Taking advantage of the Christmas break, I finally finished Bill Bryson’s A Walk in The Woods a purchase from the summer. Having embarked on hill walks and campouts myself, I eagerly anticipated my favorite author’s account of hiking in the Appalachian Trail. Overall, it was a great experience, but there were a few aspect that stood out to me as somewhat jarring.

Bryson’s language never disappoints. Always humorous and witty, his light, conversational tone, irony, and quaint metaphors makes me burst out snorts of laughter every time. Words is really his talent. Just randomly opened a page in the book, and see for yourself the beauty of his dialogue: “(Bryson) How do we get to Knoxville. (Cab driver) How does a cab sound to you. He barked.” It might be a bit weird if you don’t know the context, but I just laughed out loud again. The smart use of language is the main reason why Bryson is my favorite author.  What’s more, Bryson don’t just know how to use his words to great effects, he actually knows his words. I would always make sure that I have a dictionary besides me when I read his works because, man, this guy knows his diction. I have never heard of “clandestine,” “inclement,” or “mien” in my life before reading the book. I legitimately learned more lexis from reading Bryson’s work than a schoolyear worth of English class put together.

In terms of jargon, A walk in the woods does surpasses Notes from a Small Island. By jargon, I mean references that are supposed to be witty metaphors, including celebrities and regional phenomena. Being neither into celebrities (especially not ones from Bryson’s era, sorry) nor English culture, I was left confounded and confused on more than a several occasions. Maybe it’s because A walk in the woods is based in an American background, the most specialized jargon is “Snickers” or “Slim Jim’s,” which is immensely better than some random guy if you ask me.

It‘s really a wonder how a book about walking can cumulate into 338 pages. But Bryson had done it somehow. Most of it is well executed – being on the trail doesn’t always meant walking. My favorite part of the book had to be the sudden snowstorm knees high at the start of their journey, and also wadding the creeks at the end. I guess I just liked the feel of adventure. Bryson also contains a fair share of his thoughts on the trail, many of which I agree and others I find very enlightening. Attitude towards long distance walking cannot be better expressed by anyone: “The world, you realize, is enormous in a way that only you and a small community of fellow hikers know. Planetary scale Is your little secret,” and “most of the time you don’t think. Instead, you exist in a kind of mobile zen mode, your brain like a balloon teetered on string. Walking for miles becomes as automatic, as unremarkable, as breathing.” These are my exact feelings while I walked on hill walks, inexpressible by my meager literature attainment. It’s beautiful.

Bryson fills the gaps between adventuring, dialogues with Katz (his travelling companion,) and inner monologues with history and scientific facts. These are nice in most of the cases, since almost every history regarding the national park services was mingled with Bryson’s opinions. But it does become quite dull at some point. Pages after pages of facts on the geological history of the Appalachians when all that I want t to read it Bryson’s current experiences in them, not what happened 16 billion years ago. This phenomenon is very evident in the portion where Bryson hiked alone, with his car, off and on the trail. I personally do not like that part. It feels detached from the other sections of the book, and a bit random. And everything went back to normal after Katz joined Bryson for the Maine portion of the AT. It would be better off if he just cut that few chapters out, the book is long enough.