Popular Culture Review Vol. 18, No. 2, Summer 2007 | Page 121

BOOK REVIEWS 117 consumption; and above all, that we need each other, that interdependence is both a fact and a principle, and that true community is a mean between the extremes of totalitarian tyranny and rugged individualism. From a dirt road in Venezuela to the rain forests of the Amazon, the lesson is the same as it is in a country church, staring up at a cmcifix, or in an urban art museum, gazing reverently at a Cezanne: whenever we look at the world we see each other, and when we look at each other w e see ourselves. From jungle to boulevard, across ecosystems, between subsistence level economies and hi-tech societies, from “primitive” to over-sophisticated, the common denominator is humanity, which is both simple, even trite, and utterly baffling, or very hard to understand. We are made in our own image, and in an image-saturated epoch, that is the immediate, if not ultimate, reality. That, plus a healthy respect for mortality, not taking ourselves too seriously: “should I return in the muscle of a fish, in the blood of a buzzard, in the toes of a lizzard, you may not recognize me” (63). Consciously, unconsciously, cosmically, and tragicomically, we are all “lost dogs,” and even when we do find our way home, we are still alone (219): voices in the whirlwind, ciying out to God (and fellow-travelers) but hearing no answer. Popular culture serves Steeves’s needs, not because if s cultured but because if s popular. We lose ourselves in the throng, in the mass, hence that is where we must find out who we are. Spectacle, even when it is managed, is both an escape from the cares of being human and a direct route to revelation. “We are the people for whom experience is a commodity,” for whom a magic kingdom (or a magical mystery tour) is not Just a packaged vacation (or a vicarious acid trip) but a grown-up version of childish make-believe: “we are capable of knowing that there is a face behind the mask and at the same time taking the mask to be real” (both quotes 164). In the theatre of the mind, every performance is cathartic. And every catharsis yields the same result: that the world is the same for us all (165), and that despite our obvious differences, we are all the same. By suspending disbelief, we become true believers, grounded in a common faith in each other as parts of a whole. For all its silliness and sleaze, mass culture is a voyage of self-discovery, not just a vehicle to create and sustain mass delusions. There is something spiritual about it, even at its dullest, dumbest, and greediest. If God is dead, then resurrection is nigh. For even the most sinister forms of entertainment (and the industry devoted to it) all rely on corporations—and corporations are a warped but unmistakable form of community. Thus there is still hope that we may climb out of the abyss—or avoid plunging into it. There’s lots more to explore, but I don’t want to spoil it by giving away the details. Steeves writes with courage, candor, and compassion, and he is willing to risk ridicule by examining his own warts, while exposing ours. Though he is quite worldly, he is an American through and through: his voice is reminiscent, now and then, of Walt Whitman, Emily Dickinson, John Steinbeck,