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: #4083 in Books
• Published on: 1999-01-02
• Original language: English
• Binding: Paperback
• 349 pages

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)

Synopsis
"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.

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

Customer Reviews

funny & poignant
Can't remember a book that made me laugh out loud, and in public! Not sure why the other reviewers didn't like it but when I read the passages that had me doubled over to my partner he didn't seem to get it either, so I guess it's a case of 'suck it & see'. It's refreshing to read something that doesn't constantly sing America's praises. I'll definately read more.

Listenable, but nothing special....
In The Lost Continent Bryson revisits America having lived in England for his adult life. He returns to his hometown and treats smalltown American with large doses of sarcasm and scorn, for somebody who has never been to the States i found it funny and informative; two essential ingredients of Bryson's type travel writing in my opinion. Kerry Shales' reading can become quite irritating as he reads, intentionally, very quickly, but this is remedied by his fantasic imitations of all types of American accents. An amusing tape, this is worth listening to, but don't go out of your way for it!

Maybe it's me, but....
What's wrong with the most recent reviewers of Bill's hysterically funny debut? Has there been a recent upsurge in humour bypasses? I first read the Lost Continent not long after it was published and I've gone back to it several times since. It's very witty, well-observed and thoroughly to be recommended. I admit that his (very personal) take on America isn't exactly gushing with praise but it's a cracking read and it had me choking back laughter on public transport on many occasions. And I write this as a USA-phile with a particular affection for modern-day small town America. You don't have to agree with his opinions, but you have to admire his presentation. I lent my copy to a friend and he's yet to return it so I'm going to buy another one today.