Before Winnie-the-Pooh, A.A. Milne wrote this charming collection about a circle of friends whose holidays read like a gently farcical manual on how not to relax. There's Archie, ever eager to drag his reluctant friend Holbein out of bed for an early morning swim at dawn. There's Myra, whose presence somehow makes even a rowing mishap feel civilized. And there's cricket, that most English of religions, played with more enthusiasm than skill. These are not grand adventures but something more precious: the small comedies of friends messing about by the river, arguing about nothing, complaining magnificently, and discovering that the point of a holiday is not the destination but the company. Milne's wit is dry, his affection for these characters evident in every gently mocking line. Some pieces turn more philosophical, pondering nature, friendship, and time's passage, but never at the expense of the warmth that makes this book feel like eavesdropping on old friends. For readers who wish Christopher Robin had had more time with his father before the world changed.
