We have here a collection of four diatribes on what's wrong with contemporary culture in the US, followed by a nostalgic lament. There is no introduction, conclusion, or thesis, other than to say the the US is going to hell in a handbasket unless we all start to love each other more.

The writing is fluent and informed. There are proper endnotes and citations, and an excellent bibliography. The first four chapters are centered on four aspects of US culture: the cult of the celebrity; the pornography industry; the dumbing down of universities and intellectual life; and the optimistic thinking, self-help movements. The fifth and final chapter begins, "I used to live in a country called America." It recalls a better time in the past, at least for what the author presumes to be his audience, and decries the takeover of US culture, politics, and society by the corporation and its mentality. With the exception of the pornography industry, which has taken off after the 1960s and in the internet age, the other areas mentioned for scathing review are not new to social critics of America.

What makes this a disappointing book is not the writing but the lack of focus or intent outside of unrelenting complaints. The piling up of assertions without moving toward general conclusions becomes tiring. While the author may regret the passing of what he thinks was a better America, especially for Euro-American blue-collar workers, I think a more objective view of US history would reveal a far more negative picture. The excellent survey by James Loewen (1995), "Lies My Teacher Told Me," comes forcefully to mind.

The author's final three pages, where he opines that the only hope for Americans is that they learn to love and sacrifice and respect the sacred, come so late and are so insufficient as to be without force. If this final opinion is true, and if it is the point the author wants leave with the reader, then surely its truth needed to be shown incisively in each chapter and then argued for in a final chapter of its own. ( )

Chris Hedges has gone native. In his previous books (e.g. "War is a Force That Gives of Meaning" and "American Fascists") he wrote about topics close to his own experience as a war correspondent and student of divinity; for "Empire of Illusion" he appears to have steeped himself in apocalyptic leftist political literature, and the result is disappointing.

The point here seems to be that American culture is hopelessly mired in illiteracy, pornography, and irreversible moral decay. We're all doomed. In the cause of buttressing this misanthropic thesis, Hedges musters a host of gloomy statistics, random anecdotes from tawdry television programs, dialogue from porn films, and a variety of other artifacts of venality culled from mass media sources. What he doesn't do is entertain or explore any countervailing influences on this parade of eschatological auguries.

I'm not unsympathetic to the many grim prognoses presented here, but the disinterested style of at least the first four chapters is totally disingenuous. Hedges is clearly angered by the filth he is writing about, but refuses to own his anger and commence doing what he really wants to do - rant hysterically - until he is well into the final chapter. Consequently, the prevailing tone is cold, withdrawn, bitter and (most damningly) unpersuasive.

Polemic literature that is too earnest runs the risk of being swallowed by its own curmudgeonliness. This effort, as brief as it is, quickly succumbs to this sad fate. ( )

This book is a very interesting look at how empty American culture has become. News and reality TV blurring the lines between each other. Corporate training that resembles brain washing and the self-delusional transformational positivity that passes as mental health care. Read the last chapter and be frightened. ( )

A magnificent book! Written by an experienced, articulate, and highly intelligent reporter/teacher.

And not dry facts alone. Passion, that this nation sorely needs.

Thank God for Chris Hedges. ( )

Hedges does an admirable job in bringing together disparate threads of our society to mount an indictment of the culture of spectacle. While Rome burns, we focus on celebrity culture, and those who try to speak the truth are marginalized by manufactured slogans and irrelevant images. I think of Pynchon's Proverbs for Paranoids, #3: "If they can get you asking the wrong questions, they don't have to worry about answers."

My problem with Hedges is twofold. For one, he has a tendency to overstate his case, casting a wide loop with a short rope. Also, his style of writing is Hemingway flat. He seems averse to any kind of transitional phrasing, and just plows ahead, piling up instance after instance of what he sees going on around him. Substance without style is a sin. Compare him to Joan Didion, a writer with similar concerns, and you'll immediately see the difference. ( )