I went through a stage during which I romanticized pretty much everything about England and the English--except the food, of course. Being French, I never had any illusions about the English food, but, oh, the jolly camaraderie of the boarding schools, the witty repartee, the distant colonies and their literature, the whole stiff upper lip during the London Blitz, and the accent of course. Some of my favorite authors are British and I could not get enough, even traveling there several times as a kid.
Then something happened. I don't know what exactly, or when, but I began to notice that they were just like us. They ate crappy food in front of the telly (soccer instead of football), and the accents didn't really mean they were smarter...Anyway, the scales fell and I got on with my life.
Sarah Lyall's book The Anglo Files: A Field Guide to the British completely destroyed ANY lingering illusion I had about the joy and pleasure of living among the British and I loved this book. Lyall is an American, a journalist, married to a British writer, and she takes it upon herself to add to the somewhat crowded field of study loosely titled "What is up with our wacky cousins across the pond?"
She takes on the self-deprecation, the dry humor, the bizarre institution that was the House of Lords, the government in general, the British obsession with bad food and bad dental hygiene (yes, apparently some of this is by choice), the love of small animals (badgers and hedgehogs, though that's more of a love/hate thing), the cruelty of the school system that is rapidly being replaced by an overly touchy/feely system of recompense; sex, manliness (or lack thereof, depending on your definition).
On that last note, (and I start with this mainly because last night I watched the latest James Bond), Lyall writes: It seems to me that Daniel Craig in his role as Agent 007 [perfectly combines English mystery with American sensitivity]. He looks good in a dinner jacket, affects humorous insouciance in the face of peril, and knows the proper technique for injecting oneself in the heart when going into cardiac arrest. But he also understands that when a woman is slumped, weeping, in the shower, her evening gown covered in blood, what she really wants is a man with well-defined pectoral muscles to get in there beside her and slowly kiss her fingers, one by one."
Lyall's point is this: That's not going to happen in Britain. Ever. Not even once. (Of course, I'm assuming it doesn't happen in most countries--the blood, the evening gown shower...but I see what she means).
One of the best chapters (besides the one on sex--always entertaining) is Lyall's presentation of the government, but the House of Lords specifically. Until a very few years ago, these seats (some 700) were held by landed gentry, and handed down through the generations. That's right. they weren't elected, they didn't have to care about politics or other people, or even show up. They did get free parking in London, though, Always a perk in an expensive, crowded city. Basically The House of Lords consisted of mostly old men ("Lord X is 92 years old, but acts like a man twice his age" as one reporter put it) debating strange and sometimes less strange things while (mostly) drunk. They quote in Latin and French, they evoke a lost and sometimes mythical past to make points that are meaningless. Probably their best debate (other than the one on the existence--yes or no--of extraterrestrials) was when they had to debate whether or not they should have to give up their seats. (They did)
I thoroughly enjoyed this book, though I skimmed a chapter or two. This makes my top 10 of 2008. I close with a sample of the humor the British use to counter anything they are supposed to care about (according to Lyall's research and observation). Apparently there is one paper which loves printing corrections. They are rather slapdash in their writing and editing so there is a lot of opportunity (including apologizing for misspelling the word "misspelled" in one correction column. Here is one example:
"A Caption in Guardian Weekend...read "Binch of crappy travel mags." This should, of course, have been "bunch." But more to the point it should not have been there at all. It was meant as a dummy which we failed to replace with the real caption. It was not meant to be a comment on perfectly good travel brochures."
Then something happened. I don't know what exactly, or when, but I began to notice that they were just like us. They ate crappy food in front of the telly (soccer instead of football), and the accents didn't really mean they were smarter...Anyway, the scales fell and I got on with my life.
Sarah Lyall's book The Anglo Files: A Field Guide to the British completely destroyed ANY lingering illusion I had about the joy and pleasure of living among the British and I loved this book. Lyall is an American, a journalist, married to a British writer, and she takes it upon herself to add to the somewhat crowded field of study loosely titled "What is up with our wacky cousins across the pond?"
She takes on the self-deprecation, the dry humor, the bizarre institution that was the House of Lords, the government in general, the British obsession with bad food and bad dental hygiene (yes, apparently some of this is by choice), the love of small animals (badgers and hedgehogs, though that's more of a love/hate thing), the cruelty of the school system that is rapidly being replaced by an overly touchy/feely system of recompense; sex, manliness (or lack thereof, depending on your definition).
On that last note, (and I start with this mainly because last night I watched the latest James Bond), Lyall writes: It seems to me that Daniel Craig in his role as Agent 007 [perfectly combines English mystery with American sensitivity]. He looks good in a dinner jacket, affects humorous insouciance in the face of peril, and knows the proper technique for injecting oneself in the heart when going into cardiac arrest. But he also understands that when a woman is slumped, weeping, in the shower, her evening gown covered in blood, what she really wants is a man with well-defined pectoral muscles to get in there beside her and slowly kiss her fingers, one by one."
Lyall's point is this: That's not going to happen in Britain. Ever. Not even once. (Of course, I'm assuming it doesn't happen in most countries--the blood, the evening gown shower...but I see what she means).
One of the best chapters (besides the one on sex--always entertaining) is Lyall's presentation of the government, but the House of Lords specifically. Until a very few years ago, these seats (some 700) were held by landed gentry, and handed down through the generations. That's right. they weren't elected, they didn't have to care about politics or other people, or even show up. They did get free parking in London, though, Always a perk in an expensive, crowded city. Basically The House of Lords consisted of mostly old men ("Lord X is 92 years old, but acts like a man twice his age" as one reporter put it) debating strange and sometimes less strange things while (mostly) drunk. They quote in Latin and French, they evoke a lost and sometimes mythical past to make points that are meaningless. Probably their best debate (other than the one on the existence--yes or no--of extraterrestrials) was when they had to debate whether or not they should have to give up their seats. (They did)
I thoroughly enjoyed this book, though I skimmed a chapter or two. This makes my top 10 of 2008. I close with a sample of the humor the British use to counter anything they are supposed to care about (according to Lyall's research and observation). Apparently there is one paper which loves printing corrections. They are rather slapdash in their writing and editing so there is a lot of opportunity (including apologizing for misspelling the word "misspelled" in one correction column. Here is one example:
"A Caption in Guardian Weekend...read "Binch of crappy travel mags." This should, of course, have been "bunch." But more to the point it should not have been there at all. It was meant as a dummy which we failed to replace with the real caption. It was not meant to be a comment on perfectly good travel brochures."
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