What Bill Bryson taught me about Australia: everything wants to kill you, whether or not it is animate, let alone conscious.Everything. And all of the critters are weird, many adorably so. We’re big on quakkas at my house. And Bryson is at his funniest describing a deep and embarrassing sleep he fell into. Oh, and the country is too damn big to see more than just a tiny bit, especially since the most inhabited parts, that is, the cities, are all dotted along the perimeter, and the middle is all desolate wasteland filled with dragons. No, wait, the dragons were from Novik.
When I got to that description of Bryson sleeping, I felt compelled to read some aloud to Veronica. When she later read the same book, she was compelled to read part of that aloud to me.This might be an important finding about compatibility, or humor, or something.