In a Sunburned Country

I like Bill Bryson's work quite a lot. I like travel writing in general. I believe I would very much like Australia. And yet, I really did not care for In a Sunburned Country. Bryson's meanderings through the southern continent are neither hilariously recounted (as is his hike through Appalachia), nor are they especially thoughtfully and engagingly constructed (as is his latest work on the summer of 1927).

Rather, In a Sunburned Country is a rambling roll through the cities and countrysides, no different, perhaps, that if you or I were to write a book on our last vacation - assuming, that is, that we might take a months long vacation for the purpose of writing a book. And there it is: this book feels forced. Instead of undertaking something and then deciding it would make a good story, Bryson has predetermined that there will be a story here, dammit, and it just never quite takes flight. In fact, I made less than halfway before abandoning the effort altogether.