CIAO AMERICA, by Beppe Severgnini, Non- Fiction

Beppe Severgnini and his family lived in Washington, D.C. for a year in 1995, and he affectionately describes the America he found then. It seems such a long time ago in the post-9/11, post 2008 crash, world. But his observations still apply in the main, and we have a commentator here perhaps better than we even deserve.

He writes of our well-known shortcomings: we're fat, we can't spell, don't know any history, and share personal information too quickly. But he also describes the things he didn't expect. Deep, deep discounts on everything, to say nothing of outlet malls and free return policies, lure him.

We have 1-800 numbers which dispense detailed advice on repairs from computers to refrigerators, all free. In his Georgetown church, he notes the "choreography" in which each pew of worshipers goes down the center aisle to communion, and comes back up the side. They even stand politely, singing the last hymn, while the celebrant recesses. Italians apparently crowd the communion rail and bolt away.

We further delight him in the inventiveness of our language; we mash up letters and numbers for wonderful creations. I would not have thought that "K-9" for canine, and "want2CU" would have been that exciting, although a vanity plate such as L84AD8 does sound original. In a throwaway newspaper I read today, one company promised "2X UR tax return," while another said they'd keep your car Shine-N. I'm tickled to recognize how these neologisms pleased him.

In this cheerful account, Severgnini says he and his family were happy here. That's the best report card anyone could ever give.

ROUTE 66 A.D.,HOW THE ROMANS INVENTED TOURISM, by Tony Perrottet, non-fiction

I referenced Tony Perrottet in my post on GUARDS, GUARDS, and realized that I hadn't written about this book. This is another quirky travel book which describes the Romans' love of travel, and their determination to write comments about their trips in ancient graffiti.They loved the Egyptian tombs--just see their writings, still to be seen below ancient hieroglyphs. Perrottet and his pregnant girlfriend, who sounds like a remarkably patient sort, retrace the Romans pathways from Greece to the Mideast to Egypt. Perrottet vividly recounts Roman experiences at the first Olympics--the Naked Olympics, expanded in greater detail in his book of that title.

Interestingly enough, Lindsey Davis describes these same paths of tourism in SEE DELPHI AND DIE, a Marcus Didius Falco Roman PI book. Davis is punctilious about her research, and the two books together illuminate this fascinating and previously unknown area of Roman life. It's astonishing the way that our choreographed and prissy Olympics have evolved from the vicious Grecian ones.

Quick Take: PLEASE PASS THE BUTTERWORMS,Tim Cahill. Nonfiction

Tim Cahill has made a career, he says, of remote journeys oddly rendered. He wanted to title his latest offbeat travel book something else, but his publisher insisted on another quirky title to go with JAGUARS RIPPED MY FLESH, A WOLVERINE IS EATING MY LEG, and PECKED TO DEATH BY DUCKS. His first chapter describes his horseback riding trip to Mongolia. His quest—bringing back hair to help researchers determine whether Mongols might be the original New Worlders. They'll compare the hair with ancient hair retrieved from archeology sites.

His insights on the Mongolian's horses fascinated me. Mongolians, he says, almost never name their ponies, the Mongolians being about as sentimental about their horses as Americans are about their cars. Plus, the ponies are never fed and are expected to forage, punching their hooves through ice in -60F weather. No wonder they're the toughest horses on earth.

Also by the same author: ROAD FEVER, an account of his record-breaking trip with a professional driver from the tip to top of the Pan-American Highway—Tierra del Fuego to Point Barrow, Alaska.

THREE MEN IN A BOAT (to say nothing of the dog), by Jerome K. Jerome

I picked up this treasure today while scavenging my sister's bookcase. The last time I read it I was in my cynical teens and didn't see the humor. I'd been meaning to get back to it for ages since I first read Connie Willis' brilliant science fiction novel *To Say Nothing of the Dog.* That book richly deserves its own review, later. I knew that Willis was referencing the Jerome K. Jerome book, but my memories of it were few.

Today I entered its pages more slowly, taking time to smile over the short chapter introductions. "Three invalids--Sufferings of George and Harris--A victim to one hundred and seven fatal maladies----We agree we are overworked and need rest----George suggests the river--Montmorency lodges an objection--Original motion carried by three to one--"

No one, of course, can possibly enjoy this ancient book, written in 1889, no one at all, unless you have ever overly enthusiastically planned a trip, squeezed a suitcase shut and latched it, only to discover a pair of shoes have been left out, got up ominously late to catch a plane or a train, suffered through a camping trip marred by rain or a hideously uncomfortable tent, or twisted a foot over a small eager dog. For the dog, of course, "to get someone to stumble over him and curse him for an hour, is his highest aim and object; and when he has succeeded in accomplishing this, his conceit becomes quite unbearable."

QUEENAN COUNTRY, by Joe Queenan

Moving away from rants, I return to High Literature. The last book I finished was *Queenan Country,* by Joe Queenan, subtitled "A Reluctant Anglophile's Pilgrimage to the Mother Country." He reports on his glorious findings and his glorious hatings with equal glee.

He loves the British for their "arch phrasing, infectious understatement, and delightful euphemisms." He also describes Paul McCarthy as "choochy," and John Lennon as "not choochy." He loathes the Pre-Raphaelite painters and Greyfriars Bobby. He advocates visiting the small town of Berkely because "you can be in and out of the village in two hours flat" and have covered "history, art, religion, regicide, tomfoolery, plague, ornithology, revolution, Norman ecclesiastical architecture, home decor, gardens, state-sanctioned sodomy, and Saxon mortuary in a single visit and can devote the rest of your trip to gambling, the theater, alcohol, or napping...it is also the site of the world's first commercial nuclear power plant. So put it on your list now."

He moans that London can't be seen in a weekend, a week, fortnight, or even a month, and advocates seeing it before age 65, because your feet can't take it and you will have to take your chances with your next reincarnation. I'm putting London back on my life-time goal list, even if I have to make it with a walker.