concern was unlikely to push for andeclaration of war. One can sympathizenwith Summers’s desire that the Army notnbe committed until the country was committed,nbut the reality of world politicsnmakes this an ideal that will seldom benrealized. America is still the only worldnpower capable of blocking communistnexpansion. To do that, the U.S. will havento be able to fight limited “dirty” warsnlike those in Viemam and Korea as wellnas to engage in lesser forms of militarynaction.nPerhaps the late T. Harry Williamsnwas correct when he concluded from hisnstudy of The History of American Warsnthat Americans were inherently nonmilitarynand incapable of developing a nationalnstrategy. On the other hand,nperhaps books like On Strategy andnothers in the expanding revisionist schoolnof Vietnam, aided by a backlash asnpondered by Kevin Phillips in Post-nConservative America, can alter thatndisposition. History is full of examplesnboth ways .Some nations leam from theirnmistakes and reform to meet new challenges.nOthers simply decline in a successionnof mistakes and lessons never learned,nmerelyrepeated. DnPushcart Perversions & Blasphemy as ToynScott Sommet: Last Resort; RandomnHouse; New York.nGreg Barron: Groundrush; RandomnHouse; New York.nby Bryce ChristensennU nlike the essayist, the novelist is notnprimarily concerned with the explicitndeclaration of attitudes or beliefs. His isnrather the task of creating believablencharacters and narrating their lives.nNevertheless, in fashioning his narrativenthe novelist must be guided by some setnof opinions or docttines. His fiction consequentlynbecomes not a polemic for butna celebration of his guiding values.nWhen these values derive from an honestnheart and a probing mind, the art theyninspire invariably reveals truths concerningnthe human condition—while usuallynviolating many of the prevailing fashionablenillusions. The result is the work of anDostoevski or a Bellow. When, on thenother hand, the writer’s values derivensimply from a self-serving desire for acclaimnand wealth, his art (to use the termnloosely) falsifies man’s condition whilenslavishly endorsing modish mendacities.nMr. Christensen is an editorialintem atnChronicles.nThe result is the work of a Scott Sommernor a Greg Barron.n]£Last Resort is any indication, Sommernhas been so busy mastering thenknack of turning stylish perversity to profitnthat he has not bothered to learn hownto write. Though occasionally brightenednby a hint of talent or wit, his book isnmostly a tiresome rehearsal of the banalnpreoccupations of modern decadence.nHis hero, Tramp Bottoms, is a cynicalnbut sensitive rock lyricist struggling tonmake meaning out of a chaotic world ofnsex, mind-blowing drugs, sex, rapaciousncapitalism, sex, callous parents, sex, oppressivenauthorities, sex, repressive ttaditions,nand more sex. It’s one big turnedonncliche, carelessly written in a style sonlaid-back that it threatens to slide off thenpage.nAlthough Tramp is intended to be ankind of sentient poet-philosopher keenlynaware of the irrelevance of bourgeoisnttadition, yet also cognizant of the inadequaciesnof the modern counterculture,nhe is really just a surrogate for Sommernthe huckster, eager to gratify the mostncorrupt of contemporary prejudices fornthe price indicated on the dust jacket.nTrue, Sommer does cautiously satirizenthe modern rock culture of drugs andnkinky sex, but this is just voguishly playfulnlament—nothing harsh enough tonnnoffend his with-it audience. His morensttident attacks are reserved for tmc archvillains—reactionarynreligionists, malignnRepublicans, nuclear-power plants,nneurotic policemen. But even these jabsnare only trifling. The real business of thenbook, that for which Sommer evidentiynexpects to collect his royalty checks, is thenmindless celebration of sex and the sentimentalnaffirmation of behavioral nihilism.nAs Sommer well knows, readers andnreviewers will eagerly ante up for suchnfare.nAccordingly, Sommer lays out thengenital urges of his characters for inspectionnby his approving customers. A providentnpurveyor, he provides somethingnfor almost everyone in his pages. For thenhomosexuals and bisexuals, there’s thenbizarre sex indulged in by Tramp’snmanager and his wife with hip peoplenother than each other. For the sttaights,nthere’s a generous helping of exttamaritalnfun—woman usually on top—betweennTramp and his live-in girl friendnLeah and between Tramp’s cripplednsister and her understanding friend. Andnfor those into animal voyeurism, stepnright this way and watch Tramp’s dognmake it with a French poodle. As outdatednware, conjugal relationshipsnnaturally appear only in the querulousncomplaints of Tramp’s parents aboutntheir unsatisfying sex lives. (Trampnavoids their awful fate by deciding not tonmarry Leah because he loves her toonmuch.) To help his audience feel goodnabout their prurience, Sommer evennthrows in a little philosophizing for annominal charge. People, he astutelynobserves, are at their “best, feel mostncentered and at home on earth, in thosensemiconscious, weightiess aftermaths ofncarnal exhaustion.” For those of anneschatological bent. Tramp testifies thatn”if heaven is a place, it is surely anwoman’s body,” and to those willing tonput something in the plate for a more extendednsermon, he offers this bit ofnpseudopious rationalization:nMy generation was raised on milkntainted with radioactive strontium 90nJanttaryl983n