I've heard they don't even like the word 'vagina. Did I mention they have bad teeth, too? And what's the deaaaaaal with blood sausage? What's intended to be a wry description of life and culture in England comes across as a petulant whine interspe "British men are so gay. What's intended to be a wry description of life and culture in England comes across as a petulant whine interspersed with eye-rolling cliches.
It read more like my stodgy grandfather recounting a trip to "Limeyland" including "going American" on hotel staff--can just feel the fanny pack and flag shirt with that one than any sort of introspective look into a different culture.
I mean, sure, maybe there's a point to be made about the American fixation on blindingly white porcelain teeth versus the British ideal, but referencing Austin-fucking-Powers in ? Are you serious? I liked the chapter on hedgehogs, but that's only because hedgehogs are that cute.
Rating Clarification: 2. Her style of humor came across as more condescending then balanced or friendly. He's an American living abroad who seems to be able to poke gentle fun of his adopted country while at the same time revealing how incredible and special he th Rating Clarification: 2.
He's an American living abroad who seems to be able to poke gentle fun of his adopted country while at the same time revealing how incredible and special he thinks it is.
View 2 comments. An excellent book, I read it in the space of a day, and wished I hadn't finished so quickly. It's a great look into modern British life, the aspects of which can be bizarre. Particularly brilliant are the chapters dealing with the nobility, the government, and the rather dubious "press".
One of my favorite or should it be favourite? Horrible, absolutely horrible. Here's my Amazon review I wrote a couple of years ago. My American Wife bought me this for Christmas, and I was quite looking forward to reading it. As other reviewers pointed out, the dust jacket implied funny, hilarious even, observations of the British in the style of Bill Bryson.
It could not have been further from the truth, or more disappointing. As a Brit I've enjoyed Bryson's witty observations and commentary on life in Britain, sometimes complimentary, some Horrible, absolutely horrible.
As a Brit I've enjoyed Bryson's witty observations and commentary on life in Britain, sometimes complimentary, sometimes not. Lyall's book however is merely a mean spirited rant on the usual stereo types by a loud, ugly American The irony of calling her a loud, ugly American whilst complaining about her stereo typing is not lost on me. It was a struggle to get through paragraph after paragraph, chapter after chapter of negative, condescending, ridiculing, and in some cases plain spiteful commentary on the British and their way of life.
In every chapter you wait for the insightful, or at least funny, section and in each chapter you're left wondering if its worth continuing on.
She appears to believe that the entire country are Eton educated, homosexual or at least should be, sad repressed little people who still have not recovered from WWII. Her rants on snobbery, the dying out breed of aristocrats, and how ingrained it is to the English would be much more relevant if she wasn't constantly name dropping and banging on about how well connected her family is.
The absurdity of the House of Lords, although again the personal mean spiritedness of her writing detracts from the humorousness of her subject matter. The low spots are sections ridiculing the WWII, and post WWII, generations, an entire chapter on the British and their teeth, and the constant belittling of everything British in comparison to everything American the press, the food, the service, the weather, the houses, and obviously the people, even the damned saran wrap. If I didn't have a stack of books on the UK taller than me calling my name, I would have stuck with this book longer.
But since I do have a stack of books on the UK taller than me calling my name, I'm setting this one aside at page Lyall's introduction seemed promising, as it gave a brief report of her time in England, but her first chapter quickly escalated into generalizations about the British condition.
Apparently, all Englishmen are slightly gay, prone to cross-dressing, and inherently If I didn't have a stack of books on the UK taller than me calling my name, I would have stuck with this book longer. Apparently, all Englishmen are slightly gay, prone to cross-dressing, and inherently sexist and afraid of intimacy with females.
I haven't known enough Englishmen to counter her argument, but I find it hard to believe that such a sweeping assessment could apply to such a diverse country. That's Lyall's problem: she takes a few examples from her personal experience--say the time she went home with a sexually-inept Englishman and found out that he courted a man the next night--and spins this as proof of the overarching male situation. I thought the book might get better, but I soon realized that Lyall obviously still feels that American ways of doing things are better than British ways.
This isn't an unbiased book, which could be excused if she'd been more candid about that in her introduction. But, when you call your book a "Field Guide" to a nation's people, you are suggesting a level of objectivity that Lyall lacks. I might pick this up again if I have time before my travels, but I'm finding it unlikely as I begin other travel memoirs that are much richer in their portrayals of the British.
A high-handed critique of English classism, sexism, homophobia, the House of Lords, hedgehogs, bad food It all came off as critical and of all things, condescending The author lacks any degree of affection for her topic.
There are lots of snobby anecdotes about the author hanging out with her friends in the British aristocracy. This all would have been fine and good if there was humor But not really A high-handed critique of English classism, sexism, homophobia, the House of Lords, hedgehogs, bad food But not really any laugh-out-loud moments in this book. This is the land that gave birth to Monty Python, for God's sake! The author's obviously a talented writer, but in addition to lacking humor, this field guide lacks heart.
She's someone that might hobnob at a cricket match with lords and ladies, but you'd probably never catch her in an English pub hefting a pint with the locals - and you probably wouldn't want to spend much time with her yourself. Maybe I'll prefer that instead. I actually found this book VERY funny.
Not terribly unique, but if you're at all interested in British culture, you'll enjoy it. Loved the chapter on bad British teeth. Also, she examines, British relationship with alcohol, weather and 'the stiff upper lip'.
A bit slow going, but overall very enjoyable. Note that while this book claims to be a "field guide to the British", it's mostly about the English, and, I suspect, largely about middle and upper class types from the South of England at that. I suppose that's okay - that is what most Americans think of when they think of the English, and really exhaustively cataloguing the British would require a much longer book.
