The Electric Windmill, by Tom Bethell (Regnery Gateway, 294 pp., $17.95)
When Tom Bethell first came to this country over 25 years ago, he was your basic snotty limey: “From the moment I stepped off the ship, I was opinionated about all I saw. . . . Americans were . . . child-like, rich as a rule, sometimes quite amusing, often generous, uncultivated of course, and often possessed of a surprising degree of expertise in technical topics such as engineering or whatever: boring, but for all one knew, important. . In addition, it was understood that they were themselves frequently aware of their shortcomings and more than willing to take self-improvement lessons from an educated Englishman such as myself.” But he had a saving grace: he loved jazz. Indeed, he took a teaching job at a prep school in Virginia “because I knew ittobein the South and hence imagined it to be near New Orleans.” After realizing this and other errors, he began a career in journalism out of which The Electric Windmill has been assembled.





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