Here is a classic travel book that I finally got around to reading. After I finished the book I read through the foreword (I usually save these for afterwards) and they described this author’s use of “lush language”. That puts it perfectly.
The author describes his walk from the countryside of England all the way to London, and then on down to Spain. He spends a year on the road, playing violin for money, and seeing a great many amazing things. The 1930s Spain he describes is beautiful and the author’s poetic descriptions are a pleasure to read. He knows how to capture specific moments and etch them into your memory, just like they are etched into his.
The real joy of the book is the freedom that he is enjoying – he is a young man and has an independent source of income – he can come and go as he pleases. It is very hard to imagine this kind of freedom these days – which kind of pushes these stories into a sort of wish fulfillment realm.
Sometimes I felt like I was reading fiction – some moments just too perfectly spot on, and considering he wrote this book quite a while after his actual journey I wonder how much really happened as described. I don’t think he is being dishonest or intentionally lying, but I think reality doesn’t usually hit this sweet spot.
And a little more about the practicality – how did he handle language, money, food? These things are covered on a very high level but I found myself wondering about the details. But I think that is just my taste in travel books – I probably get it from reading Paul Theroux.
Excellent book! Next I am reading The Second Estate by Ray Madoff.
