When I was eighteen I went through a phase of buying books about the U.K. so I could brush up for my trip. I figured if I knew about the cities and everything I would be more fascinated by what was around me.
Like Oh! This is William Wallaces monument! (Found a picture of that the other day and completely forgot what it was.) Mostly the things I remember from my trip to England, Scotland and Ireland are the negative things that happened and (this may surprise you) the Harry Potter sites that I was lucky enough to see.
This book is one of the books that I bought on a rampage. It is little enough that I could’ve read it on a plane and if it was boring enough I would have ditched it on the plane.
It’s clearly all about London, a city which I adore and would like to live in someday, and it gives a good, and brief, history of it. But I guess I’m not much of a history buff anymore, or maybe this book was just a bit bland, but I skimmed through the stories. I think I’m becoming really morbid from reading all those mysteries and true crime stories because I would skim until I found some blood and guts.
London was a good, short, read but I think that writers should remember that people like to read books and be entertained. I know it was basically a history book, but there’s no reason for it to read like a textbook. (I use to read my history textbook like it was a real book and it was less bland.)
I have to give the writer credit though, they had all their dates and facts right and I learned a bit from this book.