In “South Downs Way,” Will Self writes about how he has “taken to long-distance walking as a means of dissolving the mechanised matrix which compresses the space-time continuum, and decouples human from physical geography” (69). Which is a mouthful, and perhaps a bit tongue-in-cheek, but also kind of excellent: he’s walking, in part, to remind people that one can: that if you’ve got the time for it, you can walk twenty-two miles to a business meeting (though, not surprisingly, doing so makes other people look at you like you’re crazy). It’s a reminder of the distance one can cover, and also, as Self’s sentence implies, an encouragement to think about distance differently: instead of being a short car ride, twenty miles is a long walk.
But long walks aren’t the only walks he does, or the only ones he writes about. And, indeed, he doesn’t only write about walking. There’s a car ride in France, a ferry in Liverpool, a trip to Varanasi, drugs in Morocco, and protests in London. In fact, I rather wished that the rest of the book was more like the first essay: I wanted longer pieces rather than shorter ones and I wished the rest of the book had more walking in it (and more London), and less acerbity, though there were some satisfying bits and great phrases, like when Self writes that right after the Poll Tax riots, “the city resumed its normal state of pathological disregard” (101).
I liked “Spin City,” about a visit to Turkey, and “Hitler in Rio,” about a visit to Brazil, which contains this great bit about being overwhelmed in São Paulo: “The minibar in the hotel was no help. It was called the Selfbar — so I took it personally and downed the lot: the scotches, the vodkas, the gins and the Amazonian armpit aguardientes” (123). Disorientation is an idea that comes up a few times, perhaps at its best in “Thai Strip,” which features the weirdness of images of the Manhattan skyline in lodgings from Bangkok to Manchester. Also really pleasing: “Modelling the Neapolitan,” which is satisfyingly detailed, and “Bend Sinister,” about the Doggett’s Coat and Badge Race, which is both satisfyingly detailed and satisfyingly London-y.
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