American-born journalist Bill Bryson undertakes a journey across the island of Great Britain, which he has called home for the previous 20 years, in his travel memoir, Notes from a Small Island. Originally published in 1995, the book still provides fresh—if sometimes biting—comparisons between British quirks and American attitudes; insight into the nature of tourism; and recognition of the disappointments and difficulties of travel. Despite these difficulties, Bryson delights in the natural beauty of this “small island” and praises its many talented (and unfailingly polite) inhabitants. In a 2003 opinion pool organized for World Book Day, Britons themselves voted the book as one that best represents England, and it was adapted for ITV television as a six-part documentary in 1999.

All quotations in this guide come from the 1998 Bard Avon Books paperback edition.

Content Warning: The book contains potentially offensive language, stereotypes, and assumptions. In particular, the author occasionally and incorrectly uses the terms “English” and “England” to signify all of Great Britain.

Summary

Before returning to the United States with his family, the author, a US national, embarks on a farewell tour of the “small island” of Great Britain, the place he has called home for the past 20 years. His plan is to travel across the island alone, collecting observations on its cultural and natural landscapes. He replicates his original journey to Britain back in 1973 by starting in Callais, France, before crossing the English Channel into Dover, England. He wishes to revisit the places of his earliest impressions and compare them to their current states. While he does not endure the embarrassment and sense of dislocation that he experienced upon his first visit to Dover as a very young man, he is still “content to put Dover behind [him]” at the conclusion of his second, brief visit (28).

He travels to London and reminisces about his career in journalism. He had worked there during the period of Rupert Murdoch’s takeover of many traditional news outlets and remembers the threats posed to him and his fellow journalists as they left work each day. His return visit to Wapping, a borough of London where his job was relocated, reveals a much more pleasant and developed village than he previously experienced. He also treks to Virginia Water, where he once spent some time working in a psychiatric hospital. To his surprise and delight, the 19th-century hospital has been preserved as new housing has grown up around it.

Bryson then visits some seaside resorts, thinking about a bygone era in English history when families would regularly travel for weekend vacations to these places. While he experiences some of the best that these resorts still have to offer, he laments the modernization of much of the architecture and townscapes. Lulworth, especially, is a disappointment. Though the author has always thought of it as an idealized version of a seaside resort, its decline is now inescapably evident.

Still, not all is disappointing. His return visit to Stonehenge inspires awe at the feats of the neolithic people who built this impressive monument—he is also pleased that ropes keep away the tourists who might otherwise vandalize the site. His tour of Oxford yields mixed results by comparison. On the one hand, he praises the college’s beautiful, centuries-old buildings (while mocking what he sees as the antiquated educational system still in place there); on the other hand, he mourns the erection of contemporary works that clash with the historical architecture.

This becomes a constant theme on his journey: the tension between modernization and historic preservation. He reluctantly takes a car on his tour of the Cotswolds—he has pledged to use public transportation for as much of his journey as he can—and is constantly bothered by the car’s inconvenience. It zooms too fast through the landscapes, it is too hard to park, and its controls are mystifying. The modern nuisance of traveling by car is treated as analogous to the modern ugliness of preplanned towns such as Milton Keynes: Everything blurs into uniformity rather than expressing individuality or local spirit.

This is in contrast to such figures as the fifth Duke of Portland, whom the author admires because of his (uniquely English, according to Bryson) eccentricity. Upon trying to visit the home of the Duke, however, Bryson is thwarted by the Ministry of Defense. Apparently, the home and grounds are now used for unspecified training exercises.

As he hits the midway point on his trip, Bryson finds himself close to home and stops there to briefly recharge before continuing on to the northern parts of England, as well as trips into Wales and Scotland. His visit to Manchester yields little of interest; he states that he cannot assess whether the city meets his expectations, as he has none to begin with. Liverpool, on the other hand, represents a clear instance of an England in decline. Once a significant international port, Liverpool now exists in quiet obsolescence. Bryson does point out that the Merseyside Maritime Museum merits a visit—if, for nothing else, then to reminisce on the former greatness of the city.

Bryson also travels to Wales, where he appreciates the quaintness of Llandudno, though he is annoyed by the influx of tourists. He then moves on to Blackpool and spends some time hiking with his friends. He marvels at the dedication with which the English undertake the “sport” of walking: They will clamber over all manner of terrain in all sorts of unpleasant weather.

He visits the cathedral at Durham, which he considers the best on the island. It is unblemished by modernity and mostly free of tourists. He finds Edinburgh, Scotland, inviting, though he is bothered by the changes that are not accurately reflected on his maps. Aberdeen frustrates him because it carries no distinguishing qualities, though it leads to a lovely train journey through the Scottish Highlands. He appreciates the natural beauty surrounding Inverness, as well as the city’s well-preserved facades and thoroughfares. He takes a trip to Thurso, Scotland, where the solitary nature of his journey begins to wear on him. There is not much to do in this northernmost outpost, but Bryson wants to witness John o’ Groats—a village at the Northeasternmost tip of the Scottish mainland—for himself. It pleases him to be the only one who ventures out so far.

Before returning home, he takes the train to Glasgow, where he finds much to recommend the city. While it has undergone some positive transformations, Bryson is pleased to find that there are still dark corners of the city where he can experience the thrill of threat. He believes there is a juxtaposition between the city’s institutions of high culture, such as the Burrell Collection, and its distinct local accent. His own British-inflected American accent marks him as an outsider in this context.

Finally, Bryson takes a rail trip back to his home in the Yorkshire Dales. Though he admits that he was not welcomed to the area with open arms when he first arrived, he has grown to value the half-hearted waves of recognition he receives from fellow residents. He returns to his house, knowing that it is no longer his home; he will be moving back to the US soon. Still, as he concludes the book, he feels certain that he will again make the journey to England—a small island without parallel.