Review: Boomerang by Michael Lewis

Photo courtesy of W W Norton & Co

BOOMERANG: Travels in the New Third World (2011)
by Michael Lewis

As a longtime reader of Michael Lewis's features in Vanity Fair, I found 80% of 'Boomerang' to be redundant, since it's based on his reporting on the global economic collapse in countries around the world. 

His reporting on Iceland, Greece, Ireland and the U.S. is fascinating and intelligent stuff - a great chronicle of how the world got itself so turned upside-down - but when you've read it before you find yourself disappointed that he seemingly didn't add much to his original reporting.

But for anyone who hasn't read much of Michael Lewis's features in Vanity Fair for the past 8 years, it is an essential and well-written chronicle of how the global economy can suffer such a complete meltdown in so many places at once. 

Lewis's writing style is casual and honest, smart in a way that sometimes reads as the personal musings and stream of consciousness of an expert in economics. Very readable, and there are even swear words! His journalism mixes personal experiences of visits to these other countries, but he gets the interviews with the people that matter and is able to tell the story through a multitude of credible voices.

Overall it's top-notch journalism, very readable, and useful for anyone who wants to understand more about how we got into this economic mess we are still living in. Despite the fact that I felt I had read it all before, it's an essential part of the economic history of the modern world.

4 Stars

Never Enough Fireworks

OK, the fireworks started going off even before Christmas. Nevertheless, nothing could have prepared me for the spectacle of explosion that marked the new year 2007, a celebration which, by the way, only just seems to have ended. For now, the war is over. Major combat operations in the skies of Reykjavik have come to an end. Of course, I would not be surprised if the next few weeks bring the last of the unexploded bombs out of hiding.

There is something about the darkness that compels you to light up the sky with whatever is available. On some nights, especially the coldest ones, the Aurora Borealis does the trick naturally. But in late December, it is fireworks. From small children to responsible adults, every house and every neighborhood consider it their duty to out-do the people down the street. It is not at all uncommon for people to spend several months’ salary, or the equivalent of a small car, to make the sky above your house explode for a few hours. Even the dogs, at least the ones not huddling in the closet for fear of impending nuclear holocaust can be seen in their front yards with sparklers hanging out of their mouths.

The only lull in the insanity comes late in the evening when Icelanders gather around their televisions to appreciate a tradition that goes back thirty years. For an hour the state-run TV station shows a comedy program poking fun at everything Icelandic, from major news stories to notorious celebrities. The only topic that seems off-limits is, thankfully, Björk. But even I, an outsider with only a limited knowledge of Icelandic, was able to laugh at much of what all around me found so funny. Some of it was in English, and all of it was funny. Icelanders are adept at self-criticism. They know that you can’t take everything so seriously, and that the best way to forge a strong national identity is to recognize the humor in everything that you are proud of. Others (mm hmm) could benefit from their example.

As soon as the show ends, around 11:30, the real show begins outside. It is almost impossible to hear yourself scream, when bombs are going off above, around, and below you. Yes, accidents do happen, some fingers may get blown off, but it is all worth it. It is impossible not to get euphoric at this display of explosive power, an undying remnant of this country’s viking past. Icelandic fireworks, with pictures of blond, helmeted men with beards, are called “cakes” for a reason: it is the ONLY way to celebrate. And when the cakes run out, as they did at a friend’s house, some emergency flares were found in a closet, lighting up the world in a slow red drama that must have looked even more amazing from far away.

But it doesn’t matter where in Reykjavik you are. Every neighborhood is as indulgent as the next. The first time I experienced Iceland, for the big millennium new year in 2000, I was amazed, knowing that the millennium merited such a grand celebration. What I saw this year proved only that it gets bigger and bigger every year. I knew it when I left my house at five in the evening and was knocked in the face by the pungent smell of exploded gunpowder. I knew it when driving down the street in the following week I needed to wait while one last cake was set off in the intersection down the street. I knew it when even though I did not have a vantage point over the whole city, it was the most impressive display I have ever seen.

