Product Description

"I come from Des Moines. Somebody had to". And, as soon as Bill Bryson was old enough, he left. Des Moines couldn't hold him, but it did lure him back. After ten years in England he returned to the land of his youth, and drove almost 14,000 miles in search of a mythical town called Amalgam, the kind of smiling village where the films of his youth were set. Instead he drove through a series of horrific burgs which he renamed Smellville, Fartville, Coleslaw, Dead Squaw, Coma, Doldrum. At best his search led him to Anywhere, USA; a lookalike strip of gas stations, motels and hamburger outlets populated by obese and slow-witted hicks with a partiality for synthetic fibres. He found a continent that was doubly lost;lost to itself because blighted by greed, pollution, mobile homes and television; lost to him because he had become a foreigner in his own country.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #5816 in Books
• Published on: 1999-01-02
• Original language: English
• Binding: Paperback
• 349 pages

Amazon.co.uk Review
A travelogue by Bill Bryson is as close to a sure thing as funny books get. The Lost Continent is no exception. Following an urge to rediscover his youth (he should know better), the author leaves his native Des Moines, Iowa, in a journey that takes him across 38 states. Lucky for us, he brought a notebook.

With a razor wit and a kind heart, Bryson serves up a colourful tale of boredom, kitsch, and beauty when you least expect it. Gentler elements aside, The Lost Continent is an amusing book. Here's Bryson on the women of his native state: "I will say this, however--and it's a strange, strange thing--the teenaged daughters of these fat women are always utterly delectable ... I don't know what it is that happens to them, but it must be awful to marry one of those nubile cuties knowing that there is a time bomb ticking away in her that will at some unknown date make her bloat out into something huge and grotesque, presumably all of a sudden and without much notice, like a self- inflating raft from which the pin has been yanked."

Yes, Bill, but be honest: what do you really think?

Review
Here in one volume are simply the funniest travel books of all time. Bryson's misadventures and digressions, whether driving across America (The Lost Continent) or struggling through Europe (Neither Here Nor There), will make you cry with laughter. (Kirkus UK)

An unending barrage of sarcastic commentary - some of it funny, most of it obnoxious - nearly obscures the occasional acute perceptions of America that Bryson peppers throughout this prodigal son's report. After living and travel-writing for more than a decade in England, Bryson, inspired by a trip to his hometown of Des Moines to attend his father's funeral, decided to explore the US. Here, he reports on his recent trip crisscrossing the nation, guffawing and complaining most of the way, visiting mainly small towns and the countryside in between, but also a few cities, most on the East Coast. True to the book's sour spirit, it begins with a disappointment: a visit to Bryson's grandparents' Iowa house, now no longer the happy home of memory but merely a "shack" surrounded by "cheap little houses." Bryson finds solace by buying the Sunday New York Times, though, and points out that it costs 75,000 trees to reproduce: "So what it' our grandchildren have no oxygen lo breath? Fuck'em." Bryson's humor doesn't get much sharper than that, but his eye for American foibles does, as he endures the, to him, dull plains of Nebraska; garishness of Las Vegas; spookiness of the Smoky Mountains; terrors of a Philadelphia slum; overorderliness of the Smithsonian, and onwards. The mailing of America, the violence that pervades the land, the sleazy films that fill the airwaves: these are the sores that shock or amuse his expatriate's eye. But still Bryson finds good here: the simple dignity of Elvis' birthplace in Tupelo, Miss,; the glories of the Grand Canyon; the nostalgic treasures of baseball's spacious Hall of Fame; and, finally, returning lo Des Moines, all that makes this city "friendly and decent and nice." Bryson is a smooth writer, only far too Smug and self-consciously cranky; still, his account is funny al times, insightful at others. But for a mine mature, wise, and winsome American odyssey by another expatriate, see Mort Rosenblum's excellent Back Home (p. 978). (Kirkus Reviews)

From the Publisher
Bill Bryson's very first travel book, a sidesplittingly funny road trip around America.

Customer Reviews

Travels between crudbucket towns
When Billy Bryson wrote this book Nancy Reagan was still twitching the net curtains at the White House. 4 presidents later counting the president elect to date and could it be that this book is still relevant and contemporary? I haven't been to the states myself but seeing the recent election and the excitement engendered by some middle american farmers for a woman shooting a moose the answer must be 'Yes indeedy doo, you betcha'

Billy B moves from one crudbucket town to another with hilarious opinions, spending nights in seedy motels in beds that sometimes appear to have been vacated by a horse, eating fast foods in diners with views of parking lots once the scenes of important battles. Visiting wax works and souvenir shops selling pictures of farmers on escalators and baseball caps with turds stuck on the brim, sometimes coming across fabulous scenery even, his comments are often scathing but also warm hearted.

Aside from farmers with tanned arms and necks sporting missing fingers and limbs, his poor old dad is the main butt of his humour. BB claims that his dad was even more penny pinching than himself with his butane gas cooker and obsession with only going to free places.

I am sure that the USA is an amazing place and I look forward to visiting to see for myself but for now am very appreciative to live in the UK with it's long established culture and excellent public service broadcasting.

author ok, country, hhmmmm
this travel book of bills is let down by the fact that every small town he visits is more or less the same, dreary, boring, one road plains , with a gas station, fast food outlet and little much else, this is more or less what he encounters through the whole book. needless to say it gets a little stale, he finds a town, then a motel, goes for a stroll, gets a beer or coffee, then off to bed. ad-libitum. like i say its only because small town america is all the same and very drole. his europe book was more interesting, im reading 'down under' at the moment and hope there more laughs to come!!

Pants-wettingly funny
I think you either dig Bryson or you don't. This was the second book of his I read (first was Neither Here nor There). A year or so after I read the book I got this (on tape) to hear on holiday, and began listening in the departure lounge at LHR. Basically my wife had to virtually throw a fire-bucket over me since I was apparently making a spectacle of myself. Kerry Shale's rapid-fire delivery really makes this a great (if exhausting) listen. Even though I've heard it many times (and have attempted to mimic parts of it to friends a thousand times) I still don't get tired of hearing it. If the weather's crap and there's nothing on TV this is hard to beat for sheer pants-wettingly funny listening. The best bits are Kerry Shale's take on the Southern accent: "Can I HEP you?" "Ha doo lack Miss Hippy?" [you're going to need to buy it to figure this one out] and my special favourite "How about a piece o'Pah? We got blueberry, blackberry, raspberry, boysenberry, huckleberry, whortleberry, cherry berry, hair berry, Chuck Berry and Beri Beri". Frankly, if you can listen to this stuff for longer than a minute or two without cracking up you've either got no sense of humour or you deserve an award.