Next up, a lovely companion to 84, Charing Cross Road. It’s the early 1970s and Helene Hanff has finally made it across the pond to accomplish her dream trip to London, thanks to the success of the previous book. In this travelogue of her stay we’re treated to Hanff’s particular voice as she soaks in a place that has been calling to her for longer than the decades of her correspondence with Frank Doel.
In some ways I wasn’t sure what to expect with this one, as my only exposure to Hanff’s writing previously was in her letters in 84, Charing Cross Road and so much of the joy of that book was in the in-betweens. I only had Hanff’s brusque American missives to go by, but I shouldn’t have been alarmed as her writing style in this – cleaned up a bit from her diary of her trip – is just the same. It’s been over 50 years since Hanff made her trip to England, but I recognized the sense of inspiration, of not quite believing, of having your own particular places that speak to you even if they aren’t what a typical traveler might be pulled towards, of the places and people that got away, of the people you feel you’ve known forever and will likely never see again that she captures here
There’s a sadness in the book as Frank Doel has passed, Marks & Co. has closed, and Hanff is recovering from surgery, but there’s also a joy to go with Hanff’s humor. The reader is left with a clearer picture of Hanff herself and treated to another window into the world as she experienced it.