JULIE'S GIFT

Kirsch’s travelogue-cum-soul-search contains ruminations on what he learned from four days in London.

The diary-style narrative recounts the first leg of a weeklong European trip Kirsch and his wife Julie take to celebrate their 40th birthdays and 15th wedding anniversary. Like many Americans abroad, the narrator expresses impatience and disappointment with the Old Country. Why is it so stuffy, so inconvenient, so boring, so expensive? Where can a guy get a good steak? He takes the macho tone, albeit in a good-natured way–poking fun, scoffing, opting out whenever art or culture rear their ugly heads. The National Gallery? Yawn. Billy Elliot? “A chick play.” Big Ben? Big deal. While Julie visits the British Museum, the author sits in a café and reads the sports page. Julie comes to Europe with reverence, toting guidebooks, lists and schedules–she studied English lit and this trip is her dream so she wants to see it all. But she must drag around this awkward bundle of muted dissatisfactions, parking him on a bench when necessary. Harrods proves to be a saving grace since the author is particularly ardent about retail–he’s a grocer back home in Chevy Chase, Md. His candor is initially disarming–some of his wisecracks speak to a secret rebellion lurking in Americans against forever worshipping at the altar of European Cultural Superiority. His effort to retain his good humor in the face of the indignities and absurdities of foreign travel fosters sympathy. Further, the book serves well as an apology, a collection of memories and a love letter to his wife. Ultimately, however, the humor seems a bit shopworn and sophomoric, as does the self-conscious introspection in later chapters. Thus the book seems best-suited to its target audience–the author’s loved one.

A kind marital gesture, but lacking universality.