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1965 The Year Modern Britain was Born
There is Britain before 1965 and Britain after 1965 - and they are not the same thing.
1965 was the year Britain democratised education, it was the year pop culture began to be taken as seriously as high art, the time when comedians and television shows imported the methods of modernism into their work.
It was when communications across the Atlantic became instantaneous, the year when, for the first time in a century, British artists took American gallery-goers by storm. In 1965 the Beatles proved that rock and roll could be art, it was when we went car crazy, and craziness was held to be the only sane reaction to an insane society.
It was the year feminism went mainstream, the year, did she but know it, that the Thatcher revolution began, the year taboos were talked up - and trashed. It was when racial discrimination was outlawed and the death penalty abolished; it marked the appointment of Roy Jenkins as Home Secretary, who became chief architect in legislating homosexuality, divorce, abortion and censorship.
It was the moment that our culture, reeling from what are still the most shocking killings of the century, realised it was a less innocent, less spiritual place than it had been kidding itself. It was the year of consumerist relativism that gave us the country we live in today and the year the idea of a home full of cultural artefacts - books, records, magazines - was born.
It was the year when everything changed - and the year that everyone knew it.
1965 was the year Britain democratised education, it was the year pop culture began to be taken as seriously as high art, the time when comedians and television shows imported the methods of modernism into their work.
It was when communications across the Atlantic became instantaneous, the year when, for the first time in a century, British artists took American gallery-goers by storm. In 1965 the Beatles proved that rock and roll could be art, it was when we went car crazy, and craziness was held to be the only sane reaction to an insane society.
It was the year feminism went mainstream, the year, did she but know it, that the Thatcher revolution began, the year taboos were talked up - and trashed. It was when racial discrimination was outlawed and the death penalty abolished; it marked the appointment of Roy Jenkins as Home Secretary, who became chief architect in legislating homosexuality, divorce, abortion and censorship.
It was the moment that our culture, reeling from what are still the most shocking killings of the century, realised it was a less innocent, less spiritual place than it had been kidding itself. It was the year of consumerist relativism that gave us the country we live in today and the year the idea of a home full of cultural artefacts - books, records, magazines - was born.
It was the year when everything changed - and the year that everyone knew it.
316 pages, Paperback
First published April 1, 2014
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Displaying 1 - 16 of 16 reviews
April 27, 2014
In this book author, Christoper Bray, examines the year 1965 – what he calls a pivotal year, in a pivotal decade. There were some books brought out fifty years after 1963 (the year of the Profumo Affair, Beatlemania and the Great Train Robbery) and a few volumes (mostly in the States) to celebrate fifty years of the British Invasion, but this is the first I have seen championing the importance of 1965 and I was interested to read it.
The book begins with the death of Churchill and T.S. Eliot. It was the end of an era, specifically of two, great men, who looked to the past for inspiration. As Bray states, with their death, “right on cue, the future arrived.” This book encompasses a lot of different aspects of the year – from feminism, cars, fashion, politics, television, books, music and class mobility. There is no doubt that it was a year which broke down class barriers and created a new aristocracy. With the Beatles, regional accents suddenly appeared – not only on the radio and television, but in vogue. After them, Michael Caine, David Bailey and others helped make other voices, other than the ‘upper class’ tones of BBC English acceptable.
Naturally, music figures largely in this year. It was the year Bob Dylan became electric, the Stones needed some satisfaction and the Beatles released Rubber Soul. There is much about the Beatles – or, rather about John Lennon. For the author makes it plain that he feels Lennon was the main contributor to the Beatles and I have to say right now that if you are a Beatles fan (as I am) then you will probably not like this book. The author trots out various snide and unpleasant remarks about Paul – or ‘Macca’, as he feels free to call him – and George and Ringo might as well have not existed. By the final chapter, even he seems to realise his malicious digs have been one too many and tries to reign himself in, but it is too little and too late.
There is, in fact, rather too much about this book which reveals too many personal biases. It is obviously apparent that the author is a huge fan of Peter Cooke and “Not Only... But Also,” is given great coverage (accompanied by Lennon’s poetry readings....) but David Frost and “That Was the Week That Was,” is dismissed within a couple of lines. As the author has written books on Michael Caine and Sean Connery, he brings his research into the section on the Cold War and his musings on James Bond and Harry Palmer are worth reading.
Elsewhere, there are inaccuracies. When talking about the arrest of The Moors Murderers Brady and Hindley, he exclaims that it was, “Britain’s first encounter with serial killers.” Well, Jack the Ripper springs to mind – and how about John Christie? In fact, the first known serial killer in Britain was Mary Ann Cotton, executed in 1873. The Moors Murderers were a shock to the nation, but perhaps, sadly, not as shocking as they could have been – even female serial killers had been encountered.
Still, there is a lot of interest here. From the disastrous experiment in comprehensive education, which has left us with yet another government who hail mostly from the public schools of the privileged, to R.D. Laing and his contribution to rock culture with, “the liberating qualities of LSD,” to the chill of the Cold War, the novels of Le Carre and The Krays, it was a monumental year of great change and the influence of much that happened is still being felt today. However, although there is much of interest, the book lacks warmth, humour and was, in places, rather mean spirited.
