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Flying Visits
Flying Visits
192 pages, Paperback
First published April 15, 1986
9 people are currently reading
113 people want to read
About the author
Clive James
94 books289 followersLibrarian Note: There is more than one author in the GoodReads database with this name. See this thread for more information.
An expatriate Australian broadcast personality and author of cultural criticism, memoir, fiction, travelogue and poetry. Translator of Dante.
An expatriate Australian broadcast personality and author of cultural criticism, memoir, fiction, travelogue and poetry. Translator of Dante.
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Displaying 1 - 23 of 23 reviews
October 31, 2025
Published in 1984, this is a collection of travel articles previously published in The Observer from 1976 to 1983. I am fond of Clive James, I always found him funny and clever.
Unfortunately this book has dated poorly. While it still has some amusing parts, some wry asides and some good sarcasm, it related to events or current affairs that were topical at that time and people who were in the media at that time. The vast majority are not familiar to me, and most of the events pre-date my awareness. Some of the anecdotes still fall into line, the style is still amusing, but for the most part it didn't work for me.
2 stars
Unfortunately this book has dated poorly. While it still has some amusing parts, some wry asides and some good sarcasm, it related to events or current affairs that were topical at that time and people who were in the media at that time. The vast majority are not familiar to me, and most of the events pre-date my awareness. Some of the anecdotes still fall into line, the style is still amusing, but for the most part it didn't work for me.
2 stars
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January 28, 2020Because Clive James was the sort of early influence on me who can easily fade into the background, and for years I'd been accumulating his books here and there without actually reading more than the odd essay from Cultural Amnesia (itself the sort of delightful dipping cornucopia I'm likely never to finish, nor as such add on here). And his death, for all that it was further behind schedule than even the tardiest of flights recounted here, reminded me that maybe I ought to read one of the damned things. Which, I'm pleased to report, hold up very well. The famous line about Schwarzenegger looking like "a brown condom full of walnuts", which by some consensus seemed to appear in all the obituaries, is in this volume; what surprised me was how much better it works in context, part of a whole paragraph which gets to Arnie by way of Plato, as was ever the James way (and which I think he really helped disseminate into the wider culture, even if few can reliably pull it off with anything like his aplomb).
I was worried that this volume might be particularly prone to dating badly – laughing at foreigners in 2020 is not the same as laughing at foreigners in 1976-83 – but on that front, the fact that he was always so genially cutting has mostly insulated him; there are occasional turns of phrase which wouldn't pass muster nowadays, but while he may take the piss, it very rarely shades into outright contempt, and when it does it's always for individuals who've merited it, never whole demographics. It perhaps helps that he's probably harsher on Australia than anywhere else (he doesn't even like the Opera House, at least qua opera house. Or Paul Hogan!), and that most of his meaner observations about anywhere else are, well, correct. In particular, that almost everyone loves it if you try to speak a bit of their language, except for the French. At times, he even flips the narrative, and points out how lazy a lot of writing about other countries can be. In particular, the pieces on Thatcher's visit to China are hilarious for the determination and scholarship he puts into consistently exoticising her and her hapless husband, while familiarising their hosts. Even without having read anything from the other correspondents following the same trip, these imply volumes about their kneejerk orientalist cliches.
Sometimes James is downright prescient, as when he unwittingly forecasts Disney's acquisition of Star Wars – though less so, alas, on China's direction of political travel. Undoubtedly, there are spots where he explains things which don't now need it (the jalapeno!), or makes jokes which could now do with a footnote. But the bit which requires a degree of cognitive buffering is that this was all written before anyone beyond specialists could be expected to know that climate change was a thing. James grew up watching the planes land and launch in Sydney, and at the time of writing this, he's loved them ever since; he offers wonderful hymns to some of them, including one – the Elizabethan – of which I'd never heard, but which I've now looked up and which is indeed gorgeous. He has his complaints about some aspects of flight circa 1980, like the alienated airports, the unreliability of BA (plus ce change), and French air traffic controllers, but for the most part he's still animated by sheer delight at how quick and easy and affordable it is to soar through the heavens to practically anywhere – and when his first trip from Australia to Britain involved five weeks on a boat, who can blame him? But when he talks about Sydney Harbour, now a smoke-wreathed glimpse of the apocalypse, and says "it remains one of Earth's truly beautiful places", or remarks that "In Venice you never see big ships", one can only smile sadly and think back to those happier times which unwittingly sowed the seeds of the current clusterfuck. He talks at one point about how the entire history of aeroplanes happened within a single lifetime, which is still just about true if you squint; it's less than 122 years since the Wright Brothers, after all. But dear heavens, between the emissions and the Boeing scandal, we're well into the decline and fall phase now, aren't we? All of which can't help but render what was once just a funny little book into a bittersweet glimpse of a strangely distant time.
