Rating: 
Summary: Ugly American Embarasses Himself
Review: Bryson's sophisticated, world-traveler wit consists of repeating toilet humor, such as the phrase 'Ram's Droppings' over and over again, while indulging his readers with the description of his unflushed 'loo' contents, for which he was expelled from the Guest House in Dover. Nauseating and unfunny.
Rating: 
Summary: On the mark characterizations.... but...
Review: By and large, I enjoyed this book very much. It made me laugh out loud, particularly Bryson's characterizations of many of the people he encountered. It should be noted that Bryson is obsesesd about British architecture, and all of it's shortcomings. This can get a bit tedious to read, even if everything he says about the ubiquity of Boots, Woolworths and Marks and Spencers is true.... Overall, a great read, particularly if you have spent any time in the UK and therefore can relate to his experiences...
Rating:
Summary: What can be more fun than laughing over Britain
Review: Well, after reading Neither here, nore There, this book is slightly more story-telling and less so a row of laughs, but it is still a very enjoyable book with many humouristic features about the silly, comfy and stiff Great Britain. It is a good book to follow up on Bill and his writing but for the first time reader I would suggest to read Neither here nor There first, to get accustomed with Bill's humour and writing style.
Rating: 
Summary: Classic Notes
Review: I have just read this for the third time and if anything it gains charm with each reading. Only Bill Bryson could write a classic from touring some dull British Towns on public transport. Mind you the book is as much about his dry wit as the places he visits. Some of the lines are immortal e.g. -'Blackpool illuminations are nothing if not splendid..and they are not splendid,' 'The day I arrived in Liverpool they were having a litter festival'. My own favourite comes when he tells us that Bradford's role in life is to make all other towns seem attractive - '..and it does it rather well.' I first read this whilst waiting for a horribly delayed flight and regularly laughed out loud to much embarassment. For me this remains his masterpiece.
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Summary: Humorous and effective travel book - best of both worlds
Review: At first I was reluctant to read this because I figured it would be a Rick Stevesesque annoying travel book that tried to be funny. On the contrary, this book could stand alone as a comedy book as well as a litany of occurrences that detail what to do and not to do when travelling through Britain.
At some points Bryson feels a little inclined to rant and whine, but it is in a generally good-natured way and he always has a point. His descriptions of characters he meets and endless ability to make fun of himself and his mistakes make this a true pleasure to read. Honestly, if you are going to Britain and want your normally resistant family to read a travel book about it, just get them started on this and you'll find that all the family members will be clamoring to read chapters aloud in the car. Simply a great, informative resource.
Rating:
Summary: Entertaining travel book with lots of humor and irony
Review: Bill Bryson, an American from Iowa, lived with his family for almost 20 years in Great Britain. Before returning home to the USA, he traveled through England for a few weeks, visiting many a place between Dover and Scotland.
The result is an entertaining love declaration to his chosen homeland, though not missing a few sarcastic side blows. Despite or maybe because of the island's curiosities and occasional wacky behavior of its inhabitants, Bryson confides in the end that he loves everything about Great Britain -- plain and simple.
This unique travel book is recommendable for everyone who plans a vacation in England or who just wants to be entertained well. Bryson's fluent writing style invites to following in this author's footsteps to get to know the special charm of Great Britain.
Rating: 
Summary: Notes from a grumpy traveler
Review: England ain't what it usta be. "Clearances" have devastated the traditional countryside, driving people off their little farms as lords and landlords merge parcels of empty land together to create 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 think, if we don't hold onto the past . . . the future may happen. Bryson offers the typical American view of England; a lovely place because of its 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 gaze in awe at rug weaving, basket making, jewelry making 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 little English village. Bryson is shocked by Milton Keynes, a master-planned community built after World War II; but doesn't compare it to master-planned communities scattered hither and yon with less planning 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 hurry 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 closed mills; in the US, the "rust belt" is the equivalent. Yet, when it comes to innovative new autos, for example -- think of the new Mini Cooper; ideas like that don't come from the US, which counts on imports from Japan or Europe for new ideas. In brief, Bryson is an expert at finding fault without 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 plan to get out as fast as possible. If you like the grim side of a country, a celebration of the shortcomings, inconveniences and headaches large and small, 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 funnier, had Bryson invested a couple of quid in a raincoat.
