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And he does succeed. But these passages inevitably feel like footnotes to his ostensible subject matter.
The book ends on an elegiac note, mourning the loss of individuality in the surrender of towns like his birthplace, Des Moines to the marching homogenisation of commerce and culture. But at the same time, we know that as soon as he could, Bryson fled his home state for the more bohemian delights of Europe. This suggests that his view of fifties America is somewhat rose-tinted and, as in his book of antipodean travels [[''Down Under]]'', the desire not to offend gets the better of his wit.
However, not wanting want to risk a vaporisation, I'd stress that Bryson's underlying geniality still makes him hard to dislike. And while many might feel that he covered the same territory much better in ''The Lost Continent'', most Bryson fans will find comfort and joy in the cosy, amiable glow of these recollections.

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