I was worried that this volume might be particularly prone to dating badly – laughing at foreigners in 2020 is not the same as laughing at foreigners in 1976-83 – but on that front, the fact that he was always so genially cutting has mostly insulated him; there are occasional turns of phrase which wouldn't pass muster nowadays, but while he may take the piss, it very rarely shades into outright contempt, and when it does it's always for individuals who've merited it, never whole demographics. It perhaps helps that he's probably harsher on Australia than anywhere else (he doesn't even like the Opera House, at least qua opera house. Or Paul Hogan!), and that most of his meaner observations about anywhere else are, well, correct. In particular, that almost everyone loves it if you try to speak a bit of their language, except for the French. At times, he even flips the narrative, and points out how lazy a lot of writing about other countries can be. In particular, the pieces on Thatcher's visit to China are hilarious for the determination and scholarship he puts into consistently exoticising her and her hapless husband, while familiarising their hosts. Even without having read anything from the other correspondents following the same trip, these imply volumes about their kneejerk orientalist cliches.
Sometimes James is downright prescient, as when he unwittingly forecasts Disney's acquisition of Star Wars – though less so, alas, on China's direction of political travel. Undoubtedly, there are spots where he explains things which don't now need it (the jalapeno!), or makes jokes which could now do with a footnote. But the bit which requires a degree of cognitive buffering is that this was all written before anyone beyond specialists could be expected to know that climate change was a thing. James grew up watching the planes land and launch in Sydney, and at the time of writing this, he's loved them ever since; he offers wonderful hymns to some of them, including one – the Elizabethan – of which I'd never heard, but which I've now looked up and which is indeed gorgeous. He has his complaints about some aspects of flight circa 1980, like the alienated airports, the unreliability of BA (plus ce change), and French air traffic controllers, but for the most part he's still animated by sheer delight at how quick and easy and affordable it is to soar through the heavens to practically anywhere – and when his first trip from Australia to Britain involved five weeks on a boat, who can blame him? But when he talks about Sydney Harbour, now a smoke-wreathed glimpse of the apocalypse, and says "it remains one of Earth's truly beautiful places", or remarks that "In Venice you never see big ships", one can only smile sadly and think back to those happier times which unwittingly sowed the seeds of the current clusterfuck. He talks at one point about how the entire history of aeroplanes happened within a single lifetime, which is still just about true if you squint; it's less than 122 years since the Wright Brothers, after all. But dear heavens, between the emissions and the Boeing scandal, we're well into the decline and fall phase now, aren't we? All of which can't help but render what was once just a funny little book into a bittersweet glimpse of a strangely distant time.
July 21, 2015
Flying Visits is a collection of travel pieces (or 'postcards') written for The Observer between 1976 and 1983. The postcard is a form perfect for James's witty, aphoristic style, and each brilliantly captures the essence of the place he is visiting. The destinations range from a first return home to Sydney, twenty or so years since he left, to New York, Paris, Salzburg, Los Angeles, Jerusalem and many others. The fact that these were written over thirty years ago does not detract from the enjoyment they bring; in fact, reading them with the benefit of hindsight gives an additional layer of interest in seeing how much has changed - and in some cases, how little. And of course, there is James's peerless prose. I'd read anything he's written, and Flying Visits fascinated for all sorts of reasons, but chiefly for sentences like this: 'Salzburg's river is called the Salzach and still flows so fast over its rocky bed that it looks like a crowd of whirlpools running downstairs in a panic'.
