The Lost Continent
I’ve never been left unmoved by a Bryson book. Mother Tongue was fascinating. Down Under, awe inspiring. A Short History of Nearly Everything, depressing.
And Lost Continent, which I’ve just finished… boring.
It’s not Bryson’s fault. He wrote a good book, he made me laugh, he reminded me of the fortnight I spent driving solo through the deserted plains between Kentucky and Illinois, or three weeks around New England.
And yet his experiences were so singularly uninspiring that you get to the end of it quite happy to read of his car pulling up into the driveway for the last time, and relieved on his behalf that he can now turn his back on America, put up his feet and do something… well, less boring for a while.
The book is a litany of rude service, bad food, expensive yet dull tourist attractions, second-rate hotels and the growing homogenisation of America. It mourns the loss of character from the smallest towns and the killing off of a happier and more fulfilling way of life.
Perhaps Bryson was just jaded after transplanting himself in the UK, or perhaps the book is blighted by the almost total omission of the big cities (its whole premise) but the picture he paints is of an utterly undesirable and unsympathetic country that few would ever want to visit.
I think he and I, these days, may well be in agreement.
If you liked that post, then try these...
Delia's How to Cheat at Cooking on March 10th, 2008
Jonathan Ross ad on January 31st, 2006
Why I like Wired on February 10th, 2004
Casino Royale on November 24th, 2006
Who is to blame? on February 28th, 2004