Since many forms of travel which inspired earlier accounts have become virtually impossible, the travel book has often been declared dead in the twentieth century. Evelyn Waugh laments over this death in When the Going Was Good (1946):
My own travelling days are over, and I do not expect to see many travel books in the future. When I was a reviewer, they used, I remember, to appear in batches of four or five a week, cram-full of charm and wit and enlarged Leica snapshots. There is no room for tourists in a world of ‘displaced persons.’ Never again, I suppose, shall we land on foreign soil with a letter of credit and passport (itself the first faint shadow of the great cloud that envelops us) and feel the world wide open before us. (p. 11)
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