Kevin Priestner, who I work with on the Texas Bar Journal editorial board, recommended this book after reading my review of On Foot to the Golden Horn, and coincidentally a few weeks later it showed up on a Folio circular just as I was looking for an excuse to order some more books. (Nobody tell my wife, okay?)
A Time of Gifts is an account of a 1930's trek by a young Englishman across Europe from Holland to Constantinople. While Fermor's writing often falls into almost impenetrable prose describing the marvelous sights of nature or architecture, most of the time it is pretty readable (I've never seen so many new adjectives), and you learn a lot about what there is to see along the way - especially when you're staying at castles every second or third night, hearing stories about the glorious past of Central Europe before "the war" - in this case World War I - Hitler has just come to power in Germany as Fermor is traveling. In this, the first book, he works his way down the Rhine and Danube through Holland, Germany, Austria and Czechoslovakia, and is just crossing into what Woodrow Wilson thought should be Hungary on Easter eve of 1934 as the book ends. (There's a sequel that I have to go get now - The Wrath of Fermor or something like that). The prose and the things he carries on about are not unlike Tolkien in Lord of the Rings, by the way, although Tolkien is never as hard to follow. Fernor frequently just floats up into the air, language-wise, and you just have to wait a few paragraphs or pages for him to come back down and resume the story.
Two things struck me about this book. First, Fermor's opening account of his troubled upbringing makes me think all too much about how close he was, due to bad behavior growing up, to falling completely out of any sort of productive life. He was kicked out of schools, university, and a military career, and was floundering as to what he could do with his life when the thought struck him that if he could just do something interesting - like, say, walk across Europe, he would have something interesting to write about.
The second is how incredibly educated this marginal student is. Articulate in Latin, Greek, English, and a number of other languages as the need arose, he has a stunning reservoir of learning, including the ability to recall apparently hours of memorized passages in various foreign languages, an encyclopedic knowledge of various playwrights, including Shakespeare (although he thinks he's woefully unread on many authors, such as, for example, Proust, at the time of his travel), history, and so forth. I had seen something similar in C.S. Forester's account of the education that English schools literally beat into him in his formative years, so the idea that, under pressure, the very young mind can absorb a phenomenal amount of information, was not totally new to me, but still, I am amazed that such a marginal student could know so much that required a technical faculty, such as Latin and German. (Of course this evening I was amazed that my second grader can unerringly tell when to use "a" and "an" and the proper choice betwee "large" "larger" and "largest" so I'm easily impressed). Still, this guy seems almost superhuman in what he knows, although he clearly thinks that he's inadequately educated to mingle with the ancien regime nobility that entertain him in their mountaintop schloss along the way. Admittedly, part of that is because he's writing this forty years later and knows now how much he didn't know then, but the point is that he does not take pride in what he knows - it is just part of the classical education that he expects he should have, and regrets that he has not completed.
Overall, I enjoyed the book - especially in this beautiful Folio edition - enough to start looking for the sequel. Anything that ends in Constantinople I am all about.