Product Description

"I come from Des Moines. Somebody had to."

And, as soon as Bill Bryson was old enough, he left. Des Moines couldn't hold him, but it did lure him back. After ten years in England he returned to the land of his youth, and drove almost 14,000 miles in search of a mythical small town called Amalgam, the kind of smiling village where the movies from his youth were set. Instead he drove through a series of horrific burgs, which he renamed Smellville, Fartville, Coleslaw, Coma, and Doldrum. At best his search led him to Anywhere, USA, a lookalike strip of gas stations, motels and hamburger outlets populated by obese and slow-witted hicks with a partiality for synthetic fibres. He discovered a continent that was doubly lost: lost to itself because he found it blighted by greed, pollution, mobile homes and television; lost to him because he had become a foreigner in his own country.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #1290939 in Books
• Published on: 2004-02
• Original language: English
• Binding: Audio CD

From Amazon.com
A travelogue by Bill Bryson is as close to a sure thing as funny books get. The Lost Continent is no exception. Following an urge to rediscover his youth (he should know better), the author leaves his native Des Moines, Iowa, in a journey that takes him across 38 states. Lucky for us, he brought a notebook.

With a razor wit and a kind heart, Bryson serves up a colorful tale of boredom, kitsch, and beauty when you least expect it. Gentler elements aside, The Lost Continent is an amusing book. Here's Bryson on the women of his native state: "I will say this, however--and it's a strange, strange thing--the teenaged daughters of these fat women are always utterly delectable ... I don't know what it is that happens to them, but it must be awful to marry one of those nubile cuties knowing that there is a time bomb ticking away in her that will at some unknown date make her bloat out into something huge and grotesque, presumably all of a sudden and without much notice, like a self-inflating raft from which the pin has been yanked."

Yes, Bill, but be honest: what do you really think?

From Publishers Weekly
Bryson, a freelance journalist, succumbed to nostalgia upon returning home to Iowa after living for 20 years in England: he decided to relive the dreary vacation car trips of his American childhood. Starting out at his mother's house in Des Moines, he motors through 38 states over the course of two months, looking for the quintessential American small town--something he never encountered as a boy, and certainly doesn't discover now, as he tours superhighways, motels, shopping malls, fast-food joints and tourist traps. And, like a bored, bemused minor tagging along after adults, he trashes almost everything he sees, including the Smithsonian Museum and the trees in Sequoia National Park. Some of Bryson's comments are hilarious--if you enjoy the nonstop whining wisecracks of a 36-year-old kid. First serial to Cond e Nast Traveler; BOMC alternate.
Copyright 1989 Reed Business Information, Inc.

From Library Journal
An expatriate American now living in England chronicles a trip around the United States in which he describes American foibles to the British. The first two chapters capture the tedium of a family vacation and the daffy absurdity of life in the author's home state of Iowa. Midwesterners will grab friends to read choice bits, saying "see." But after these wonderful opening chapters, the author's comic tricks become repetitive: "then I said this outrageous thing; no, not really, but . . . . " While the sometimes irrelevant statistics are interesting, they, too eventually become tedious. As the book grinds on, it descends into a litany of "then I went here, and next I went there." Browsers reading the opening bits will snatch it off the shelves, but many will return it unfinished. ($100,000 promotion; 50,000 copy first printing).
- Nora Rawlinson, "Library Journal"
Copyright 1989 Reed Business Information, Inc.

Customer Reviews

Not a good audio book
Generally I find Bill Bryson audio books a great way to distract myself while cleaning or doing other hideous things, but this one is the exception. When I discovered that it was a 2-CD audio book, I assumed that it must be the abridged version. Now I don't think so--the narrator talks so fast that I'm surprised the second CD was even necessary. The charm of a Bryson audio book is its story-telling feel. The auctioneer pace of this book lacks that particular charm. I had to continually pause the book to catch my mental breath.