April 10, 2021
Clive casts his entertaining eye over some of the brightest places in the world
November 9, 2025
I miss Clive James. He was a man who could write about culture - Art, TV, Cinema, Literature, you name it, James could write about it in the voice of the Kid from Kogorah but with the knowledge and authority of a Cambridge education. He claimed that he had just one skill, that he could "turn a phrase until it sparkled in the light." Well he certainly could. He described his flight over the suburbs of Perth (Australia) as "...hundreds of swimming pools the colour of Paul Newman's eyes." A phrase which changed my view of Perth suburbs, swimming pools and Paul Newman's eyes. This book is now out of print, the world in which it was written no longer exists. But it's not an exercise in nostalgia. China was on the rise and, unknown to us, the USSR would soon be entering its final decade. James, a humanitarian, could not have conceived that, 40 years on, Israel and the Palestinians would be further away than ever from a peaceful resolution. He wrote of a Palestinian taxi driver, "... this man was myself. He had merely been born somewhere else and in less kind circumstances."
July 30, 2018
I enjoyed the first half of this book, I thought James was really atmospheric and his insights on the countries were interesting, witty, and observant. Toward the end those things tapered off and it got a bit dull. Ultimately, I kept reading this because I found it to be an interesting study for my own writing. I have to write some stuff for a non-fiction/ memoir class this coming semester and I was interested in the way that James approached travel writing.
Even though I said I didn't really like the second half of the book, I did adore his section on Dachau Concentration camp. I thought it was poignant and had a small passage that I adored.
Perhaps I loved this passage because I have been to Dachau, but I have been to a fair few other places mentioned throughout the book too and didn't have the same connection as I did with this section.
This book is old, and yes, dated. However, it is still a really interesting snapshot of the world at the time these were written which I think makes it an interesting study. I did take everything with a grain of salt though, because I am well aware that Clive James had some moments of bias.
Even though I said I didn't really like the second half of the book, I did adore his section on Dachau Concentration camp. I thought it was poignant and had a small passage that I adored.
'In the Aeneid there is a place called the broken-hearted fields. Standing in that snow-covered space I could think of no better phrase. Nor was there any point in self-reproach for being unable to shed tears. If we could really imagine what it was like we would die of grief.'
Perhaps I loved this passage because I have been to Dachau, but I have been to a fair few other places mentioned throughout the book too and didn't have the same connection as I did with this section.
This book is old, and yes, dated. However, it is still a really interesting snapshot of the world at the time these were written which I think makes it an interesting study. I did take everything with a grain of salt though, because I am well aware that Clive James had some moments of bias.
December 30, 2018
When I was younger, I think a bit of my sense of humour was shaped by Clive James. I remember him being on TV, counting down gaffes of the year or offering his own (admittedly self-amusing) takes on world figures. I didn't quite understand why it was funny that Leonid Brezhnev looked like he was operated by a foot pump, but there was enough stuff I got to make the confusion worthwhile.
As I grew up (and his TV appearances grew fewer, perhaps) I didn't pay that much attention to him. Now, he's back in the news. It's the end of his life - illness is likely to claim him soon - and I felt a need to catch up on some of his written work. He was, after all, a columnist of renown for quite a while, so it seemed fitting to dive into some of his pieces.
This book is an assembly of brief pieces written for The Observer from 1976 to 1983. They serve as postcards of cities across the world, and as the years roll they tend to become more impressionistic: there's still specificity on what's done, and where, but there's more musing about what the locale says about its inhabitants, or the nation it's part of. There's still intimate sketches of individuals, but there's a distinct feeling of reaching for something bigger.
The writing is, without doubt, funny. Of course, it's not problem-free. While James approaches his cities with a beguiling open-heartedness,
I'm certain, given the affection on display for most of the people in the tales, that the jibes are good-natured. But some of them - fewer than I expected, I must admit - stick in the craw today. I guess it's the cost of reading something like this, that dates from before the internet - columns like this, and pictures in books and magazines (and films) were how people experienced the world. You couldn't jump on Google Street View to check a place out beforehand - you had to go there and bumble through. It's also a relic from the time when international travel was beginning to become much more accessible: toffs weren't the only ones who could go abroad, and long journeys by ship were no longer de rigeur. The world was opening up, and middle class curiosity went with it - with all the negatives that entailed.
