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Notes From A Big Country
 
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Notes From A Big Country [Format Kindle]

Bill Bryson
4.6 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (7 commentaires client)

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Mail Call

One of the pleasures of living in a small, old-fashioned New England town is that it generally includes a small, old-fashioned post office. Ours is particularly agreeable. It's in an attractive Federal-style brick building, confident but not flashy, that looks like a post office ought to. It even smells nice--a combination of gum adhesive and old central heating turned up a little too high.

The counter employees are always cheerful, helpful and efficient, and pleased to give you an extra piece of tape if it looks as if your envelope flap might peel open. Moreover, post offices here by and large deal only with postal matters. They don't concern themselves with pension payments, car tax, TV licenses, lottery tickets, savings accounts, or any of the hundred and one other things that make a visit to any British post office such a popular, all-day event and provide a fulfilling and reliable diversion for chatty people who enjoy nothing so much as a good long hunt in their purses and handbags for exact change. Here there are never any long lines and you are in and out in minutes.

Best of all, once a year every American post office has a Customer Appreciation Day. Ours was yesterday. I had never heard of this engaging custom, but I was taken with it immediately. The employees had hung up banners, put out a long table with a nice checkered cloth, and laid on a generous spread of doughnuts, pastries, and hot coffee--all of it free.

After twenty years in Britain, this seemed a delightfully improbable notion, the idea of a faceless government bureaucracy thanking me and my fellow townspeople for our patronage, but I was impressed and grateful--and, I must say, it was good to be reminded that postal employees are not just mindless automatons who spend their days mangling letters and whimsically sending my royalty checks to a guy in Vermont named Bill Bubba but rather are dedicated, highly trained individuals who spend their days mangling letters and sending my royalty checks to a guy in Vermont named Bill Bubba.

Anyway, I was won over utterly. Now I would hate for you to think that my loyalty with respect to postal delivery systems can be cheaply bought with a chocolate twirl doughnut and a Styrofoam cup of coffee, but in fact it can. Much as I admire Britain's Royal Mail, it has never once offered me a morning snack, so I have to tell you that as I strolled home from my errand, wiping crumbs from my face, my thoughts toward American life in general and the U.S. Postal Service in particular were pretty incomparably favorable.

But, as nearly always with government services, it couldn't last. When I got home, the day's mail was on the mat. There among the usual copious invitations to acquire new credit cards, save a rain forest, become a life member of the National Incontinence Foundation, add my name (for a small fee) to the Who's Who of People Named Bill in New England, help the National Rifle Association with its Arm-a-Toddler campaign, and the scores of other unsought inducements, special offers, and solicitations that arrive each day at every American home--well, there among this mass was a forlorn and mangled letter that I had sent forty-one days earlier to a friend in California care of his place of employment and that was now being returned to me marked "Insufficient Address--Get Real and Try Again" or words to that effect.

At the sight of this I issued a small, despairing sigh, and not merely because I had just sold the U.S. Postal Service my soul for a doughnut. It happens that I had recently read an article on wordplay in the Smithsonian magazine in which the author asserted that some puckish soul had once sent a letter addressed, with playful ambiguity, to

HILL
JOHN
MASS

and it had gotten there after the postal authorities had worked out that it was to be read as "John Underhill, Andover, Mass." (Get it?)

It's a nice story, and I would truly like to believe it, but the fate of my letter to California seemed to suggest a need for caution with regard to the postal service and its sleuthing abilities. The problem with my letter was that I had addressed it to my friend merely "c/o Black Oak Books, Berkeley, California," without a street name or number because I didn't know either. I appreciate that that is not a complete address, but it is a lot more explicit than "Hill John Mass" and anyway Black Oak Books is a Berkeley institution. Anyone who knows the city--and I had assumed in my quaintly naive way that that would include Berkeley postal authorities--would know Black Oak Books. But evidently not. (Goodness knows, incidentally, what my letter had been doing in California for nearly six weeks, though it came back with a nice tan and an urge to get in touch with its inner feelings.)

