Bill Bryson

Bill Bryson is an author I discovered last summer at Border's books. Shortly after accepting the job at St. Peter's, I was looking at travel books and I found his Notes from a Small Island. On the cover is a picture of a Queen's Guard with a tea bag splattered across his face.

The book is described as:

"Veering from the ludicrous to the endearing and back again, Notes from a Small Island is a delightfully irreverent jaunt around the unparalleled floating nation that has produced zebra crossings, Shakespeare, Twiggie Winkie's Farm, and places with names like Farleigh Wallop and Titsey."

It is Bill Bryson's "love letter" (a critic's comment, not mine) to Britain. Bryson is an American, Midwest born and bred, who came to England the first time as a college student backpacking Europe. He fell in love with this little country, and at the time of writing this book, had spent twenty-something years living and working in England. He even married an English gal. Now, facing a move back to the United States, he decided to tour Britain in 7 weeks, seeing as much as he could by way of trains and walking. This book chronicles his adventures.

Seeing as how I was about to leave for the Small Island myself, I chucked this book onto the growing stack (I never seem to buy just one book) and took it home.

It took a while for me to get into it, even though Bryson has some hilarious things to say about Britain--sentiments I can agree with. I just had other things to read at the time, and Bill just had to wait patiently.

When it came time to go, Notes from a Small Island was the only book that actually ended up getting packed. I didn't look at it much on the plane, but started reading it more when I got to England. Suddenly, reading about a place, while I sat there in the middle of it, was more interesting.

It took me some time to plow my way through, but eventually I reached the end. And I knew I would never get rid of this book because it says, more eloquently than I can, exactly how I feel about this country.

What a wondrous place this was--crazy as all get-out, of course, but adorable to the tiniest degree. What other country, after all, could possibly have come up with place names like Tooting Bec and Farleigh Wallop, or a game like cricket? Who else would have a constitutional form of government but no written constitution, call private schools public schools, think it not the least bit odd to make their judges wear little mops on their heads, seat the chief officer of the House of Lords on something called a Woolsack, or take pride in a military hero whose dying wish was to be kissed by a fellow named Hardy? ("Please, Hardy, full on the lips, with just a bit of tongue.") Who else could possibly have given us William Shakespeare, pork pies, Christopher Wren, Windsor Great Park, Salisbury Cathedral, double-decker buses, and the chocolte digestive biscuit? Wherever else would I find a view like this? Nowhere, of course.

All of this came to me in the spaceof a lingering moment. I've said it before and I'll say it again. I like it here. I like it more than I can tell you. And then I turned from the gate and got into the car and knew without doubt that I would be back.

(Excerpt from Notes from a Small Island by Bill Bryson)

I don't know what decision I'll make regarding my future at St. Peter's. But I do know, without doubt, that I will always, always love this country. And even if I move back to the States in August, I know I will come back to this place.

Hell, I've done it once already.