Sorry, But Many Brits Don't Fit Stereotype

"The Anglo Files: A Field Guide to the British," by Sarah Lyall (Norton, $24.95)

For those with Anglophile tendencies (my hand is raised), Sarah Lyall's memoir about moving to London in the mid-1990s contains some crushing, harsh truths.

For example, there she is in the introduction writing about the British and their stinky armpits.

"Many British people," she writes, "still ride the subway during the evening rush hour without benefit of deodorant."

Well, then. Certainly smell is not something mentioned often in the many British books I enjoy, at least not in relation to body odor. I'm hoping this doesn't impede my enjoyment of, say, Ian McEwan or Nick Hornby. Or films written by Richard Curtis.

But such is reality, I suppose.

She also confirms the usual cliches, such as this one: "British people really are more reserved and repressed than Americans. They really do say "Sorry" all the time, even when it is not their fault, such as when they trip and fall down or when someone knocks into them in the street."

And, she adds, "Also, they were not as impressed by Americans as they might be, which was a bit of a blow."

So, Lyall has a sense of humor as she destroys the dreams of poor Americans who like to think of London as the sort of place where clever people say charming things to one another, a sort of never-ending episode of "Coupling" or one of the better scenes from "Four Weddings and a Funeral."

Lyall moved to London after marrying English author Robert McCrum. In one of the most hilarious chapters, the one about the self-deprecating nature of most Britons, she describes the sort of things McCrum said when they first met: "Then the editor-in-chief of a renowned publishing house and the author of five novels and a best-selling work of nonfiction, he presented himself at our first meeting as an irresponsible, drunken freelance journalist who did a little editing but was quite possibly about to be sacked."

As an aside, there apparently is no other kind of British journalist, freelance or otherwise, if the chapter on the low ethical standards and alcohol-fueled antics of the press there is to be believed.

When she moved to London in the 1990s, the Conservative Party was on its way out and Tony Blair was on his way in. As the Labour Party took control of the country, a new influx of foreign capital was welcomed and Britain experienced a wealth explosion.

Suddenly, a country where citizens valued a "stiff upper lip" and self-sacrifice gave way to a country where citizens wanted it all and wanted it now.

Lyall, who has two children with McCrum, has had a front-row seat as modernity clashes with tradition in a country where tradition is highly valued. This reaches its comic peak in the chapter "Lawmakers From Another Planet," in which Lyall describes how titled Britons dealt with being kicked out of the House of Lords during Blair's sweeping reforms, which resulted in a smaller number of members.

The answer: not well. Baron Hastings, for one, fumed about people who "repeat stereotypes and make fun of us." But even those with titles recognized the need to change, finally agreeing to hold elections to choose 92 members from the former 750.

Some took it stoically. Earl Grey, for instance, said he planned to design a line of men's leisure wear, now that he had the time.

Lyall notes from the start that Britain is "as impossible to grasp as quicksilver" because "things here are so coded, so unstraightforward, so opaque, so easy to misinterpret." Perhaps that's why through most of the book, she keeps things light and humorous.

She also gets good quotes. Here's one from actor Hugh Grant in the chapter "False Modesty." Grant said this about the popularity of his roles: "The roles play into a certain fantasy of what people want the English to be. Whereas half the time, as you know, we're vomiting beer and beating people up. I know I am."

There are chapters on bad teeth, eccentrics, drinking habits, gay men, the British media and the British love of hedgehogs.

Lyall also tackles the issue of class in Britain, where the words you use can immediately cause others to judge you.

As an American from the South, I know what that is like - some people find "ya'll" charming; others see it as a sign you're an idiot and attracted to your cousin.

In Britain, using the word "toilet" can cause people to look down at you (they prefer saying "the loo").

In addition, Lyall writes of how some try to inflate titles and names with eccentric accents, such as using JAKE-weeze for Jacques. And then, of course, there are the ridiculously hyphened names. Isabella Amaryllis Charlotte Anstruther-Gough-Calthorpe, for example.

Lyall certainly has fun with it all. Although this book may shatter your illusions about our well-spoken, charming cousins, at least it will make you laugh. That's high praise in these parts, ya'll.