December Reading Roundup
How to be Idle- Tom Hodgkinson- this started promisingly: "There is nothing so perfect as pinball and a pint at 11:00 in the morning." Subsequent to that, the best this ode to loafing can offer is some fine quotes by other people- the author's insights are minimal, and somewhat hypocritical, considering he edits a magazine and finds time to write a book glorifying the pleasures of doing nothing. I smell a rat.

Babylon's Burning- Clinton Heylin- From the Velvets to the Voidoids, Heylin's earlier tome documenting, well, what the title says it does, was an enlightening and riveting read. I filled in some gaps and even sought out some of the bands the man championed. The new one, sadly, does not continue the tradition. At over 600 pages, it's overstuffed and lacking focus, as the first 400+ pages cover a few years in painstaking detail, and most spend far too much time on the likes of Siouxie and Sid and Joe. Sorry, but the story has been told. Heylin loves Wire and The Buzzcocks and Pere Ubu and Television, so clearly, the artier tip of the punk thang is where he lays his puffed out hat. And that's fine, as he explicitly states he'd like to tell the "real" story of that time, in what appears to be a direct cannon shot at one Simon Reynolds, whose recent Rip It Up and Start Again meticulously captured all things post-punk from 1978-1984. Heylin did not like the man or his take, and this appears to be his riposte. So be it. That said, the problem with all these pages is that if you've been paying attention for the past twenty years, so little here is new. Jon Savage's England's Dreaming does the British punk thing better, and Michael Azzarad's Our Band Could Be Your Life does the 80's indie American with far more understanding and insight. I found myself skimming far too often, and with far too little guilt, as every page seemed to have a lengthy quote from Steve Steverin, the Banshees guitarist. Look kids, that is not a good thing. Take the big pass.

The big winner this month is Tim Weiner's Legacy of Ashes: The History of the CIA, a can't-put-it-downer, even at a whopping 500+ pages. Weiner's thesis is simple: we shouldn't be shocked by Mr. Tenet's slam dunk- the CIA has been fucking up everything from its inception. The glory of this book is that Weiner does not stuff what should be a magazine piece with analytical filler, the bane of most political books. Instead, he tells stories. Starting with the agency's origins in a world torn asunder by WWII, Weiner walks chronologically through the great foreign policy crises of America's post-war era. The stories are gripping and aggressively depressing. One director after the next desperately tries to remake the agency in his image, protect his own reputation and ego, and lie to the president to protect his turf no matter how much it hurts the country. Allan Dulles is particularly brutalized, but Weiner is ruthless. Fiasco after fiasco illustrates the sickness inherent in the beast, while director after director fuels the public image of the hyper-efficient and mysterious spy service systematically wrecking those who dare cozy up to the Soviet bear. Sadly, the boys kept getting it wrong. This acts as a history review of American foreign policy over the last 60 years, a disheartening dissection of a broken US institution, and a laugh riot for the boys in those Paki caves. Put this one by your bedside, and good luck with those sweet dreams.