A vituprous round of buckshot aimed at the specialized, mechanized evils of our industrial civilization. The evils with which Mr. McLubar is concerned deserve what they get, but unfortunately in this case the opposition is hurled in the form of ebullient prose of the variety one invents during the insomniac hours of the night -- where every line is a punch line with little intrinsic continuity of idea. There are some bright and amusing volleys here on such subjects as the bland hypnosis of Time and Life, advertising, Ingrid Bergman, Charlie McCarthy, Al Capp (whom he admires), Daddy Warbucks, morticians, the emancipated woman, automobiles, movies, etc. There is no doubt as to the validity of the author's recriminations, but even Wylie has more skill in the telling. However, try this at a party.