Los Angeles Times columnist Martinez declares at the opening of this spunky though disappointing memoir that it isn't a where-to or how-to book, but rather a reflection on travel's soul-enriching benefits. Time spent looking at other places and cultures is time not spent looking at ourselves, he writes. If only he'd taken that dictum to heart. For what unfolds is a chronicle of a life of tourism with Martinez and his wife at the center of nearly every scene. Pithy prose and mildly funny anecdotes notwithstanding, Martinez relates commonplace tourist adventures (e.g., museum hopping across Europe, sailing down China's Yangtze River, road tripping through Mexico) and misadventures (e.g., he claims he was nearly attacked at night by 19 lions while on a safari in Tanzania). Though the locations are promising, readers may have trouble seeing them through often irrelevant dialogue between the author and his traveling companions. As a novelist (The Last City Room), screenwriter and award-winning journalist, Martinez knows how to turn a phrase. His portrayals of his parents and colleagues are touching, and his easygoing nature can endear: "Our travel agent had mentioned before departure that part of the fun of traveling in Africa was the unexpected. I took that to mean that rhinos might skewer a tourist, not that African bartenders wouldn't know a martini from cherries jubilee. I sighed and drank what they gave me." Still, Martinez's technical proficiency doesn't make up for a lack of substance in this "sort of" travel memoir. Agents, Janet Manus and Jonathan Westover. (Dec. 8)
