Kingdom by the Sea

I love England and I love Paul Theroux so I have only wonderful things to say about this book. I'm there with him as he walks the coast of England. I'm also a people person, as is he, and the things he writes about touch my soul. I highly recommend this book for anyone who likes fine writing, England, travel, walking tours, people.

This book was not as much fun as I expected it to be, namely because Mr. Theroux (whom I seriously began to dislike here) seemed to take any excuse to disdain the British as a people, a culture, and a nation. He chose to visit the most run-down of locales and then ballishly complained about them, and in so doing presented the image that his experiences were representative of an entire nation as a whole. Imagine someone touring the coastlines of America, especially the rust belt, and then presenting this as a valid exercise in seeing all there was to see of the place. This is just about what happened in The Kingdom By The Sea. Paul Theroux said straight off "no castles" making this his mantra and meaning he was concerned with discovering Britain of the moment rather than of the past, which is a fine and worthy undertaking, but as I slogged through chapter after chapter of his complaints about damp and dank boardinghouses, slovenly humanity and bad food, I kept wishing he jolly would include the occasional castle, battlefield, cathedral or treasure house. Theroux made his trek by foot, bus, train and sometimes private car (he was brazen enough to hitchhike on occasion) in 1982, the year that gave Britons the Falklands War, a homicidal madman in Yorkshire, a threatened transit strike, and the joyous birth of a presumably future king, Charles and Diana's son, William. It was a year mired in an era that represented both a relative low point in modern British history and a also a stepping stone to present-day recovery. Yes, Thatcher's Britain was a tottering welfare state that had seen better days, but did Paul Theroux, who cuts the Third World every conveyable bit of slack when he visits it, really, truly HAVE to always see England's glass as half empty? I actually found myself growing depressed as a read his dreary memoir of what could have been a fascinating journey, and that's just not the sort of experience I was looking for. What could have been a travel journal that uplifted and enthralled instead became a melancholy series of bellicose dreariness. Four stars for a number of introductions to interesting people Theroux met along the way, especially those old-timers born in the nineteenth-century, but without them popping up here an there as they did, this was barely a three-star read.

Engrossing and amusing travelogue by world's crankiest traveler. Some people really hate Theroux, accusing him of snobbery, self importance, and bigotry. I can certainly see why some readers wouldn't be able to deal with his style and opinions, but I must say that this volume might be a pretty good litmus test of readers' tolerance for the author's travel works. (If you can enjoy this one, you'll probably enjoy his other non-fiction works). I, for one, totally enjoyed hearing about grunge-y has-been towns, obnoxious holiday camps, and seedy hotels. To me, the book was a real page-turner, and he writes so vividly of scenery. I felt he wrote about the worst bits of his trip with true humor, reminding us travelers that it's helpful to keep a sense of humor during the rough times. I felt the book was a pretty decent scouting report for the island's shoreline, and I now know what to avoid there. I can definitely thank Theroux and his fussy standards! If you like Theroux, it's a good bet you'll love this one.

When the car radio/player went dead on my journey through Britain, Scotland, my companion and I opted to read aloud this brilliant book during fog stops. I purchased it along with a slew of walking tours and B & B guides not knowing what a jewel we had found. We laughed so hard and paused stopped by something profound hitting us right in the gut - This man is so intelligent and observant, most people would likely miss the world for photos, postcards and tshirts. As we'd approach a new town or village, we did with his keen eye ringing in our ears. After Scotland, we flew to Ireland and rented a car and didn't even bother to see if the radio worked. I'd wave the book and shriek, "he's right! he's soooo right!" - especially where he spoke of the punks riding the train to Margate. Jeez...Mr. Theroux picks through the social garbage of a country and finds the key to its heart, even if partially troubled. This aspects of culture or personality can be "hard to read" or not pleasant or downright insane- he points this out beautifully. There is the great animal sadness to be found in those enigmatic places, especially for the traveler with his bag and notebook - connecting to our times - our own particular darknesses - Mr. Theroux is especially sensitive to this - next to Evelyn Waugh and all those greats, he's one of my favorite writer-writers. He's one of those writers you want to call up and thank.

While many would find this book and it's author depressing, it very accurately describes Great Britain at the beginning of the 1980's. It appears drab because it was. This is not the same England of the 1990's because the country has changed radically since 1980. It is important to remember that this time was the nadir of a slump that began after WWII ended. The air of pessimism and drearyness has now been replaced with unbridled sophistication and optimism. The people are still eccentric and uniquely English but probably a lot better off. For anyone who is English (I am), this book is hysterial, poignant and above all an extremely accurate description of a time and a place. Buy it if you want to avoid the cliches of british life.