Romany Rye

"The Romany Rye" is a direct continuation of George Borrow's "Lavengro", taking up the latter's story immediately where it (rather abruptly) concluded. Borrow himself referred to both books collectively as "Lavengro", and asserted that he wrote the work for the express purpose of inculcating virtue, love of country, learning, manly pursuits, and genuine religion, for example, that of the Church of England, and for awakening a contempt for nonsense of every kind, and a hatred for priest craft, more especially that of Rome. While this may be so as far as it goes, Borrow's account of his book's purpose does little to capture the extraordinary liveliness of a work whose genre defies categorisation, but which certainly includes elements of autobiography, travelogue and (often, most amusing) invective. Those willing to come along for the ride with Borrow's narrator will meet some marvellous yarn-spinners and leg-pullers in early- to mid-nineteenth century England. Among others, you'll meet a demoralised inn-keeper whose fortunes are transformed the minutes he refuses to become a Papist, a joyous rat catcher, a dupe caught up in a bank note forgery case, a wistful beekeeper who brews strong mead, a grief-stricken widower who learns Chinese by studying pottery inscriptions but cannot tell the time, a card sharper who almost inveigled the Pope into playing a game of cards with him for money, and many other quirky individuals. You'll learn all about the depredations of coach drivers, how to sell a horse at a horse fair without being taken advantage of, the history of Hungary told by one who knows, why teaching one's beloved Armenian may not be the best way to win her heart, and much else of besides — all told in some of the most interestingly-fashioned mid-nineteenth century English prose you are ever likely to encounter. (Summary by Peter Dann)

"The Romany Rye" is a direct continuation of George Borrow's "Lavengro", taking up the latter's story immediately where it (rather abruptly) concluded. Borrow himself referred to both books collectively as "Lavengro", and asserted that he wrote the work for the express purpose of inculcating virtue, love of country, learning, manly pursuits, and genuine religion, for example, that of the Church of England, and for awakening a contempt for nonsense of every kind, and a hatred for priest craft, more especially that of Rome. While this may be so as far as it goes, Borrow's account of his book's purpose does little to capture the extraordinary liveliness of a work whose genre defies categorisation, but which certainly includes elements of autobiography, travelogue and (often, most amusing) invective. Those willing to come along for the ride with Borrow's narrator will meet some marvellous yarn-spinners and leg-pullers in early- to mid-nineteenth century England. Among others, you'll meet a demoralised inn-keeper whose fortunes are transformed the minutes he refuses to become a Papist, a joyous rat catcher, a dupe caught up in a bank note forgery case, a wistful beekeeper who brews strong mead, a grief-stricken widower who learns Chinese by studying pottery inscriptions but cannot tell the time, a card sharper who almost inveigled the Pope into playing a game of cards with him for money, and many other quirky individuals. You'll learn all about the depredations of coach drivers, how to sell a horse at a horse fair without being taken advantage of, the history of Hungary told by one who knows, why teaching one's beloved Armenian may not be the best way to win her heart, and much else of besides — all told in some of the most interestingly-fashioned mid-nineteenth century English prose you are ever likely to encounter. (Summary by Peter Dann)