Bill Bryson is the son of two writers, and his many years as a journalist make him at home on a page. His talent for mixing witty observation and careful resource is well suited to writing about Australia, a country whose history contains stories both bizarre and amazing. Bryson is something of a clown, a quick witted man with a sarcastic remark resting perpetually on his tongue, but his reference and amazement for his subject keep his humor from sounding condescending. His prose is conversational, but not simple, chalked full as it is of lengthy words and rather intellectual analysis. If he sometimes tends towards academic superiority, this is easy nullified by his frank self-deprecation. He is a clown with words, but he is also literally a clown, flouncing around on his boogie board, battered by waves while making a ridiculous attempt at snorkeling, and stumbling face first into innumerable spiderwebs.
In a Sunburned Country