Klinenberg imparts an impassioned and inspiring message about the need to shore up American society with places that will build community by bringing people together. The book meanders somewhat, though, and always seems to return to what becomes almost a refrain: "like, for example, libraries."
He means, of course, public libraries: no small quibble. None of his library examples are academic or special libraries, where so much funding is private or nonprofit. This in no way denigrates the work of those institutions. It is only to say they do not have a mission to serve the general public in a community context, as do public libraries.
Public libraries are largely funded by local tax revenues; their operations are overseen by a publicly-appointed board. There is considerable variation in the level and type of state tax support. Federal support is small in terms of dollars, but is strategically important for the development of tech-based processing networks and distribution of information. Public libraries are a public expense accepted by the large majority of American taxpayers, Republican and Democrat.
And yet -- with their rugged, self-help-through-self-education ethos that is as American as Benjamin Franklin -- public libraries are an increasingly anomalous feature in a political landscape that--seemingly, and increasingly--wants to raze the very idea on which they rest: that the government can and should invest public money in cultural infrastructure for the improvement of citizens' lives. Or, as Klinenberg muses parenthetically, "(If, today, the library didn't already exist, it's hard to imagine our society's leaders inventing it.)"
As a career public librarian, I often had this thought. Traditional conservatism of the kind that favored localism over centralization has morphed into an antipathy to government at all levels. This radical anti-civic ideology is what the "Reagan revolution" accomplished: spreading the belief that "government can do no good" at any level whatsoever.
And yet there is the American public library standing in direct contradiction of that ideology. When Andrew Carnegie wanted to bring self-education to the masses, how did he do it? He did not just scatter his money. He entered into a quid pro quo arrangement with local governments: if I build it, you must make sure they come. Years later, when Bill Gates wanted to do something similar with the potential of the Internet, he did a similar thing with local governments and their libraries: if I enable connectivity, you must maintain it.
This is the American face of culture that could be massively enhanced if Americans only allowed themselves to recognize "the commons" as a place deserving public investment. Sadly, historically-deaf Americans--in the grips of libertarians passing themselves off as conservatives and terrified of a nonexistent "socialist" bogeyman of their own fiendish imagination--will attend the final demise of the civic sense that has been a root of Americanism since Plymouth and the Declaration of Independence.