71 books like Where the Suckers Moon

Populuxe was the first book I read that connected art, consumerism, and industrial design in clear, pointed, and witty language. Hine, an author as well as a critic for the Philadelphia Inquirer, covers what he calls “America’s spending spree” decade (1954-1964), by showing the connections revealed by shoppers’ choice of cars, homes, furniture, and appliances. Populuxe resonated for me because Hine wielded the tools of the critic and the historian and explained the art and design influences to be found in dishwashers, tailfins, and Naughyde. My curiosity about why people buy certain products was piqued by Hine’s analysis and showed readers that not all essays on art and design need to drip with impenetrable prose or obtuse insights.

Examining automobiles people buy offers, if not a window into their soul, then a peek into their personal values. Ingrassia, a Wall Street Journal automotive reporter, guides us down a freeway of history and consumerism that “begat the middle class, the suburbs, shopping malls, McDonald's, Taco Bell, drive-through banking and other things.” He traces our romance with tires, horsepower, and wood-trimmed interiors through 15 models ranging from the Model T to the Prius. As stories of the Corvette, Jeep, GTO, VW Beetle and VWMicrobus, the unfairly maligned Chevy Corvair, and others roll by, Ingrassia integrates how each successive model forever changed customer desires and the often-cramped minds of auto executives. His cruise-control writing style rewards us with a smooth journey among the cars of our dreams.

Halberstam, known for big, thick books centered around big American themes, treads the same ground as Thomas Hine’s Populuxe. Instead of concentrating on refrigerators and roadsters, Halberstam tackles the political, social, economic, and cultural change in America during the 1950s—essentially, he examined the rivets in the launching pad for the American Century. Halberstam’s great gift of teasing out stories of long-overlooked contributors is put to effortless use here as we meet Kemmons Wilson, founder of the Holiday Inn hotels, the McDonald brothers, auto designer Harley Earl, ad man Rosser Reeves and Goody Pincus, developer of the birth control pill. Other, more famous connectors are duly noted—Elvis, McCarthy, MacArthur, Ozzie Nelson, Uncle Miltie—but in the end, Halberstam’s book is an inspiration (and a template) for writers of cultural history.

Bayley’s mastery of the language of design is apparent from his opening introduction to this collection of essays on American and European products. Bayley’s overview is not only essential for understanding design; it’s also a must-read for those who want to write about design. Bayley’s opinions are the gold standard, cemented by the certainty of judgment that comes so easily to British writers. He writes with reverence as well as an incisive point of view about the Eames chair, a Studebaker coupe, and dozens of other milestone products. Among the designer biographies: Wells Coates, Mies van der Rohe, and, yes, Raymond Loewy. It is the pre-eminent introduction to the field of industrial design. Once read, finding his other works (“Harley Earl,” “Ugly,” “Taste,” “Cars,” “Design A-Z,” “Sex,” “Woman as Design,” and other titles) becomes mandatory.

I love books that explore the Soviet Bloc through its development of consumer culture. Much as they were in the West, in the East, cars were symbolic of progress and modernity. Unlike the West, production and distribution problems created a car culture focused on access. 

Still, the regimes struggled to control the excesses of consumer impulse more than they did the abuses of authority. This volume is fascinating as it asserts that the Soviet Bloc states were consumer-driven societies, given the same desires and demands as the West, despite their communist ideology.

Cars were political, and acquiring one may demand demonstrations of loyalty to the system. On the other hand, owning a car allowed for a perceived freedom from the regime, socialism, and social norms.

If I Built a Car is one of my all-time favorites.

Honestly, I read it to myself just for the fun of it. But every child I read it to loves it as well.

Chris Van Dusen (my all-time favorite illustrator) hits all the marks of a great picture book: wonderfully imaginative, absolutely beautiful retro 50’s style artwork, and his rhyming text has such perfect rhythmic timing.

It’s a joy to read, and each page is so full of hidden wonders. After you read this one, you will definitely want to check out his other “If I Built” books and see what a house and a school could be like with a little, or a lot, of creativity.

Ever wondered if you'd survive in the Mad Max universe? Here's the assurance you can, well maybe if you've loaded die. Choose your own adventure has been a staple literary source of my youth and Ian Livingstone and Steve Jackson are both united champions of the genre. Freeway Fighter is one of their few which lends more to science than fantasy, and is thoroughly invigorating. For mind-bending characterization, here you've got the original immersion you need in self-discovery.

Eric and his herd of wild cars are a newly discovered species of furry cars which roam the prairie and drinking from outcroppings of oil. Its unique, whimsical, and oddball humor inspired me to start thinking of my own ideas for picture books although it took me another ten years or so to make it happen. 

When this book was released, I was immersed in a huge failing project at Wells Fargo, struggling to make sense of it all. This book helped me put the failure in perspective and showed a better way that I embraced for the rest of my career. 

The key insight is that large-scale innovation is not like manufacturing – it is less about planning and control, more about people, rapid learning, and adaptation. Here we learn concepts such as the Chief Engineer, lightweight milestone—and responsibility-based project management, and focusing on engineering skills and vendor partnerships. Shelve the elaborate process frameworks consultants are selling you, focus on the basics Toyota emphasized throughout their glory years. 

When you think about it, it makes perfect sense that our streets have been designed through a process of simplification. I did not realize that this all started in the 1920s with the advent of the mass-produced automobile.

The first ‘traffic engineers’ came from water management, and because of that, our streets have become pipelines that should never be clogged! Mind = blown! All this made a lot of sense a hundred years ago, but does it still today? Or should we take this newfound freedom to create new languages to think about and design our streets?