I find “A Sentimental Journey Through France And Italy” a trifle confusing. This may be due to the fact that Laurence Sterne never finished it, but it was published a couple of weeks before his death at the age of 54. Which doesn't make it particularly comprehensible, of course.
Sterne's previous book, “The Life And Opinions Of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman” is one of the funniest works ever produced in English literature, so I went into “Sentimental Journey” anticipating more laughs. I got a few – it's a lighthearted piece – but not a lot.
As the title suggests, the work covers the trip of an English clergyman into France, and presumably would have covered his voyages into Italy as well, but Sterne didn't have time to complete it. It's written in first person, and Sterne based it loosely on a trip he took to the same places I can't find, after admittedly minimal searching, just how much of the book describes events that actually happened, but I for one can't quite believe that early in his travels he met a French priest begging for money to support his church, that he gave the priest a few coins, and that the two of them traded snuffboxes as an expression of esteem. Maybe, I suppose.
Unlike most travelogues that you and I have encountered, there's little in “A Sentimental Journey” describing the natural wonders or great human constructions that the narrator sees. Indeed, most of what happens to him over the course of the story could have happened just as easily, or more easily for that matter, back in England. Then again, that's what makes this journey “sentimental”
Wikipedia tells us that “sentimental”, in a literary sense, means “tending toward basing actions and reactions upon emotions and feelings, in preference to reason”. That's certainly true here, and that seems to be at least part of the reason that the piece is as amusing as it is. The narrator falls in love here and there, has some difficulty obtaining a passport, is mistaken for a Shakespearean character (don't ask), and stumbles his way through Europe with a rather inexperienced valet that he picks up en route. On the evidence of this narration, he might have been better off staying at home – but then, of course, we would not have this story.
Is this work meant to be taken seriously? I'll leave you to answer that question. On the other hand, I will admit that if it were written by anyone other than the author of “Tristram Shandy”, I probably would have found it funnier. And of course, that's on me, not on Laurence Sterne.
Benshlomo says, If we go into something with a whole lot of prior expectations, we can expect some disappointment.
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