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Summary: A Fond Farewell to Blighty
Review: I really enjoyed reading this book - it was the first Bryson I'd read and I will read more. I like the way he doesn't go to all the typical tourist hotspots and I admired the way he attempted to do it all via public transport (no mean feat in the UK these days!). I agree totally with his gripe about the horrible 60s and 70s concrete architecture that seems to grace our innercities and towns, and I think this book should be compulsory reading for anyone who works for any town or county council in the UK. The experience in the B&B in Dover was one which I especially loved - what an awful guesthouse that must have been, but it brought back memories because most guesthouses in the UK were like that back then, and worryingly some still are!!! And if it's any consolation to Bill - I'm British and I didn't know what a counterpane was either!
Rating:
Summary: He's now one of my favorite -- I mean favourite -- authors
Review: It all started with A Walk in the Woods. A friend loaned it to me, and almost didn't get it back. Then he loaned me Notes From a Small Island, but with a warning. "You may not like this as much," he said, "I didn't even finish it. But give it a go." Curious about his tepid reaction to the book, I took it with me to jury duty. I sat in the cafeteria, literally laughing out loud. I could have gotten off a case by pleading insanity -- I'm sure that's what people at the surrounding tables were thinking. Bryson's turn of phrase is truly magical. His appreciation for England, for people, for family, is deep. His observations are so well-worded, they give you chills. Two of his passages made it into my journal of quotable-quotes. So I got through half the book at jury duty. Cut to my couch at home. I'm reading the latter half of the book, and come across his description of his drunken attempt to get back to his hotel after an evening at the pub. Downhill. I tell you, I was crying, I was laughing so hard. It's hard to get me to chuckle, and forget LAUGH, during a comedic movie, much less a book. I reread the paragraph two or three times, like rewinding a scene on video tape, and laughed harder and harder. Bryson is a gift to readers who love good writing. And a good laugh.
Rating:
Summary: No Bryson should be left unread
Review: Before returning to his native United States after a sojourn of some twenty years in England, Bryson decided to take a trip around that "small island." The hysterical comments in this book are the result. The British loved it so much it was a best-seller for months, and they turned it into a TV series. The book even includes a glossary of English terms. For example, do you know the difference between a village and a hamlet? One is a small town where people live, the other a play by Shakespeare! Bryson is certainly not your average travel writer - as anyone who has read my reviews of his other books knows - and despite his often scathing wit, it's never done with malice, even when very critical of a subject. What astounds me is Bryson's vigor and willingness to put up with all sorts of cold and wet weather. He made his trek during the off-season, i.e., late October, not an especially delightful time of year in Britain. He did not take a car, relying solely on buses and British Rail, a decision that often forced him to make long, out-of-the-way walks of as far as twenty miles, either because schedules didn't
coincide, or the irregular bus did not run during the off-season. He delightfully intermingles political commentary with travelogue. He visits Blackpool, for example, where there are long beaches - that officially don't exist. "I am not making this up. In the late 1980s, when the European Community issued a directive about the standards of ocean-borne sewage, it turned out that nearly every British seaside town failed to come anywhere near even the minimum compliance levels. Most of the bigger resorts like Blackpool went right off the edge of the turdometer, or whatever they measure these things with. This presented an obvious problem to Mrs. Thatcher's government, which was loath to spend money on British beaches when there were perfectly good beaches in Mustique and Barbados, so it drew up an official decree -- this is so bizarre I can hardly stand it, but I swear it is true -- that Brighton, Blackpool, Scarborough, and many other leading resorts did not have, strictly speaking, beaches. Christ knows what it then termed these expanses of sand -- intermediate sewage buffers, I suppose -- but in any case it disposed of the problem without either solving it or costing the treasury a penny, which is of course the main thing, or in the case of the present government, the only thing." Then there's British Rail. On his way to Manchester, "we crept a mile or so out of the station, then sat for a long time for no evident reason. Eventually, a voice announced that because of faults further up the line this train would terminate in Stockport, which elicited a general groan. Finally, after about twenty minutes, the train falteringly started forward and limped across the green countryside. At each station the voice apologized for the delay and announced anew that the train would terminate in Stockport. When at last we reached Stockport, ninety minutes late, I expected everyone to get off, but no one moved, so neither did I. Only one passenger, a Japanese fellow, dutifully disembarked, then watched in dismay as the train proceeded on, without explanation and without him, to Manchester."
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