I think that any American who is already interested in British culture will find this book a mix of genuinely interesting observa Note that while this book claims to be a "field guide to the British", it's mostly about the English, and, I suspect, largely about middle and upper class types from the South of England at that.
I think that any American who is already interested in British culture will find this book a mix of genuinely interesting observations and somewhat cliched ramblings about familiar topics like the incomprehensibility of cricket and unpronounceable aristocratic names.
The early chapter on sex education in British schools is positively hair-raising, as is the chapter on British dentistry. I expected that last to fall into the cliche category, but it was just too genuinely horrifying.
I got many laughs out of the section on the British talent for self-deprecating humor, and the chapters on parliament managed to clear up a few things that have long seemed puzzling to me. I suppose I'd take the book with a bit of a grain of salt - it's Lyall's very personal take on a particular slice of British society that she's spent a decade living in, and she describes it nicely, but I wouldn't take this book as the final word on the British character.
Got this audiobook on CD for my drive up north on vacation. I was so excited about the topic, I started listening to it early I saw that the author was a writer for The New York Times and had a recommendation from Malcolm Gladwell uber-liberal red flags but I still started it with a tremendous amount of hope and enthusiasm. I studied abroad at Oxford in college and have a deep abiding love for the British.
In the second or third section, the author dives immediately into the sexual orientati Got this audiobook on CD for my drive up north on vacation. In the second or third section, the author dives immediately into the sexual orientation, sex education and sexual experiences of the British. I had to keep skipping sections as she talked about sex at great length. The bits I heard were her telling horror stories of individual's first sexual exposures complete with graphic language.
She also seemed to mock and snear at the British for being reserved and different. It felt a bit mean-spirited. In the end, I skipped almost the entire first CD in an attempt to avoid the sexual content!
It pained me because I love hearing about the British, but after skipping almost the entire first CD of this audiobook, I packed it up and tried a different book. Lyall is an American journalist who moved to London for love during the s.
She is married to an English editor and author and is raising two daughters in England. As a reporter for the New York Times, Lyall contrasts her American self with the more reserved and repressed English men and women around her. A very humorous look at or "field guide to the British" as she puts it. I found that several of my English friends quite fit the bill of the national character she describes. A delightful re Lyall is an American journalist who moved to London for love during the s.
A delightful read. Lured on by the mendacious cover blurbs "razor-sharp, wickedly insightful, hilarious" - oh, really, Graydon Carter? Come on, Ms Lyall, if the reader is promised a merciless takedown of the Brits, you have an obligation to deliver - Lord knows there's plenty of material to choose from. Modest hand- Lured on by the mendacious cover blurbs "razor-sharp, wickedly insightful, hilarious" - oh, really, Graydon Carter?
Modest hand-wringing about the state of British dentition just doesn't qualify as "wicked", "devastating", or remotely interesting. On the evidence, Sarah Lyall seems like a fine, upstanding, perfectly nice New York Times correspondent who happened to marry an Englishman. But when I buy a book like this, I'm not looking for nice - I want someone who is willing to take the gloves off and get down and dirty. Some fresh insights beyond dismayed twittering about odd English dietary preferences and their predilection for living in cold, drafty hovels would help as well.
But Sarah's much too nice a young lady to provide the malice that might have spiced up this flavorless olla podrida. As a new amenity, the staff can also deliver a hamper of Shropshire foods straight to your door--with cheeses, bread, butter, cakes, jams, sausages, ham and eggs. Babington House Somerset Babington House is an offshoot of Soho House, the exclusive London club known for its membership list of young literary-artsy-celebrity types.
Actor Hugh Grant and novelist Will Self can be spotted roaming Soho House's three floors--though only by fellow members and their guests. Happily, he decided to open the 22 bedrooms of this most unhotel-like of hotels to nonmembers too. Yes, there is a bar with low-slung chrome-and-leather seating; there are Victorian bathtubs sunk into the slatted, sauna-style wooden floors or perched in the middle of spare, bright bedrooms; the beds are huge and have all-white cotton-and-goosedown comforters.
For playing--or working, given the clientele--there is a high-speed modem line in every room, a movie theater, TVs with access to almost every channel on earth, an art studio and a dance studio. There are two swimming pools moodily lined with black tile; the Little House, a place for children to play; croquet, cricket and archery for the lord-of-the-manor fantasist; and five-a-side football a form of soccer for the rough-and-tumble set.
Best of all, there is fantastic food. Speckled Maran hens supply your breakfast eggs, their mates your wake-up call. An extraordinarily jaded person who can't choose between wood-oven roasted rabbit, grilled lemon sole with brown shrimp butter, and pappardelle with wild mushrooms and truffle oil can collapse onto a taupe suede cushion and go for the Bring Me Food option as the menu calls it.
You don't have to decide what to eat: the dressed-down staff will simply serve you course after course--for as long as you want them to. Hotel Tresanton Cornwall Olga Polizzi used to be known for her chintz. Her brother is Sir Rocco Forte, her father Lord Forte, both of Trusthouse Forte, which was the United Kingdom's biggest hotel group until a headline-making hostile takeover in Many a swagged floral drape was designed by Polizzi in Forte's heyday, but all along her heart was in quite a different place, as is clear to any guest at her one-year-old Hotel Tresanton.
Perched on the seashore of the southernmost, far-western county of Cornwall, in the quaint--this is the only word to use--fishing village of St.
Mawes, its 24 rooms and two family suites are located in a collection of houses that were once a yachting club. Indeed, Cornwall is one of the chief sailing centers of the United Kingdom, and Tresanton offers all shapes and sizes of sailboats for guests' use. The Gulf Stream warms these shores, making Cornwall the vacation hot spot of the British Isles--it's referred to as England's riviera--and meaning that within easy reach of Tresanton are semitropical gardens.
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