Customer Reviews

Balsamic Dreams: A Short But Self-Important History of the Baby Boomer Generation

5 star:		(9)
4 star:		(13)
3 star:		(8)
2 star:		(11)
1 star:		(15)

 

 

What Queenan does is hold up a mirror so that we Boomers can see ourselves, and yes, what he shows us is ugly, but it's hilarious to see ourselves through his distorted lens. You will recognize yourself, your friends, and your relatives. And if you appreciate mean humor, you will have a big grin on your face most of the time you read this. This is a book you will want to share. I want all of my friends and fellow Boomers to read it, because it's such fun. I want my father to read it, so that he can see his offspring put into proper perspective. And I really hope that the individuals that Queenan uses to illustrate particularly vile aspects of our smug self-importance read the book and recognize themselves. But it's about all of us Boomers, and all of us will enjoy a good squirm when we read this. The man is funny. This book will bring you pleasure. If it doesn't, you are seriously humor-impaired, and should pass it along to a less handicapped friend, who will then owe you a big favor. Buy this book.

There is no denying that Balsamic Dreams, by Joe Queenan, is funny, clever, and entertaining to read. But a consequence of being a prolific writer is that readers might read your other books and compare or even prefer them to you latest offering. Such is my assessment of Queenan's most recent book, "Balsamic Dreams," which is subtitled "A Short But Self-Important History of the Baby Boomer Generation.

The book is a loose collection of essays that excoriate, dissect, and firmly pin to the dart board the stereotypical "Baby Boomer" (a term which, with his usual irony, Queenan capitalizes). For Queenan's purposes, the official definition of a Baby Boomer is slightly outside the officially recognized statistical boundaries and includes those born between 1943 and 1960 or 1962. In his "Disclaimer Chapter," Queenan humbly acknowledges his own membership in this group. In short, Queenan defines the generation, which he calls "a mindset as much as a demographic group," thusly:

To qualify as a Baby Boomer, a person must have been deeply affected at a relatively early age by a significant number of the following: the Soviet Union's development of the hydrogen bomb, Elvis, Sputnik, the Thunderbird, the Twist, the 1960 Nixon-Kennedy Debate, the Bay of Pigs, the Cuban Missile Crisis, Muhammad Ali's defeat of Sonny Liston, JFK's assassination, the Beatles, the civil Rights Movement, Martin Luther King's assassination, assorted other assassinations, the Tet Offensive, the Days of Rage, the Strawberry Statement, LBJ's self-furlough, Muhammad Ali's defeat at the hands of Joe Frazier, Jimi Hendrix's death, Jim Morrison's death, Janis Joplin's death, Duane Allman's death, Woodstock, Easy Rider, The Graduate, Joe, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Altamont, Charles Manson, the breakup of the Beatles, the secret invasion of Cambodia, Watergate, Richard Nixon's resignation.

Having set the parameters of his targeted foes, Queenan skewers them with his laser-like, sardonic wit. Notable "high misdemeanors" of the offending generation are: the habit of middle-aged men to wear ponytails and sandals in an effort to look "cool" to the next generation; their propensity for bogus and un-enriching self-improvement courses given by charlatans such as Deepak Chopra; listening to weak, uninspiring music by Billy Joel and Rod Stewart; naming their children with odd, androgynous names and substituting irritating and ineffective "parenting" techniques for raising their children with solid, traditional, middle-class values; and, most egregious of all, selling out the revolutionary values they held as young adults in exchange for "the good life."

As previously mentioned, this book was good, and it was funny, but it was not as enjoyable or as outright hilarious as a previous Queenan work, entitled "Red Lobster, White Trash, and the Blue Lagoon," which details Queenan's effort to experience and survive all manner of pop culture phenomena, such as Kenny G. concerts, reading Shogun, and seeing the play Cats. "Red Lobster" was so funny, I could hardly breathe or see the page for my hysterical laughter, and in a first experience for me, I howled with glee even at the index. "Balsamic Dreams" has its funny parts and its clever parts, but it also has some or repetitive boring stretches. It also employs some methods of narration or parody that simply don't work or wear out quickly, as in Queenan's fantasy alternative history of America as seen through the eyes of politically and environmentally correct and pacifistic Baby Boomers. By all means read "Balsamic Dreams," but reward yourself by following up with "Red Lobster."

