I Wear the Black Hat by Chuck Klosterman

“The true value of a human being is determined primarily by the measure and the sense in which he has attained liberation from the self.” – Albert Einstein
Chuck Klosterman gives us with this new book a series of essays that discuss various men and women (mostly men) ranging on a scale from the critically maligned (Fred Durst) all the way to very, very bad (Adolf Hitler). As you might imagine, the lion’s share of his focus resides on the less important but more playful end of that spectrum. To put it in perspective: O.J. Simpson serves as Hitler’s mini-boss, and Don Henley gets like 10 pages.
These passages don’t individually stand alone as well as those in Klosterman’s previous essay compilations, but rather serve as clothespins on a narrative string where he dissects the dirty laundry (if you will) of well-known figures and airs it out for everyone to get a whiff. He serves up Andrew Dice Clay, Julian Assange, Joe Paterno and Kim Dotcom, among others, as tributes to the court of public opinion.
Despite Klosterman’s role as “The Ethicist” for The New York Times—the epitome of a White Hat, one assumes—he delivers his verdicts in Black Hat less with journalistic precision than in the style of his classic, winding pop-labyrinths that either delight or infuriate (and often do both simultaneously).
He starts many of these essays with a main character. He summarizes the general ins and outs of this character’s alleged villainy. Before getting to an ultimate point about the subject’s guilt, he splinters off into some wild non-sequitur that translates to something like this: “In order to understand Bill Clinton, we need to understand Ted Bundy.” Then he processes the entire Ted Bundy history before leading back to deliver the complete Clinton world-view. [To risk an unsophisticated summary of this one: The reason we remember Ted Bundy as the only serial killer with a human personality instead of simply as another sub-human genetic monster is because he had good looks—the same reason a lying, cheating president escapes being remembered as an entirely pathetic joke…like, say, Linda Tripp.]
If these pop-culture connections don’t dazzle quite as much as they did in some previous books, it actually serves to Klosterman‘s advantage. You get more of a sense that you’re reading a real conversation rather than some rhetorical magic trick. Think of Tarantino’s Bill conjuring Superman to explain his feelings about Beatrix Kiddo. The teenagers may be bored that heads don’t fly, but adults appreciate the intimacy of straight personality.