Notes from a Small Island
Where to buy Notes from a Tiny Island books online?
- ISBN13: 9780380727506
- Condition: NEW
- Notes: Brand New from Publisher. No Remainder Mark.
Product Description
“Suddenly, in the space of a moment, I realized what it was that I loved about Britain-which is to say, all of it.”
After nearly two decades spent on British soil, Bill Bryson-bestsellingauthor of The Mother Tongue and Made in America-chose to returnto the United States. (“I had recently read,” Bryson writes, “that 3.7 million Americans believed that they had been abducted by aliens at one time or another,so it was clear that my people needed me.”) But before departing, he set out ona grand farewell tour of the green and kindly island that had so long been his home.
Veering from the ludicrous to the endearing and back again, Notes from a Tiny Island is a delightfully irreverent excursion around the unparalleled floating nation that has produced zebra crossings, Shakespeare, Twiggie Winkie’s Farm, and places with names like Farleigh Wallop and Titsey. The result is an uproarious social commentary that conveys the right glory of Britain, from the satiric pen of an unapologetic Anglophile.
“Suddenly, in the space of a moment, I realized what it was that I loved about Britain-which is to say, all of it.”After nearly two decades spent on British soil, Bill Bryson-bestselling author of ,i>The Mother Tongue and Made in America-chose to return to the United States. (“I had recently read,” Bryson writes, “that 3.7 million Americans believed that they had been abducted by aliens at one time or another, so it was clear that my people needed me.”) But before departing, he set out on a grand farewell tour of the green and kindly island that had so long been his home.
Veering from the ludicrous to the endearing and back again, Notes from a Tiny Island is a delightfully irreverent excursion around the unparalleled floating nation that has produced zebra crossings, Shakespeare, Twiggie Winkie’s Farm, and places with names like Farleigh Wallop and Titsey. The result is an uproarious social commentary that conveys the right glory of Britain, from the satiric pen of an unapologetic Anglophile.Amazon.com Review
Reacting to an itch common to Midwesterners since there’s been a Midwest from which to escape, writer Bill Bryson stirred from Iowa to Britain in 1973. Effective for such places as Times of London, among others, he has lived reasonably happily there ever since. Now Bryson has chose his native country needs him–but first, he’s going on a roundabout excursion on the island he likes.
Britain fascinates Americans: it’s familiar, yet alien; the same in some ways, yet so different. Bryson does an brilliant job of showing his adopted home to a Yank audience, but you never get the feeling that Bryson is too much of an outsider to know the right scenery of the country. Notes from a Tiny Island strikes a nice balance: the writing is American-silly with a British range of vocabulary. Bryson’s marvelous ear is also in evidence: “… I noted the names of the small villages we passed through–Pinhead, West Stuttering, Bakelite, Ham Hocks, Sheepshanks …” If you’re an Anglophile, you’ll devour Notes from a Tiny Island.
Buy Cheap Notes from a Tiny Island Online
Related posts:
England ain’t what it usta be.
“Clearances” have devastated the traditional countryside, driving people off their small farms as lords and landlords merge parcels of empty land together to make modern productive farms.
Ooops! That’s the complaint from a couple of hundred years ago. Today’s whine, articulately offered by Bryson, is that England’s hedgerows are disappearing. In addition, city planners make a mess of things. My, my, isn’t progress terrible! Just reflect, if we don’t hold onto the past . . . the future may take place.
Bryson offers the predictable American view of England; a lovely place because of its very ancient heritage, and please don’t let the natives spoil it for the tourists. Time and again I’ve seen similar American tourists of limited acumen visit Native American reservations to stare in awe at rug weaving, basket building, jewelry building and native dances. Whether in England, Mexico or Native American reservations, the request is similar: “Show us your native culture, do a traditional dance for us, sing us a traditional chant or song — your poverty is so charming and noble.”
Such tourists are shocked to find a Burger King in Chinle, the heart of the Navajo Nation, and in any small English village. Bryson is shocked by Milton Keynes, a master-plotted community built after World War II; but doesn’t compare it to master-plotted communities scattered hither and yon with less preparation across the US landscape. The US holds the world championship for ravaging the environment; England lags woefully.