Considering how minuscule were the circulations of both Spy and Movieline, the magazines for which he wrote, I would imagine that most folks were first exposed to Joe Queenan, as I was, on Imus in the Morning. He's absolutely hilarious there : his sarcastic style is ideally suited to the format and he's got Imus continually directing him to new topics at which to spew venom. But after reading several of his books--all of which I've liked, but not loved--I'm beginning to wonder if he doesn't need a better editor to bring some form to his very funny observations.

Queenan's latest book, Balsamic Dreams, is intended to be an indictment of the Baby Boomer Generation, of which he is an embarrassed member. He's operating in what Norman Schwarzkopf might call a target rich environment here, and almost inevitably much of what he has to say is very amusing, even laugh-out-loud funny in places. But somehow, it's not as good a book as it should be.

There are a couple of problems. For one thing, he's really written a series of interconnected essays rather than one sustained indictment. This makes for some rather distracting disorganization and some truly annoying repetition. Worse, he periodically himself gets distracted from the task at hand. I thoroughly enjoyed his attacks on the so-called Greatest Generation and on Gen-X, but in these sections of the book he's essentially defending the Boomers, rather than garroting them, which is what we'd prefer.

The other problem isn't so much structural, it's ideological. Queenan's thesis is that the Boomers started out well, but then sold out. He repeatedly gives them credit for "the Freedom Riders. Woodstock, Four Dead in Ohio, driving Nixon from office, Jon Voight in Midnight Cowboy", but then says that after that they became selfish, self-absorbed, and obsessed with their material well being. Which is all well and good, except that : Midnight Cowboy sucked; as he himself says, the Boomers as they exist in our minds are the sons and daughters of the Post-WWII white middle class, and as such weren't a significant part of the Civil Rights movement; Woodstock was the epitome of the generation's irresponsible self-indulgence which was then conflated into some kind of meaningful statement of peace, love, and brotherhood; and both driving Nixon from office and getting gunned down at Kent State were fundamentally related to their desire to avoid service in Vietnam, which, though Queenan largely avoids the topic, is the primary crime they have to answer for. Basically, he's completely wrong about whether his generation was ever worthwhile, and this too seems a function of his natural inclination to defend his own : the Boomers didn't decline over time, they began badly.

Oddly enough, the best moments in the book come when Queenan is making serious points, rather than comic ones. At one point, when discussing the total farce that Boomers have turned funerals into, with songs, multiple insipid eulogies, and readings from inane fare like the Tibetan Book of the Dead, he says that :

Because we Baby Boomers believe in nothing, we end up acting like we believe in everything.

Elsewhere, while visiting a dying friend, Queenan is approached by a woman he doesn't know who clearly wants to hug him, but avoids her :

After an awkward silence, she spoke : 'It's a shame that men have so much trouble showing their emotions,' she whispered. It was classic Baby Boomer feminism. What she meant was : 'You probably have the same feelings that I do, but you can't possibly show them, because that would necessitate revealing your feminine side, which this hideously repressive society prohibits you from doing.' It was also classic Baby Boomer behavior in that it capitalized on an inappropriate, emotionally devastating moment to launch a skirmish in the ongoing gender wars.

'Actually, I have no trouble showing my emotions,' I told her. 'These are my emotions. I'm sad that my friend is dying, and that's why I look so sad. If my friend wasn't dying, I would probably be smiling and look a lot happier. I think a lot of men work this way.'

'Have a nice life,' she replied.

Ditto.

Even here though, when he's truly nailed what's most wrong with the Baby Boomers, he fails to develop these observations into a unified and coherent brief against them, because his objections seem to be mostly stylistic, rather than moral. He seems more concerned with how cheesy the funerals are and how silly the hugging is, than with the underlying causes of these behaviors. But the Baby Boomers aren't evil because they are gauche or tacky or melodramatic; they're evil because they don't believe in anything but themselves and as Queenan says when discussing Bill Clinton's capacity to show empathy without ever actually sharing a feeling, "...they don't actually care what other people do as long as they say the right things...."