Heaven in the Hot Water

After returning from a recent trip to the United States, I realized what a luxury it is to have a constant supply of instantly hot and practically free water at your disposal from any tap or faucet, any time of day or night. Iceland, an active volcanic island with natural hot springs all over the country, uses this precious resource to an almost exploitative scale, but amazingly, it never runs out.

My mother’s nice house in a wealthy suburb of Washington, DC has two showers among its four bathrooms, but they can’t be used at the same time. In fact, two people wanting to shower in the same hour take the risk of a cold rinse if they don’t space them out enough. And forget about running the washing machine or dishwasher while trying to wash your body; it’s just not going to happen.

So I come back to Iceland, where the shower has two knobs: one to indicate the desired temperature (say, 104 degrees Fahrenheit) and one to control the water pressure. Without fail, every shower is perfect. And if you are not careful, you will burn the skin right off your face. My girlfriend, just the other day, was washing her hands and did not just scald herself, but actually burned the tip of her finger!

The trick is that the water needs no heater. The water is just like that when it comes out of the ground. The water IS the heater. Yes, the fact that it is naturally hot water does mean that it contains a bit of sulphur and the associated odor of old eggs, but you would be amazed at the softening effect that has on your skin. It’s like putting a Brita filter on your showerhead and bathing in purified drinking water.

Think of the money it saves, too. No energy needed to power a water heater, and no energy to heat the house at all, since Iceland’s priceless geothermal resource is pumped through radiators in every room in every house. And there’s more. When it leaves the house, it courses through a network of pipes and tubing placed just below the surface of the sidewalks and roads (at least in the center of town), heating the ground so that snow and ice does not collect. In a country with such an intense winter, that is many falls and broken hips avoided at a cost of next to nothing.

Such efficient use of Iceland’s natural hot springs, which heat a number of swimming pools and hot tubs around town also, by the way, ensures a comfortable winter for those of us unaccustomed to living 66 degrees north of the equator. Don’t worry about me. As hard as my day will ever be, I always have a hot shower to go home to.

Now to get used to the permanent darkness…

So Much Sunshine

I saw the midnight sun and it freaked me out. See, there is no way to know what it is like to spend 24 hours in daylight for weeks on end until you do it. I consider myself a pretty adaptable person. And, having put myself in some really weird situations, I must say I have always come out with my wits about me, more or less. Whether or not my wits are currently with me is debatable. I am in Iceland with a mind to stay a while, looking for a job and going apartment hunting. Some might say that of course, I’m crazy. Those people have obviously never been to Iceland. I’m in love.

The last time I was here, in the dead of winter, there was no sun whatsoever, and now, the sun never leaves. It has turned my sense of time completely upside down. On the one hand, you stay up all “night” and go to sleep at 6 in the morning, but you know you won’t sleep through the whole “day” because it will still be light whenever you happen to wake up. On the other hand, you forget to eat dinner because you are waiting all day for it to get dark. Ten o’clock rolls around and you are wondering why you are so hungry.

The main thing I miss is the starry night. A black sky, full of stars, is a marvelous, natural work of art. When I was in Peru, I was amazed that sometimes I could read a book at 2 in the morning under the light of a full moon. Here, as you can see in the above picture, I can read a book by the light of the sun at 2:30 am.

But by far, the coolest thing about summer this close to the top of the world is the sunset. Perhaps “sunset” is not the right word. After all, it never really drops below the horizon. But it does get low enough to cast its fading light on the clouds hanging in the sky, sending hues of pink and blue across the sky. And, as it sweeps in a gentle arc *near* the horizon, it stays that way for HOURS. Imagine a dramatic setting sun for three hours. Where I come from, once the colors get good, the sun drops so fast that you miss it if you look the other way. But no, not here. Those five minutes of dramatic, divine beauty are stretched out for hours, providing a feast that you are free to enjoy at your leisure.

THIS is Iceland.