I read David Brooks in the Times now and then. He's a good essayist and says at least one interesting thing per column. I also know, from looking at the reader comments, that a lot of Times readers hate him. I'm not one of those people.
With that out of the way: this book doesn't have much going for it. Cover to cover, it's just nonstop hyperbole, snark and vapid generalization. The hyperbole is funny and the snark is semi-good-natured. But that's all it is.
Poking fun at other people's consumerism is one of his favorite themes. He tries to channel Veblen and Mencken:
"For example, I have a watch that only tells time. But on the racks, one finds several magazines serving the watch-nut population, for people whose self-worth depends largely on their wrists. These publications are printed on paper so rich and glossy that it might be made from butterscotch. Each issue features a few new watches that transcend mere watchdom..."
Of course Brooks is above all that. Just as, sophisticated urbanite that he is, he can look down on small-town people:
"The entire weekend economy of small-town America seems to depend on prepubescent sports tournaments..."
At his worst, he slides into Thomas Friedmanism:
"The inescapable fact is that the universe is divided beween Blondes and Brunettes. This is not a matter of the color of one's hair. This is a cosmic trait. The Cosmic Blonde floats through life on a beam of sunshine..."
We'll know he's gone full Thomas Friedman if he writes a book about the state of the world and entitles it _Blondes and Brunettes_.