Throughout, though, the most vitriol is saved for the author himself. Self-deprecating humour? Maybe? But James is aware of both his social and sartorial failings, and foregrounds them in the writing. He is aware that he is in a privileged position, sure - but there's the distinct impression that he doesn't deserve it, or doesn't belong there. He is a bit of an idiot abroad, assuming the idiot abroad has taught himself French by reading Proust.
Sure, these are colour pieces for a newspaper, but they often read like diaries or transcriptions of private thoughts. The pieces on Thatcher's visit to China perhaps are the most like straight news with some laughs added. In between the yuks (some clangers, too) and descriptions of finest pottery, James begrudgingly acknowledges the political acumen of a woman he would never vote for, all seen from a spot in the press pack.
It's unsurprising that James is known, lately, more for his poetry (and translations of poetry) than his prose. There's a distinct feeling of poetry - of the love of language - flowing through here. There is a continual feeling of literary precedent in the work: references to epics and classics abound, none more apposite than his snatch of the Aeneid used in service of a description of Dachau. While it's always amusing - if a little less vitriolic than someone like A. A. Gill, who would take this template and add more bitchery to the mix - it is occasionally masterful, the sort of writing that induces envy.
Though you may have issues with the lens through which James examines his subjects, there's a lot to be said with this type of travel writing. It isn't, for example, as bogged-down as many travel books can be. It features two pieces, at most, on the same place, and flits around from destination to destination. It's refreshing and exhausted at once, and full of the same cack-handedness that marks travel as undertaken by the regular person - things going wrong, languages being misunderstood, connections missed, and moments of unspeakable beauty occurring in the strangest places.
Dated? Yes. But indicative of a burning passion for discovery? You betcha.
(Postscript: I can't be sure, but it seems likely that a piece collected in this book is responsible for the steroidal bodybuilder descriptor of a condom stuffed with walnuts. For that alone, thanks are due.)
As I grew up (and his TV appearances grew fewer, perhaps) I didn't pay that much attention to him. Now, he's back in the news. It's the end of his life - illness is likely to claim him soon - and I felt a need to catch up on some of his written work. He was, after all, a columnist of renown for quite a while, so it seemed fitting to dive into some of his pieces.
This book is an assembly of brief pieces written for The Observer from 1976 to 1983. They serve as postcards of cities across the world, and as the years roll they tend to become more impressionistic: there's still specificity on what's done, and where, but there's more musing about what the locale says about its inhabitants, or the nation it's part of. There's still intimate sketches of individuals, but there's a distinct feeling of reaching for something bigger.
The writing is, without doubt, funny. Of course, it's not problem-free. While James approaches his cities with a beguiling open-heartedness,
I'm certain, given the affection on display for most of the people in the tales, that the jibes are good-natured. But some of them - fewer than I expected, I must admit - stick in the craw today. I guess it's the cost of reading something like this, that dates from before the internet - columns like this, and pictures in books and magazines (and films) were how people experienced the world. You couldn't jump on Google Street View to check a place out beforehand - you had to go there and bumble through. It's also a relic from the time when international travel was beginning to become much more accessible: toffs weren't the only ones who could go abroad, and long journeys by ship were no longer de rigeur. The world was opening up, and middle class curiosity went with it - with all the negatives that entailed.
Throughout, though, the most vitriol is saved for the author himself. Self-deprecating humour? Maybe? But James is aware of both his social and sartorial failings, and foregrounds them in the writing. He is aware that he is in a privileged position, sure - but there's the distinct impression that he doesn't deserve it, or doesn't belong there. He is a bit of an idiot abroad, assuming the idiot abroad has taught himself French by reading Proust.
Sure, these are colour pieces for a newspaper, but they often read like diaries or transcriptions of private thoughts. The pieces on Thatcher's visit to China perhaps are the most like straight news with some laughs added. In between the yuks (some clangers, too) and descriptions of finest pottery, James begrudgingly acknowledges the political acumen of a woman he would never vote for, all seen from a spot in the press pack.