The story itself lacks the charm of "In a Sunburned Country" or "Notes from a Small Island." After living for 20 years in England, Bill Bryson decides to take a road trip through America, beginning in Iowa where he grew up. Unlike the other Bryson books, the author is overwhelmingly negative about almost everything he encounters. In his other books, Bryson encounters oddities and odd people in a humorous fashion, sometimes even with delight. This book is completely different, almost hostile. If you are a Bryson fan desperate for a new Bryson book, you might enjoy it. If you are not familiar with Bryson, try "Mother Tongue," "A Short History of Nearly Everything," or "In a Sunburned Country."

More down-to-earth but just as critical as Paul Theroux.
Hit the road with Bryson and you can never be at a loss for things to complain about, to make fun of, and sometimes to take seriously. Here I am reading this in 2003 and I find many things a little outdated but informative and entertaining nonetheless. For example, Bryson travels to Yellowstone National Park less than a year before it was hit by its most ferocious fire in recent history (1988). He tunes in to Jimmy Swaggart feeling remorse for his transgressions with tears endlessly rolling down his cheeks.

Bryson can get a little annoying at times when you think he is most probably just making up names of people and places. Making fun of people's accents can be tiresome at times. Just to keep his reader engrossed, he imbues his narrative with digressions about his family, his relatives, and his fantasies, which is another way of emphasizing how tedious driving across large swaths of land in some parts of the country can be. The change of attitude from detesting his home state to finding it as the best place it can be at the end of his road trip was comforting.

As a traveler, Bryson is hard to categorize. He is definitely not a typical tourist as he detests tourist traps, theme parks, and overpriced historical and quasi-historical landmarks. He does not seem to be an "outdoorsy" person, for even if he makes diversions to national parks, as opposed to passing by and not stopping, there is hardly any mention of day hikes. This, however, can be explained by the off-season timing of his trips to most of the national parks, especially in the West. He revels in taking side roads and byways to check out both natural and historical destinations, and does not mind pushing more miles (40-70 miles) just to find a reasonable place to stay, to dine, or to have a big breakfast. His sense of place is strong, perhaps owing to what he referred to as the Midwesterner's bent for knowing their geographical directions given the topographical monotony of their region.

A map of the 48 states, or a composite showing his fall trip to the eastern half and his spring trip to the western half of the country would have been helpful in guiding people through his personal road trip.

I am partial to the western part of the United States in terms of desirable travel destinations, and I did look forward to the beginning of his western journey starting with Colorado and New Mexico. I was therefore offended by his remark on the profusion of Spanish place names, where an attitude smacked of ugly Americanism, a trait that did not seem to have been diluted after two decades of living in Britain. Here's an excerpt from page 272: "...so that every place in the Southwest is called San this or Santa that. Driving across the Southwest is like an 800-mile religious procession. The worst name on the whole continent is the Sangre de Cristo Mountains...have you ever heard of a more inane name for any geographical feature?" I guess it takes an upbringing in a Spanish-infused culture to gain an appreciation for Spanish nomenclature. If anything, the names are melodious, it not vividly descriptive. What to say of "Sierra Nevada" (snowy mountains)? Or "La Sal Mountains" (salt mountains) in southeastern Utah? Bryson would have thought that ridiculous, when the Spanish explorers, in the middle of red-rock desert, thought they were seeing salt instead of snow on the mountain crests! "Sangre de Cristo" (blood of Christ) is a powerful description for the color of the mountains at dusk. Is the inaneness, according to our dear author, because of the morbid nature of the description??? These Spanish names are beautiful, and they testify to the permanent hold Spanish exploration has on this huge geographical area of the country.

The names given by the Spanish, in my opinion, are more imaginative and descriptive than some of the English names such as "Collegiate Peaks" (Colorado), "Green Mountains" (Vermont), "White Mountains" (New Hampshire, California, and Arizona), "Blue Ridge" and "Smoky Mountains".

20% funny, 80% whining
This book gets off to a roaring start. I found it hilarious, though many would find it offensive. Unfortunately, Bill quickly tires of his journey, and the last 80% of the book is non-stop whining. He complains about EVERYTHING.