The thought of enduring Thomas Friedman at book length is more than I can bear; it's enough to drag myself through his NYT column now and again. I appreciate articulate, intrepid explorers like Tom Frank who are willing to traverse the vast wasteland of Friedman's Lexus/Olive Tree and report on their appalling discoveries, sparing me the agony of a similar trek into the heart of darkness. The regrettable fact is that *someone* has to make this grim journey. Friedman is a must-read journalist in the same way that the almost-as-irritating Scotty Reston was -- he's the Voice of the Establishment.
That said, I note an interesting undercurrent to Friedman's recent writings. Yes, they're arrogant and grandiose, but they are also shrill and insistent -- anything but confident. There was certainly enough gnawing insecurity behind the Vietnam War era's arrogance of power (Nixon's worry about the U.S. being seen as a "pitiful, helpless giant). But today it seems more correct to speak of the *paradox* of power. For all the triumphalism in the air -- with the U.S. the world's sole superpower -- America seems ever more easily spooked by discordant developments worldwide and ever more willing to shoot at anything that moves.
Carl