Now just to give this plaintive tale a little heartwarming perspective, let me tell you that not long before I departed from England, the Royal Mail had brought me, within forty-eight hours of its posting in London, a letter addressed to "Bill Bryson, Writer, Yorkshire Dales," which is a pretty impressive bit of sleuthing. (And never mind that the correspondent was a trifle off his head.)

So here I am, my affections torn between a postal service that never feeds me but can tackle a challenge and one that gives me free tape and prompt service but won't help me out when I can't remember a street name. The lesson to draw from this, of course, is that when you move from one country to another you have to accept that there are some things that are better and some things that are worse, and there is nothing you can do about it. That may not be the profoundest of insights to take away from a morning's outing, but I did get a free doughnut as well, so on balance I guess I'm happy.

Now if you will excuse me I have to drive to Vermont and collect some mail from a Mr. Bubba.

(Some months after this piece was written, I received a letter from England addressed to "Mr. Bill Bryson, Author of 'A Walk in the Woods,' Lives Somewhere in New Hampshire, America." It arrived without comment or emendation just five days after it was mailed. My congratulations to the U.S. Postal Service for an unassailable triumph.)



From the Hardcover edition.

Revue de presse

"One of his best books" (Scott Bradfield Independent)

"Delightful bite-size essays that exude affection while debunking the ridiculous with wonderful succinctness... This is not a book to be read in a single sitting. It is one to be savoured" (Martin Fletcher The Times)

"Bill Bryson's answer to Alistair Cooke's Letter From America...not only hilarious but also insightful and informative" (Jeremy Atiyah Independent on Sunday)

"Bryson is great when explaining the idiosyncracies of America to middle England and making it funny... He is both serious and contemtuously funny" (Guardian)

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7 internautes sur 7 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Excellent ! 10 octobre 2003
Format:Poche
Bill Bryson is one of my favourite travel authors. I liked this book because Bryson has a very critical eye on his compatriots.(After living some years away from your country and then you're back, you get really critical of your compatriots - I am talking from experience -). After having lived 20 years in England, he's returning to his native country. His book is a collection of small chapters describing the good and bad habits of the Americans. Bryson's style is funny and vibrant, he has the talent to make you think, laugh and relax after a hard day at work... He's just brilliant !
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6 internautes sur 6 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Un humour redoutable! 20 mai 2004
Format:Poche
Ce livre de Bryson est, comme les autres, truffé de notes d'un humour décapant. Nos amis d'outre-atlantique sont ici observés et moqués sous toutes leurs coutures. Les interrogations de l'auteur face au mode de vie des américains, ses compatriotes, sont irresistibles. Un must de Bryson, auteur auquel on devient très vite accro.
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6 internautes sur 6 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 si vrai ! 25 avril 2002
Format:Poche
Ce qu'il y a de merveilleux dans ce livre c'est qu'il remet en contexte les cliches sur la societe americaine, quitte a les confirmer! Ce livre est tres drole et prouve que les americains ne manquent pas de cynisme, cynisme bien place parfois...
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2 internautes sur 2 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Cher oncle Bill ... 20 janvier 2006
Format:Poche
Notre oncle d'Amérique croque ses compatriotes et c'est nous qui nous régalons!
Bill Bryson, de retour aux Etats-Unis avec femme et enfants après vingt ans passés en Angleterre, est dans une position idéale pour observer la société américaine : il en fait partie mais il n'est pas dupe.
Dans ces vignettes de l'Amérique du quotidien, Bill Bryson est attentif aux détails: certains le ravissent, d'autres le hérissent. Et on le suit, qu'il s'indigne ou qu'il s'enthousiasme, parce que son humour, parfois féroce, est tout simplement irrésistible. Bill Bryson sait trousser une formule pétillante d'esprit comme personne, soulignant en quelques mots l'ironie ou l'absurdité d'une situation. "Qui aime bien, châtie bien", dit-on, et c'est toujours avec tendresse qu'il assène ses quatre vérités à son pays.
Un conseil cependant: faites attention si vous lisez ce livre dans le métro, vous pourriez devenir la vedette du wagon, à force d'étouffer vos rires.
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