The Road to Little Dribbling

TL;DR: Old man yells at cloud.

I really enjoyed all of Bryson's past travelogues, but the tone of this book is just super grumpy and unfunny. He spends most of his time complaining about how things were better in the good ol' days, and making pointless, negative hyperbolic statements about everything. Every time I tried to make progress in this book it felt like a chore, and was the first Bryson book that I've put down without finishing.

*3.5 stars

Bill is still funny at times, but the whole ‘everything used to be better' and ‘I wish nothing would change' spiel is really starting to grate.

I think I have read 90% of what Bryson has written including his wonderful books on Shakespeare and on the English language. Since joining goodreads I have just added the latest ones - a definite 5 star History of Everything and which spanned macroscopic and the equally delightful 1927 which spanned microscopically.
I got the impression the book was a contractual obligation. Yes there are amusing parts, and the summary at the end was cogent, albeit a bit pastoral (he obviously, but who can blame him, avoided inner city Britain at all costs). However I love Bryson for his snarkyness but I got the feeling I just saw bitterness in this one.
He made his name with travel books, but I think he is now at his best in books like Home, or the other two mentioned above where his pedagogy is pure unadulterated fun fact digging. I feel, in reading those, just like Bryson does in delighting at reading a museum note in this book - he does not remember a single thing it said but he hugely enjoyed it.
So this one was “mailed in” and though I did not waste my time reading it I will use it for a next visit to the uK, I feel the need to re-read A Short History...

Okay, make it a 3.5. The book definitely got better as it moved along. At first, the author sounded like just another crabby old guy whining about change. But the tone of his sarcasm improved, became more humorous. As an American, I'm glad I read this book while visiting England. I'll read more of his work.

Oh, Mr. Bryson, please don't take up projects solely because your publisher wants you to make a buck! It is very clear that your heart was not in this one, which seems like a product from an entirely different author than “Notes from a Small Island,” this travelogue's predecessor. I know 20 years have elapsed, but isn't anything charming to you on that small island?

Observing that there are stylish (a word overused in this book!) cafes and shops are not all there are to towns. Mr. Bryson observes that the best way to understand a place is to talk to locals. The one time he does this, he learns more about the town and enjoys his visit more. Having finished “The Accidental Tourist” (about a travel writer who provides travel advice about ways to not experience that country's offerings) just after this book, I couldn't help but wonder if Mr. Bryson is heading that direction? Barely any space was dedicated to Scotland, which I found to be people with interesting, friendly folk, gorgeous, and full of amazing sights/sites. Come now, sir!

Overall, Mr. Bryson whinges on and on about the prevalence of wheely bins and paved over gardens, as well as going on for pages and pages about poor punctuation and grammar. And he does so with a prevalence of references incomprehensible to this American, despite being an Anglophile. I certainly don't mind a bit of cantankerousnes, but it felt overwhelming in this instance. Frankly, if I weren't listening to the audiobook version, I don't think I would have finished. It pains me to be so harsh on Mr. Bryson, because I've enjoyed a number of his charming titles.

My favorite section, in which the author visits the Lake District, reminded me that I must go again. But where was Little Dribbling? If it's to be referenced in the title, then at least stop off for a cream tea!


Ah, well, I hope that Mr. Bryson finds a topic that brings more joy to his person so that he may write more delightful books.

What a shame. Bryson has become a grumpy old bastard, nostalgic for the good old days of Britain (when food was served burnt and cold, but there were flowers everywhere) and impatient with anyone (especially food service staff) who can't follow his logic (or whom he deems intellectually inferior).

I've been walking along the backroads of England for nine days with Bill Bryson. It's been a pleasant experience, mostly (though, be warned, if you plan to journey with this fellow that he goes off at the drop of a hat, and he has a rather foul mouth to go along with his rather foul temper). He stops in every tiny dot of a town and he tends to find each spot somewhat disappointing. He made much the same journey many years ago, and, like those of us of a certain age, seems to discover that the years have not been kind to most of rural England. It's not as easy to get to these little towns now. The food isn't quite as tasty. The souvenir shops have moved in. And so on. And so on. He's humorous, of course, and that's what keeps us enthralled. But there were many times along this journey that I wished he'd just go home if he was so disenchanted.

Bryson doesn't have a bad book, but this one is easily his worst. An awful lot of curmudgeonly complaining. The “Here's what I was thinking in my head” conversations pall after a while. His liberal politics are also somewhat intrusive. I still laughed out loud in places but disappointing.

I <3 the UK, and so does Bill Bryson.