This is not a book review, it’s a complaint.
I have been reading—and, I confess, enormously enjoying—David Halberstam’s The Fifties (Villard), yet another of his blockbuster best-sellers. It’s great nostalgia, wonderfully evocative, and above all, about my generation. Like my students today, but from the other side of the great divide, I am tired of hearing about the sixties and the baby boomers, who seem to think they invented everything that matters in contemporary America, which, moreover, as they smugly and triumphantly remind us, they are now running.