There is an essential hollowness at the core of this generation. The fact that they have no beliefs, the way they display emotion without feeling it, the way they tried to turn simple draft avoidance into a great crusade, the way they have warped social standards to indulge their behaviors, ...all of these these things should be piled one on top of another by the prosecution as it makes its case that they are the most destructive generation in history. But Queenan, notorious for his scorched earth style and willingness to take no prisoners, backs off, and the book suffers because of it.

It's too bad, because there's much here that's funny and wickedly observant, and with a stronger editor to keep him on track, the book might have been great. As is, it's fun, but somewhat disappointing.

GRADE : B-

I have a confession to make. I was born in 1973, and ever since I was a kid all I've heard is how the baby boomers have done everything. No matter what was being discussed, it had been done before by some boomer. It seems that somehow every concievable thing was done in the 60's and 70's. We could be talking about music, politics, beer, ANYTHING. So here I am a genration X'er who detests boomers and I see this book. I read it in a day and I loved it. It does not have the stinging insults like George Carlin, rather it consists of well thought out, well-written attacks on the boomers as a whole. Queenan picks on music, SUV's, the whole greatest generation bit, how great the 60's were, boomers facination with options, and over-stimulated kids with moronic names like Dakota. I loved it, he does this well without name calling (I would have liked some name calling). He does point out some of dumb stuff about my generation, like our obsession with coffee shops (I buy my coffee at gas stations) and extreme sports. The book is a worthwile read and you'll think about it whenever you are gettting a lecture about how your music is just a rip-off of Alice Cooper, The Doors, Led Zeppelin, pick a boomer band (When a 24 year-old tells me that he thinks the Led Zeppelin is the greatest ban ever, I usually want to throw up). I you hate boomers you'll love the book (not all boomers are bad, but as a whole they stink). If you are a boomer, read the book and change your ways or else it is a nursing home for you when you get old.

Getting into the spirit of things, I am going to write the short but self important review to tell you about "Balsamic Dreams: A Short but Self-Important History of the Baby Boomer Generation." Queenan is perhaps the most intellectual non-political humorist writing today. With "Basalmic Dreams" he turns his sharp wit against what he sees as the many "crimes" of his own generation. And what a ripe target for satire. Queenan is able to skewer Boomer pomposity and hypocrisy with the kind of detail that could only come from someone who has walked among them.

That said, the book starts slowly. Queenan's last book (the hilarious "Red Lobster, White Trash and the Blue Lagoon") saw him actually experiencing things. "Balsalmic Dreams," however, reads more like an essay, and it takes Quenan about half the book to really get warmed up. By the time he comes to the Chapter entitled "What a Fool Believes" and deservedly lambastes Tom Brokaw's silly notion of "The Greatest Generation," the book becomes laugh out loud funny. Queenan goes on to portray an alternative version of American History told as if Boomer values had been held by historical figures. Under this scenerio, Thomas Jefferson is impeached for having an affair with his "nanny" and Abraham Lincoln delivers a touchy-feely Gettysburg Address.

In the end, "Basalmic Dreams" is properly subtitled. It is indeed short at a mere 210 pages and it reeks of self-importance (in a self-effacing way). It is also quite funny, especially in the second half. Hopefully, its readership will also get its message and learn to "mellow out."

Queenan has written an absolute masterpiece here -- and I admit that since I am a Boomer, I may be overstating. (As Joe says -- and I readily acknowledge -- everything we like is ultimate, cosmic and mega-unforgettable.)

But 'Basalmic Dreams' is as funny, and erudite, and sweetly nasty book as I've read since... since... since 'Mark Twain's Speeches.'

And Joe and Sam do have a lot in common. Neither is afraid of skewering the sacred cows of his day -- and not only skewering them, but marinating them, grilling them over an open spit and serving them up with plenty of hot 'n' spicy barbecue sauce as well.

And who could *possibly* deserve such treatment more than the insufferable, self-congratulatory, navel-gazing Boomers, of whom, as I say, I freely admit I am one.

Which brings me to the reviewers hereabouts who *didn't* like this book. Methinks they don't like the feel of a hot shishkabob fork piercing their burgeoning patoots. Truth hurts, doesn't it people.

