For me the book lacked precisely what the subject should have been about: imagination. Its focus is mainly on politics (the emergence of a radical politics); especially American politics. And yet the political is, like Moses, a guide destined never to experience the true wonder of '68, which was more anti-politics and anarchist than commentators such as Kurlansky tend to acknowledge. After all, we only have to look around us to see what happened when the sixty-eighters themselves came to power and became, what, New Labour? There is a quote in one of the chapters that when the '68 generation became thirty years old, it was at least certain that they would not be working in advertising. Au contraire, mon ami. They turned out to be one of the most media-friendly (and savvy and manipulative) generations of them all.
The book is a compendium of the key historico-political movements of the time; and for this reader a very dry read because of that. The true spirit of '68, however, lies elsewhere; in May in Paris (to which only one short chapter, seemingly star-struck by Daniel Cohn-Bendit, and informative about little else, is devoted). It is for example surprising that in a book of almost 400 pages there is no mention made of Guy Debord. But that defines the approach taken; an attention to the details of historical sequence and personalities, with little time left for discussion of ideas and the winged flight of the imagination, and its refusal to land, unless life itself changes. Call it romantic, idealist, naive, surreal, whatever; the spirit of 1968 would admit to all of those and much more. But this refusal to conform and to be categorized is still the only thing which has endured, and will continue to endure, from that annus mirabilis, long after the history and the politics have faded from memory, or been romanticized and consumer-packaged out of all recognition, which amounts to much the same thing.