It's unsurprising that James is known, lately, more for his poetry (and translations of poetry) than his prose. There's a distinct feeling of poetry - of the love of language - flowing through here. There is a continual feeling of literary precedent in the work: references to epics and classics abound, none more apposite than his snatch of the Aeneid used in service of a description of Dachau. While it's always amusing - if a little less vitriolic than someone like A. A. Gill, who would take this template and add more bitchery to the mix - it is occasionally masterful, the sort of writing that induces envy.
Though you may have issues with the lens through which James examines his subjects, there's a lot to be said with this type of travel writing. It isn't, for example, as bogged-down as many travel books can be. It features two pieces, at most, on the same place, and flits around from destination to destination. It's refreshing and exhausted at once, and full of the same cack-handedness that marks travel as undertaken by the regular person - things going wrong, languages being misunderstood, connections missed, and moments of unspeakable beauty occurring in the strangest places.
Dated? Yes. But indicative of a burning passion for discovery? You betcha.
(Postscript: I can't be sure, but it seems likely that a piece collected in this book is responsible for the steroidal bodybuilder descriptor of a condom stuffed with walnuts. For that alone, thanks are due.)
May 17, 2022
In common with SJ Perelman and PG Wodehouse, it is important to find the right rhythms and melodies in the writing when reading this. James’s humour requires inflexion and timing. It took a short while but as soon as I had the required Kogarah voice in my head the laughs quickly followed. With Perelman I simply allow Groucho to read it for me and Wodehouse’s best reader, being Jonathan Cecil, I do my silent best to capture his delivery. Without doing this the brilliance of the writing can remain unheard. I’m not saying that it has to be read out loud; that would require a gift of mimicry beyond my skills; enough to hear it in your head as you read.
Funny the things that change. As many areas from the sixties onwards seem to be about pushing back boundaries, humour seems, in some ways to have seen its boundaries recede. An awful lot of what passed for funny then is out of bounds now and James is no exception. What was satire and quick wit then now can seem bad taste. This isn’t wokeism. This is simply an acceptance that everyone deserves at least a modicum of respect for who they are and it is wrong to laugh at an accented attempt at English just as it is wrong to lust at the beauty of beautiful women. James strays over both lines. The younger James would have taken issue with this, the older James would have apologised.
But it would be wrong to blame him. It was the way things were then and it is the job of comedians to visit taboos and stretch boundaries. He would have been very surprised to see the way things developed but I don’t think he would have objected. He was funny enough to find humour within whatever boundaries that existed.
This book consists of a collection of articles from the Observer. As such they should be treated as journalism and not subject to the rigorous critical standards of a novel or travel book. They were obviously carefully written but would have improved if he had had time to hone them.
I’m a fan, always was and miss his face and voice from our screens.
Funny the things that change. As many areas from the sixties onwards seem to be about pushing back boundaries, humour seems, in some ways to have seen its boundaries recede. An awful lot of what passed for funny then is out of bounds now and James is no exception. What was satire and quick wit then now can seem bad taste. This isn’t wokeism. This is simply an acceptance that everyone deserves at least a modicum of respect for who they are and it is wrong to laugh at an accented attempt at English just as it is wrong to lust at the beauty of beautiful women. James strays over both lines. The younger James would have taken issue with this, the older James would have apologised.
But it would be wrong to blame him. It was the way things were then and it is the job of comedians to visit taboos and stretch boundaries. He would have been very surprised to see the way things developed but I don’t think he would have objected. He was funny enough to find humour within whatever boundaries that existed.
This book consists of a collection of articles from the Observer. As such they should be treated as journalism and not subject to the rigorous critical standards of a novel or travel book. They were obviously carefully written but would have improved if he had had time to hone them.
I’m a fan, always was and miss his face and voice from our screens.
July 10, 2022
Although, l’ve wanted to read this book for some time, the journal of Postcards from many parts of the world are journalists narratives. They reflect the times they were written in.
