The genially sardonic actor and comedian recounts occasionally misbegotten, always laugh-inducing travels. Offerman opens his latest book, at times reminiscent of the work of British traveler Redmond O'Hanlon, with a gimlet eye on billboards that proclaim the planks of fundamentalist Christianity. "I don't feel the need," he writes, "to erect a sign in my yard proclaiming 'BEEF TALLOW IS THE FUCKING BOSS.' " Offerman entertainingly chronicles his travels in the Montana Rockies with two perhaps unlikely companions, novelist George Saunders and musician Jeff Tweedy. Well-known as a fine woodworker, Offerman contrasts his love of fancy gear, a love shared by Tweedy, with Saunders' asceticism: "It was his water bottle that made me realize how his whole gear vibe was screaming 'unassuming pragmatism.' " Saunders got in a little less trouble than the other two as they hiked along the sheer cliffs of Glacier National Park, a place that prompts the author to meditate on the history and fate of public lands: "We three middle-aged white guys, ever aware of our privilege, had taken pretty full advantage of the recreation available in the glorious acreage that some other white guys had set aside for just that purpose." After a side journey among craftspeople and farmers in the English Midlands, where he gamely tried to build a stone wall in the old way, he took off on a Covid-evading RV road trip with wife and fellow actor Megan Mullally, a journey fraught with encounters with the denizens of the recent film Nomadland. "When it comes to navigating RV parks and their gatekeepers," he notes, "there is a substantial culture of unwritten laws of the jungle." Offerman's forays into social criticism are sometimes sharp but never elitist even as he professes disdain for the Jan. 6 crowd and its "batshit mouthpiece," the pillow king. A hoot and a half for fans of sometimes-hapless wandering. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Offerman (The Greatest Love Story Ever Told) shares observations from the road with wry humor and sarcasm and an understanding of the privilege that allowed the Parks and Recreation actor to make these journeys. A trip to Glacier National Park with George Saunders and Jeff Tweedy is an opportunity to contemplate others' antics and examine ecology and history, including how the park came to be through violence and illegal land grabs from the Blackfoot Confederacy and Salish and Kootenai tribes. In later chapters, Offerman tags along as British farmer/writer James Rebanks rebuilds walls, negotiates livestock purchases, and discusses living on and respecting the land. In the final section, which takes place during the pandemic and loses some of the book's insight and relatability, Offerman and spouse Megan Mullally indulge in the consumerism they previously disparaged and purchase an Airstream to travel during the U.S. COVID-19 lockdowns in spring 2020. Offerman's narrative thread is peppered with tangential discussions that are almost always entertaining and informative, aside from somewhat overdone references to Aldo Leopold and Wendell Barry. VERDICT A great mix of wit and perceptive observation from travels in the United States and the United Kingdom just before and during the COVID-19 pandemic, with a surprising amount of history, nature, and ecology thrown in.--Zebulin Evelhoch, Deschutes P.L., OR

Parks and Recreation star and woodworker Offerman (Gumption) ponders the goodness of the land and the corruptions of white, capitalist Trumpistan in this painfully woke and often misfiring memoir. He narrates three journeys: a hiking trip in Glacier National Park, full of stunning scenery and ruminations on the dispossession of Native Americans; visits to an organic sheep farm in England in 2019, where he repaired stone walls and rails against agribusiness that use "chemicals and machinery"; and a recent road trip from California to Illinois, during which he shuddered at unmasked diners and campers whose Trump flags brought to mind "a Klan hood." Offerman extols the virtues of manual labor and communion with nature while denouncing "the dominant, white culture that... has been wrong in almost every way," and vows to "listen to the grievances of the indigenous folks, the Black folks, the gay folks, the Latinx familias." Unfortunately, his labored jokes--"the main terror of park toilets: OPPPTYB (Other People's Poop Particles Touching Your Butt)"--are overshadowed by fulsome rants: "If a person bases their worldview on the lyrics of these old songs... they could easily end up indoctrinated into the White Power army," he huffs, the songs being "Home on the Range" and "America the Beautiful." The result is a preachy, stridently unfunny travelogue. Agent: Monika Verma, Levine, Greenberg, Rostan Literary. (Oct.)