Buy this book, and laugh yourself silly.

Joe Queenan has that rare gift: the ability to be both a social critic and a very funny writer. Here he puts his enormous talent to work in criticizing the Baby Boom Generation. His observations are spot on -- and they will make you laugh out loud.

Ironically, one his most telling observation of the Baby Boomers is that they take themselves way too seriously, a fact that can be aptly seen by the number of negative reviews posted here. I'm sure many of these reviewers are descendants of the people who thought Jonathan Swift actually advocated the eating of Irish children.

Ignore the self-righteous reviewers and buy this book!

This book definitely has some very funny moments, and I even thought he made a few good serious points about the Baby Boomers, but it would have been much better off as a magazine piece. At 200 pages, this is a very short book, and yet it begins to drag halfway through. He falls back on too many unfunny devices to pad the length, particularly the seemingly endless series of sequences involving lyrics or titles from songs. I always love reading Queenan's short pieces, and even though I agree with most of what he's saying about his generation, I don't think it merited a book-length treatment.

The Good: I gave out with many audible laughs while reading this book. Queenan is as erudite as he is vicious, and the results can be extremely entertaining.

The Medicore: Queenan's beefs aren't really about the baby boom generation, per se; they're about liberal Democrats of all ages. It's just that some of the behaviors that can be excused in the very young appear preposterous among the middle-aged. Queenan is really identifying "Baby Boomers" as anyone who thought they were part of some kind of a "movement" during the sixties, have totally sold out to crass consumerism, but won't or can't admit it. The categorization is more political than generational.

The Disappointing: This treatise would have made a great Atlantic Monthly-length essay; it's a funny and valid premise padded out to make a book. If you've read Red Lobster, etc., it's clear Queenan can carry off a quality rant for a couple of hundred pages. He doesn't manage it here.

...this is his latest opus and it is just as mean spirted and hilarious as the other two I have read. Only this time instead of going after the pop icons of do-gooder land (as in My Goodness: A Cynic's Short-lived Search for Sainthood (2000)) or the much beloved idols of Celebrityland, especially the left-wing variety (as in If You're Talking to Me, Your Career Must Be in Trouble: Movies, Mayhem and Malice (1994)), here Joe takes on the entire Baby Boomer generation, finding us vilely two-faced, contemptuously mediocre, insipidly uninspired, conspicuously consumptive, banally boring, and just downright dorky, with of course not the slightest insight into our own nature. As always his eye is sharp and his rapier even sharper, and as usual he goes after the usual suspects: anything he thinks is phony, and anybody who takes him- or herself too seriously, i.e., Sting, Jane Fonda, Ben & Jerry, The Bhagavad Gita, etc. (Joe, dude, those horses are dead! You killed 'em last time! Yes, but they keep coming back to life like kudzu.)

In the first chapter Joe sets forth the crimes of his generation: e.g., "The unseemly search for the Fountain of Youth," "The concept of selective virtue," "Hypocrisy as a manageable lifestyle," etc. In the second he details the "High Misdemeanors," such as "Ostentatious displays of multicultural sensitivity," "That whole Eastern thing," "Totally unacceptable hair" ("There is a point at which middle-aged men with Art Garfunkelian hair cease to be foolish-looking and actually start frightening the people around them."), etc. Joe's ear for the pop culture is supersensitive and his ability to absorb and make fun of same is phenomenal. Three of the chapters are named after rock lyrics, "What a Fool Believes," "Play that Funky Music, White Boy," and "Good Lovin' Gone Bad," appropriated, of course, for their sardonic value. In fact, there are perhaps a hundred snippets of rock and roll lyric embedded in the text, revealing, by the way, that he originally had another book in mind--but so what? In the chapter entitled "Ten Days that Rocked the World" (that is, the world of the Baby Boomers) we have not only June 15, 1979, the day Rocky II was released, but December 17, 1973, the day of the Chilean wine boycott by politically conscious Americans willing to sacrifice for a Greater Good. As can be easily seen, Joe Queenan is a social critic who can take his place alongside not just H. L. Mencken and Jay Akin, but Terry Southern, Dwight MacDonald, Mark Twain, Jonathan Swift and Voltaire...