A book about white men who, in the 1950s, rushed out into the world quite blue-eyed and privileged – not ideal material at the moment, you could say. Especially when it says on page one of Sir David Attenborough’s foreword: “Once someone put it particularly aptly and declared that the only good reason for not giving this book to your son or husband for his birthday is because ‘that this then most likely wants a Land Rover for Christmas”https://www.sueddeutsche.de/kultur/.” So a (old) gentleman’s story that hates petrol? Put it back on the shelf quickly?
