”I come from Des Moines. Somebody had to…’
Bill Bryson is always grumpy. He’s grumpy in Nevada. He’s grumpy in Nebraska. He’s grumpy at the Grand Canyon. He’s grumpy at Mount Rushmore. Grumpiness is his number one personality trait. What is especially delicious about his ill temper throughout The Lost Continent is that he was only in his mid-thirties when he embarked on a journey across his homeland of America to find the perfect American town. He can’t even claim to be a grumpy old man. A reader’s appreciation of Bryson’s work will depend entirely on whether they can enjoy a few hundred pages that are mostly someone complaining with occasional flashes of gratitude and wonder. As someone who is also famously grumpy, I’m a big fan…
Initially published in 1989 and written across 1987 and 1988, The Lost Continent is Bryson’s first travel book and one of his most beloved. The book chronicles Bryson’s 13,978-mile trip across America and is punctuated by the author’s now trademark conversational digressions and gallows humour. And make no mistake about it, this is a funny book. I guffawed on the train. I chuckled in bed. I cackled at my desk. Put shortly, I was laughing throughout.
For some people, Bryson’s curmudgeonly persona will be too much, for fellow grumps like me, however, The Lost Continent has much to offer. The sheer breadth and variety of Bryson’s ability to complain are truly heartening and I snaffled his first novel proper up in a week or so, such was its ability to grab and hold my attention.
Fans of Bryson’s inimitable style will love The Lost Continent but his detractors will find only confirmation of everything they dislike about the British-based writer. You get the feeling Bryson doesn’t care much. He doesn’t care much about anything—a wonderful writer.