His book reads like a collection of supposedly clever newspaper columns patched together in a hasten for a quick book. Granted, England — like America — has a lot of problems. Bryson moans to no end about the declining train service in England; one of these days, he needs to take a look at public transportation in America. It might give him enough perspective to judge England less harshly, and with greater understanding.
England’s declining industries are well represented by the clogged mills; in the US, the “rust belt” is the equivalent. Yet, when it comes to innovative new autos, for example — reflect of the new Mini Cooper; thoughts like that don’t come from the US, which counts on imports from Japan or Europe for new thoughts.
In brief, Bryson is an practiced at finding fault lacking understanding.
This book is a superb description of the England tourists seldom see. He sounds like people I know who do live in England and who plot to get out as quick as possible. If you like the grim side of a country, a celebration of the shortcomings, inconveniences and headaches large and tiny, this is the book for you.
Personally, having visited England years before Bryson, I learned one thing: if you don’t like rain, buy a raincoat. If you don’t want to wear a raincoat, don’t complain about the rain. This book would have been much better, and probably much more amusing, had Bryson invested a couple of quid in a raincoat.
Reader’s Rating: 2 / 5
I was very disappointed in this book. I thought it a fantastic concept to travel around England by public transit or foot and comment on what he saw after living in the country for 20 years. So he walks into Oxford with a passing comment on the gorgeous buildings and then spent paragraphs denouncing the shopping center. It seemed to me he wanted to be a stand up comic, but he failed, fell on his face or his posterior most of the time. He also commented in vulgarisms, too many times. The only thing I will give him credit for is being an ambitious walker, even in the rain.
Reader’s Rating: 1 / 5
I couldn’t even get through the first half of the book on cassette of Notes From a Tiny Island. Most of the humour is mean spirited. It appears that he gets fantastic pleasure of sitting next to an overweight family tree just because he can watch them and find a reason to make fun of them.
Reader’s Rating: 1 / 5
Bill Bryson is an anti-property Commie.
He warms us up with tales of his frustration at how shop-owners are permitted to fit plate-glass windows into Victorian buildings. He expresses shock and disgust that homeowners are permitted to replace their ancient, drafty sash windows with modern uPVC windows. He is distraught that farmers are permitted to uproot hedgerows in order to produce food more efficiently.
Once he has clarified his contempt for the notion of private property, his huge-government, statist thoughts come as no surprise. None of these thoughts, of-course, can be implemented lacking first confiscating private property.
British investors have, en-masse, marked the town of Morecambe a terrible bet. Once-palatial hotels can be had for the fee of a London semi-detached. Despite this lack of investor-confidence, Bill Bryson knows best. The answer is a new government agency which spends millions upon millions of pounds smartening up unfashionable seaside resorts and magically attracting hordes of crowds who suddenly choose that Morecambe and Hastings are their favourite locations after all. I marvel if it was Bill Bryson who thought it would be a excellent thought to erect a giant tortoise in the middle of the London docklands.
He is appalled that British Rail wanted to close down the Settle-Carlisle line because it didn’t pay for itself. We’re told that this incorrect-headed thinking is an intractable legacy of the Thatcher decade. He mockingly claims that most ‘worthwhile’ things do not pay for themselves. The fact is, the only objective way of measuring whether or not something is ‘worthwhile’ is to theme it to the market. If patrons do not value it to the extent that they are prepared to pay its costs then it is not worthwhile. In Bryson’s elitist, mandate-economy fantasy, enlightened intellectuals such as he should arbitrarily value goods and services and the masses should be forced to cough up to ensure that he can continue to delight in them.
Reader’s Rating: 1 / 5
I lived in London for 12 months. Bryson calls London the most perfect city in the world. I say it’s a huge overpriced crumbling Dickensian slum. If you like brick and drizzle and despise carparks, playgrounds and shopping centres then you’ll like this strongy opinionated guide to Britain. Otherwise, forget it, you’ll just end up feeing mad.
But don’t let it place you off Bryson’s “History of nearly everything”, which is superb.
Reader’s Rating: 2 / 5