Review of THE ROAD TO LITTLE DRIBBLING
by Johny McFliggen, PhD Literature & Business, Oxford
In the whimsical yet decidedly perceptive world of travel literature, Bill Bryson's "The Road to Little Dribbling" emerges as both a love letter and a mild admonishment to his beloved Britain. Imagine if David Attenborough, with his profound passion for the natural world, decided to trade in the Serengeti for the Cotswolds, bringing his meticulous attention to detail but infused with the wit of Monty Python. This is Bryson's gift: he sifts through the mundane, mining comedic gold from the eccentricities of everyday life in Britain.
The book is, in essence, Bryson's sequel to "Notes from a Small Island," a nostalgic pilgrimage that crisscrosses from Bognor Regis to Cape Wrath, whimsically dubbed the "Bryson Line." As if channeling the curious spirit of a modern-day Phileas Fogg, Bryson observes the landscape with both reverence and irreverence. His journey is not just a geographic one but also temporal, contrasting the Britain he first encountered decades ago with its current incarnation. It's akin to watching an episode of Doctor Who—familiar yet transformed.
Bryson's American origins lend him an outsider's perspective, which is simultaneously endearing and exasperating to his British readers. He navigates this dual identity with the precision of a tightrope walker, often leaning into the quintessentially British love for self-deprecation and dry humor. His observations are as sharp as a well-brewed cup of Earl Grey, seasoned with the occasional grumble about modern inefficiencies—a nod perhaps to Victor Meldrew rather than Jane Austen.
The reception of "The Road to Little Dribbling" has been warm, though not without its detractors. Some argue that Bryson occasionally channels his inner curmudgeon, reminiscent of Holden Caulfield's disdain for phonies. Yet, it could be posited that these critiques overlook the nuanced affection hidden beneath his sardonic veneer. The comparison to Paul Theroux's introspective journeys or Peter Mayle's Provençal escapades is inevitable, yet Bryson stakes his claim in a distinctly different territory. His humor—never forced, always genuine—elevates the narrative beyond mere travelogue into something more resonant.
While it might not blaze new trails so much as meander through familiar ones, "The Road to Little Dribbling" remains a charming exploration of Britain's idiosyncrasies. Bryson's ability to capture an entire scene with a single sentence is akin to a master painter with a brush—a skill that no amount of geographical familiarity can replicate. In this work, one finds not just a sequel but an affectionate reaffirmation of what makes Britain, in all its stubborn glory, truly unique. And as we close this literary journey, we are reminded that perhaps it is not the novelty of travel but the depth of observation that defines a truly great travel memoir.
Purchase Link: THE ROAD TO LITTLE DRIBBLING on Amazon
