Big Bang (4*)

I can't recall ever getting more pure enjoyment out of reading a book.  Bowman infuses his cunningly imagined, fact-based history of the baby boomer generation (the title nods to the record number of births in a single year, 1957, when 4.3 million Americans burst onto the soon-to-be swinging scene) with an explosion of pop culture and tells it with turns of phrase so deft and amusing that I found myself giggling with delight.

Take this description of the dance craze inspired by Chubby Checker:

In a nutshell, to do the twist, a dancer would duplicate the imaginary action of stubbing out a cigarette with the toe of their shoe while drying off their behind with an imaginary beach towel.  In the late 60s, paparazzi photographs of Jacqueline Kennedy sunbathing nude will reveal that the first lady had a modest posterior. When she twisted in 1962, if she pretended to stub out a cigarette with her toe, it was an L&M. 

Jackie--who as First Lady did everything she could to hide her addiction to nicotine from the public-- figures prominently in the book, as does prettier sister Lee Radzill, who first caught Onassis's eye.  Bowman portrays her as a chain-smoking gossip who cannot abide people who tell her she sounds just like Marilyn Monroe.  It's also impossible not to contrast Jackie's behavior in Dallas on November 22, 1963 with that of Elizabeth Taylor's six year's earlier when she rushes to the scene of the car crash that "Picassofied" (!) friend Monty's face ("Clift drove up into the hills on a road that looked and curled like a fling of white paint on a Jackson Pollock painting").  So  many hot takes, mostly men swinging their dicks, including Norman Mailer (so despicable), Arthur Miller (so obsessed) , Jimi  Hendrix (so talented), William Burroughs (so degenerate), Benjamin Spock (so sexist) & Robert McNamara (so arrogant). Soooooo much fun, sooooo much rushing to Wikipedia.

I learned as much as I laughed.  Everyone knows that Marilyn Monroe sang "Happy Birthday" to JFK but how come Ann-Margret don't get no props for singing to our most philandering Prez on his FINAL birthday?  Perhaps because she flew the coop to elude his Cuomo-like clutches.   And how many people recall that Desi Arnaz went on live television to defend his wife, a registered Commie (absolutely true!):  "The only thing that's red about Lucy is her hair."  Case  closed, America went back to enjoying her antics in a heartbeat because that's who we are, endlessly forgiving of the people we love.  Bowman outs Joseph McCarthy, a revelation for me, perhaps because my tribe has never tried to claim him.  He also explains the Pumpkin Papers, and asks exactly the right question about a boring and inconsequential political scandal with an interesting name.

Bowman, who died young,  is surprisingly aware, too, of his generation's shortcomings (lack of representation and gender bias):

Gringos are like the rooster who believes the sun has risen to hear him crow.

*  *  *  *  *

Even more than Marlon Brando or James dean, Albert Camus, with his perpetual Bogart cigarette hanging off his lip, was the avatar of Caucasian cool.

 

If you're a Baby Boomer, ya gotta read  this book.  Just don't expect to be blown away by the ending in which a pile of oh-shit! coincidences fuels unsubstantiated paranoia, at least to my mind.  In with  a bang, out with a whimper, but one hell of a ride.  Think Slim Pickens in Dr. Strangelove, before the big bang.  Yahoo!