Perhaps l feel Clive James writes from satirical view of the places he visited.
Unlike Michael Palin, who finds people and places fascinating, and injects joy in his discovery, Clive James compares the Australia to the one he left behind. The many changes in politics are discussed in has dry wit.
Somehow it falls flat for me, having watched his comical remarks when doing interviews on TV, years ago. More recently l read an article Germane Greer has written about begging him to stop being an expat Aussie and return home. He was by then too infirmed to travel.
Australia lost him without having the chance to get to know him. It was sad. I can only say l’m glad he wrote poetry and lived life.
Perhaps l feel Clive James writes from satirical view of the places he visited.
Unlike Michael Palin, who finds people and places fascinating, and injects joy in his discovery, Clive James compares the Australia to the one he left behind. The many changes in politics are discussed in has dry wit.
Somehow it falls flat for me, having watched his comical remarks when doing interviews on TV, years ago. More recently l read an article Germane Greer has written about begging him to stop being an expat Aussie and return home. He was by then too infirmed to travel.
Australia lost him without having the chance to get to know him. It was sad. I can only say l’m glad he wrote poetry and lived life.
December 27, 2019
Another peerless offering from Clive James. Some of the offerings were, predictably, over the top, but most of the rest were vignettes that precisely captured the essence of the places he visited. It is disconcerting how often I could hear his voice actually speaking the sentences I was reading.
Three of the pieces stand out above the others. Japan, for precisely articulating my thoughts about the place in a way I never could; China for his savage send up of their long-view of history and their obsession with symbolism and imagined meaning; and finally Jerusalem, where, in a handful of paragraphs he nails the eternal, insoluble paradoxes between Jews and Arabs. Magnificent!
Three of the pieces stand out above the others. Japan, for precisely articulating my thoughts about the place in a way I never could; China for his savage send up of their long-view of history and their obsession with symbolism and imagined meaning; and finally Jerusalem, where, in a handful of paragraphs he nails the eternal, insoluble paradoxes between Jews and Arabs. Magnificent!
July 15, 2025
Really enjoyed this, witty wee windows into the past. A bygone age when air travel had only really recently opened up the world to the masses.
Lots of historical, and arts and culture references too.
Lots of historical, and arts and culture references too.
July 17, 2018
Strange to be both open-hearted and snide about other cultures.
June 21, 2020
Super funny, great writing.
December 26, 2022
LOVED some stories, but some were boring
Read
June 3, 2024Joan Didion's appearance in this feels like a Marvel team-up
February 9, 2016
I brought this book on an 8 hour train trip. I had only read the preface and half a postcard (chapter) beforehand, so probably less than 10% of the entire book.
When I put it down again I still had 2.5 hours to go. I just inhaled the thing. Very well written and extremely entertaining and a real page-turner.
Fact:
When I read the chapter "Mrs T. in China", I made a mental note to check Wikipedia whether Margaret Thatcher was still alive. She died a few hours later. Creepy, eh?
When I put it down again I still had 2.5 hours to go. I just inhaled the thing. Very well written and extremely entertaining and a real page-turner.
Fact:
When I read the chapter "Mrs T. in China", I made a mental note to check Wikipedia whether Margaret Thatcher was still alive. She died a few hours later. Creepy, eh?
August 13, 2019
Holiday Read #5: I didn't get to the end of this one while I was in Wales but it did me for a few train trips to Woky and back. These are short travel pieces he did for the Guardian thirty or so years ago. I only know him as a broadcaster, I must admit but I enjoyed reading these doing the accent in my head.
January 7, 2023
Obviously outdated now, most of it was written in the late 70s, but a very entertaining and funny collection of travel pieces. I used to love Clive James when he was on TV so it's a pleasure to start getting into his writing too.
June 10, 2008
I loved this book. Witty and sharply observed.
April 23, 2012
Clive James is a genius of prose and storytelling.
August 4, 2012
Although dated for the most part still well written travel stories.
June 8, 2014
Well written and insightful, there can't be many nicer ways to earn a living.
June 29, 2015
Many classic gems littered throughout.
Displaying 1 - 23 of 23 reviews