibility.
There is more to this book than the humor and the travelogue: it is a touching insight into the sensibilities of a decent, worthy man.

The basic premise of Notes from a Small Island is the third most idiotic travelogue I've read: a solo walking and train tour across England in Autumn, when the holiday attractions are closed, the primary weather condition is wet, and since it's 1996, you don't even have the internet as a distraction (Above it are River of Doubt and one where an ex-CIA agent smuggles himself into Iran to look at some shrines). What happens is a long wander through the minor towns of England, a meditation on the character of the English, and a display of their small pleasures, infinite patience, and sheer density of heritage. There are some wonderful little passages, like the suggestion that Communism would've fared much better when done by the English, show more who naturally love pulling together, standing in lines, bland diets, and faceless bureaucracies. Or everything about W.J.C. Scott-Bentinck, 5th Duke of Portland (google him). But Bryson aptly notes that all English towns are pretty much alike; same Marks & Spencers, same curry shops, same ugly cement shopping bunkers and officeplexes crouching over the decaying Victorian buildings. This book feels maybe 30% too long. The best parts compare the England of the late 70s that Bryson arrived in to the England of the mid 90s that he leaving, but there's too little human interest for someone interested in humans, too little organization for someone interested in places. Bryson loves England very very much, and that loves shines through, but the overall impression that I got was really "Her? Egg?" show less

My third try at reading something by Bill Bryson and -- like the last two -- I was unable to get more than about 50 pages into it before losing interest. He thus joins Kim Stanley Robinson and a select few others on my list of "authors who, despite their obvious talent and enormous popularity, do nothing for me."

Bryson's signature travel-writing style strikes me as a blend of three things: 1) A "game-but-hapless schlub" persona that may be the real Bryson or may be a put-on; 2) Elaborate, almost Dickensian descriptions of colorful characters and settings he encounters along the way; 3) Comic exaggeration that starts where Mark Twain went in his more unbuttoned moments and winds up somewhere on the far side of Dave "I am not making this show more up" Barry . . . and that, I think, is why I find his work off-putting.

Game-but-hapless schlubs and cringe comedy (in which Bryson often traffics here) are, for me, anti-entertaining. Dickens-style baroque characters with improbable names are marvelous if done well, but (again, for me) they only work if the author, and all the characters around them them, treat them as essentially normal . . . but Bryson-the-author always feels like he's waving and pointing from the margins, saying: "Look! A caricature!" I'm always up for a well-done example of the comedy of overstatement -- Twain's "Fenimore Cooper's Literary Offenses" remains the funniest thing I've ever read -- but outside of a novel it is (last time: for me) virtually impossible to carry off at book length. What's funny in a 1,000-word column or 3,000-word article goes flat in a 100,000 memoir.

If you've never read Bill Bryson, don't let this put you off. Millions of people love his books, and--statistically speaking--your literary tastes are more likely to align with theirs than mine. If, however, you've tried reading him and can't figure out why he leaves you cold . . . maybe this is why. show less

What an utterly wonderful way to travel a country, vicariously. Bryson's humor is disarming, and his writing clean and easy to read. The way he describes the various parts of the country clearly demonstrates that he loves this England that he lived in for ten years, loves it enough to treat it with both praise and affectionate criticism. Whether he is extolling the virtues of certain under-appreciated areas, or sharply undermining cities that he finds obnoxious or well below expectations, you almost have the feeling of a parent towards a child, both praising and admonishing. Bryson doesn't shy away from his own faults and virtues either; many anecdotes focus on the close and personal, relating almost all the geography he traverses to show more his own life in some way. This correlation makes the experience much more human and intimate.

I haven't read a travel essay in a long time, and those I did read weren't even from this century, so this was a new reading experience. I loved it! Who knew that nonfiction could be so engrossing? (Sorry, nonfiction fans, that's just my personal bias of fiction coming out.) I will definitely be reading more by Bryson. In fact, I think if I do another book challenge, I will create a travel category. The only bad thing about reading this book was that now I want to go to England, and see all the places for myself! show less

This is the first book from Bryson I've read and my only regret is not reading it much sooner. I am completely charmed by Bryson with his dry, sarcastic whit and care-free attitude when it comes to writing down his actual feelings about a place that is completely crap, something a lot of travel writers probably avoid. I was glad this wasn't written like a memoir - the writer doesn't go on about his past experiences (though you do get some quips about his life and family) - but rather takes you on as a travel companion and has a conversation with you about what he's doing. If you love anything about Britain, I definitely recommend this.

I've come to the conclusion that I can't read/listen to too many Bryson books back-to-back. It's very much like travelling with someone for too long: eventually they start doing things that get on your nerves.

Overall I enjoyed the book, and there are several additional places in England that I'd like to see on future trips. But I got weary of listening to Bryson complain about how much things cost, and sometimes... sometimes he was kind of mean and crotchety in a way that I felt passed the line of amusing, fumbling tourist and went straight into stereotypical obnoxious-tourist territory. I might not have felt that way if I'd spaced these books out a bit more.

I'm still a fan, but I'll be taking a break until after the new year to start show more another.

N.B.: Richard Williams is excellent as the narrator; I often forgot he wasn't actually Bryson, he owned this narration that much. show less