Twain's a little like Zaphod Beeblebrox (one of our friends from the classic Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy). You can't always tell when he's being sarcastic because (a) he's satirizing the American point of view, (b) when he's being sarcastic to cover his sense of awe at what he sees, or (c) when he's being sarcastic because he's genuinely making fun of what he's reporting about.

And some of the time Twain's just plain funny, as when he's describing the difficulty of conveying the need for soap in one's bath to the staff of a Paris hotel.

However, he always has his own take on the topic. Personally I don't mind what the media calls "political correctness" because to me it always looks practically indistinguishable from what my grandmother called "good manners." But even I must admit that writers today -- not the good ones, but many of the mediocre ones -- use political correctness as an excuse to have no opinions at all.

If you're with me on this, you'll find A Tramp Abroad a refreshing treat. Sometimes Twain is undeniably racist and classist and he's always an American chauvinist: no matter what he's talking about, whether it's a lake in Switzerland or the lack of soap in Paris, the American way is the right way; the American countryside the measure by which all else is measured.

But Twain also has a great eye for the telling detail, and he never hesitates to give you his own idiosyncratic opinion. Relating the French reverence for Heloise and Abelard, the star-crossed twelfth century lovers who are still memorialized by those who leave flowers on their grave, Twain points out that they all overlook the simple fact that Abelard was a teacher who took advantage of his young student and ought to have been horse-whipped.

And Twain has an eye for that which truly inspires awe. Even while he's telling you that Lake Como is not as large as Lake Tahoe in the States, he describes the lake in such exact detail that, you too, can see the vegetation clinging to the precipices that line the lake. You can see the beautiful blues and greens which really are startling to the eye; and you can feel the serenity of the beautiful place.

And liberty for all.
Yes. All. The true test of American democracy is whether or not everyone gets his or her share. That's been a problem ever since America's founders said "All men are created equal" then restricted the vote based on your cash value and your gender.

Statistically speaking, if you're an American, you probably owe some of your civil rights to Frederick Douglass, a politically important figure of the nineteenth century who doesn't get talked about enough. Not only was he instrumental in convincing Abraham Lincoln of the need to free the slaves, he attended the women's rights conference in Seneca Falls, New York, on July 19 and 20 of 1848 and helped shape the women's rights movement in this country.

Douglass was apparently an impressive public speaker and in his work, The Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, you can hear his personal voice. The language is precise, simple and direct, like a good speech. He was himself awed by the power of words and after reading his story you will be too.