interesting of them at the Black Bottle:nDay Muckley, the alcoholic failed novelist;nRikko and Fenella, Julian’s landlordnand landlady; Cyril, the proprietornof the pub, who looks like T.S. Eliotnbut has one of the filthiest mouths innLondon. The meaning of it all is thensum of the events and characters. Possiblynthe best way to depict Wilson’sndark vision of the country, the people,nand the age is through Uncle Roy’sngloss of Psalms 119:83: “For I amnbecome a bottle in the smoke.” “Itnwouldn’t have been a glass bottle,” Roynsays. “You’ve got to think of yourself asnshrivelling up like an old leather pouchntoo near the fire.”nCarl C. Curtis writes fromnTyler, Texas.nDe GustibusnSempernDisputandum EstnbyJ.O. TatenThe Encyclopedia of Bad Tastenby Jane and Michael SternnNew York: HarperCollins;n335 pp., $29.99nIsuppose this book might be called ancoffee-table book. It has the shapenand the lavish illustration of that kind ofnthing. And I suppose that of its kind,nthis book isn’t so bad, which is not to saynthat it’s good.nThe Sterns’ alphabetical survey ofnbad taste has the merit of some historicalninformation. The background suppliednfor “Baton Twirling” was informative,nfor instance. So was the lowdownnon “Breasts, Enormous,” “Hot Pants,”n”Twinkles,” “Roller Derby,” andn”Welk, Lawrence.” But there is a sensenin which The Encyclopedia of BadnTaste is, like the bad taste it catalogues,nsick, sentimental, trivializing, life-denying,nand phony. A book about pornographynor violence can seem asnnasty as a book of pornography ornviolence — a point not lost on thosenwho market such books. This booknabout bad taste is not going to be ofnconsuming interest to those with goodntaste; rather, it will instruct those ofn42/CHRONICLESndebased standards on how to lower thenlevel. Your surgeon should bone up onnanatomy? But Jack the Ripper will readnthe book, too.nIn their introduction, the Sterns trynto take the high road. They begin bynquoting Clement Greenberg on kitsch,nbut soon relapse to wallowing in thensleaze they know so well.nWhen things hang around thisncollective cultural Warehouse ofnthe Damned long enough, theynbegin to shimmy with a kindnof newfound energy andnfascination. Their unvarnishednawfulness starts looking freshnand fun and alluringly naughty.nThey grow beyond merentastelessness and enter thenpantheon of classic badntaste. . . . And isn’t that justngrand! We hate to think howndrab things would be withoutnbad taste. It is a powerfulnseasoning; sometimes it is sonspicy it makes you gag. Butnconsider the alternative: a worldnwithout Roller Derby cross-bodyndunks, Las Vegas lounge acts,nblubbering globules of TammynFaye Bakker’s mascara, and thengrandeur of Dolly Parton’snbreasts. Life would be just toondamn polite.nMaybe so; but I am not too polite to saynthat this meretricious volume is as vulgarnas its subject, though less honest.nThe authors seem to have been confusednby their obsession with slime, andnso their book is flawed by the corruptingneffect of their subject. The cornball andnthe cutesy-poo have a way of dominatingntheir own exposure.nThough the Sterns go on aboutn”history,” their book has little sense ofnmoral, not to mention aesthetic, perspective.n”Bad taste” is endowed withnan aura of nostalgia, and somehownbecomes good—or at least collectible.nThe Sterns fail to give us a strongnenough sense of shadow, of OriginalnSin, of speckled human nature, a feelingnthat “bad taste leads to crime.”nCreat literary passages about bad tastenalways give us that awareness, as well asnamusing us superficially. I refer tonChapter 17 oi Huckleberry Finn, partsnof The Great Gatsby, passages ofnLolita, and much of the fiction ofnFlannerv O’Connor. What — consid­nnnering the blighted environment andnthe helpful bookshelf—do we neednthe Sterns for?nThis account of bad taste not onlynlacks depth, it lacks breadth — and fornan “encyclopedia,” that is damning.nAnyone could think of scores of obviousnand gross examples of bad tastenomitted from this account: chewingngum is one. Television is another.nVarious advertisements, foods, articlesnof dress — take your pick. But even ifnthe coverage were doubled, the campynattitude and shallow view would stillncripple a book hobbled by a highlynselective field of choice. There is anpattern of selection and exclusion thatnmight be called “political,” for want ofna better term.nI think that the Sterns’ list of distastefulnitems and people and placesnrepresents an upper-middle-class viewnof the lower-middle class, and even annEastern view of the Heartland and thenBible Belt. I find it bizarre that theynhave included the Smoky Mountainsn—but not New York City. I find itnperverse that they have cited Las Vegasn— but not Massachusetts. I find itnweird that they have singled out Charo,nLiberace, and Dolly Parton—but notnSenator Kennedy, Bishop Spong, ornDr. Ruth.nThe Sterns are not about to mocknthe sordid icons of the privileged.n”Civil rights,” “socialism,” “multiculturalism,”nand “Washington, D.C.”nare absent from their litany. “Vans” arenamusing, but imported luxury sedansnare sacrosanct. “Cool Whip,” “HawaiiannShirts,” and “Spam” rate a sneer,nbut there’s no mention of alfalfansprouts, the garment industry, or designernwater.nThe Sterns take the easy way out. Asnfar as “bad taste” is concerned, theynhave it both ways. Either it’s cute, ornit’s for bumpkins. If it’s bad, it’s notnhere. Wonder Bread may not be nourishing,nbut it won’t kill anybody. Inlooked in vain for something in badntaste that was actually a problem, a realnthreat, like sodomy, drugs, or abortion.nI don’t say that “Cedar Souvenirs” arenin good taste, but they aren’t a menacento civilization.nHamburger Helper is a symptom,nnot a cause. Rabid marketing schemesnand industrial ugliness are — sad tonsay — at the heart of our economy.nThe mythical right to be wrong is partn