The book begins with the death of Churchill and T.S. Eliot. It was the end of an era, specifically of two, great men, who looked to the past for inspiration. As Bray states, with their death, “right on cue, the future arrived.” This book encompasses a lot of different aspects of the year – from feminism, cars, fashion, politics, television, books, music and class mobility. There is no doubt that it was a year which broke down class barriers and created a new aristocracy. With the Beatles, regional accents suddenly appeared – not only on the radio and television, but in vogue. After them, Michael Caine, David Bailey and others helped make other voices, other than the ‘upper class’ tones of BBC English acceptable.
Naturally, music figures largely in this year. It was the year Bob Dylan became electric, the Stones needed some satisfaction and the Beatles released Rubber Soul. There is much about the Beatles – or, rather about John Lennon. For the author makes it plain that he feels Lennon was the main contributor to the Beatles and I have to say right now that if you are a Beatles fan (as I am) then you will probably not like this book. The author trots out various snide and unpleasant remarks about Paul – or ‘Macca’, as he feels free to call him – and George and Ringo might as well have not existed. By the final chapter, even he seems to realise his malicious digs have been one too many and tries to reign himself in, but it is too little and too late.
There is, in fact, rather too much about this book which reveals too many personal biases. It is obviously apparent that the author is a huge fan of Peter Cooke and “Not Only... But Also,” is given great coverage (accompanied by Lennon’s poetry readings....) but David Frost and “That Was the Week That Was,” is dismissed within a couple of lines. As the author has written books on Michael Caine and Sean Connery, he brings his research into the section on the Cold War and his musings on James Bond and Harry Palmer are worth reading.
Elsewhere, there are inaccuracies. When talking about the arrest of The Moors Murderers Brady and Hindley, he exclaims that it was, “Britain’s first encounter with serial killers.” Well, Jack the Ripper springs to mind – and how about John Christie? In fact, the first known serial killer in Britain was Mary Ann Cotton, executed in 1873. The Moors Murderers were a shock to the nation, but perhaps, sadly, not as shocking as they could have been – even female serial killers had been encountered.
Still, there is a lot of interest here. From the disastrous experiment in comprehensive education, which has left us with yet another government who hail mostly from the public schools of the privileged, to R.D. Laing and his contribution to rock culture with, “the liberating qualities of LSD,” to the chill of the Cold War, the novels of Le Carre and The Krays, it was a monumental year of great change and the influence of much that happened is still being felt today. However, although there is much of interest, the book lacks warmth, humour and was, in places, rather mean spirited.
February 15, 2019
A pivotal year, one of several in the decade. But rather than reporting on it, Bray gives his opinions, at great length, and with language to make him seem as clever as possible, to the point where it becomes self-parody and he vanishes up his own fundament. We all learn how he feels about John Lennon, Peter Cook Bridget Riley, R.D. Laing and others. Really, the book should be called 'How I Feel About Some Of The Things in 1965'. If you're reading this for research, like me, one word of advice: don't.
February 23, 2025
It would be a mistake to approach a book like this as if it was another one along the lines of On the Cusp. That book, and the others in Kynaston’s series, are written by a historian, with a historian’s treatment of sources and a historian’s sense of letting the material speak for itself.
This is not a different version of Days of ’62. Christopher Bray is not a historian; he’s a cultural critic, or an art critic, who has written for various right-wing newspapers as well as the New Statesman and The Word. A journalist, in other words, with a critic’s eye for detail and a critic’s way of foregrounding their opinions. Of which more below.
I’ve seen a few reviews on Goodreads complaining about the latter: that Bray is clearly opinionated and unafraid to express those opinions. It is, to be fair, just an opinion to say that 1965 is the year modern Britain was born. So one should approach a book like this aware that everything about it is going to be opinionated. I saw one reviewer complain that the author was clearly biased in favour of John Lennon and against Paul McCartney. My own take, after nearly 50 years of reading about the Beatles, is that Bray is merely the victim of received wisdom from the “jean jackets” and rockist critics, who had the field largely to themselves until relatively recently. If your sources are the books and rock criticism of the pre-podcast era, then, sure, you’re going to come out with all the old guff about Lennon being the avant garde one and Paul being susceptible to “ditties”.
(Never forget that in his book about the music of 1971, David Hepworth barely mentions Paul McCartney’s Ram.)
I didn’t find Bray’s Beatles opinions too egregious, and I thought that his chapter on Dylan managed to toe the line quite effectively. The line, of my own invention, is the one where (in a book called 1965), you are not allowed to write about events from other years, just because they happen to fit your thesis. I was alert for any mention of “Judas!”, but it wasn’t there. Bray writes about things you see in Don’t Look Back, which was released in 1967, but we all know it was filmed in 1965. So that’s okay.
That’s the other thing really. Dates and decades are arbitrary, and to pull out one year and not have it blend and shade into the other years around it is impossible. So, for sure, he writes about Antonioni’s Blow Up (1966), because it was filmed in 1965, and (he argues) if you want to see what London 1965 looked like, you should watch that film. So there is passing mention of events that took place in 1967 (especially), but that seems inevitable, when you’re talking about seeds being sown.
(And never forget: Hepworth spent fucking ages in 1971 writing about Exile on Main Street [1972] and The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars [also 1972] because he likes those records whereas he obviously doesn’t like Ram [1971] and presumably doesn’t like Sticky Fingers [1971].)
*whistles*
Anyway, 1965. Here is a list.
Death of Winston Churchill; Death of T S Eliot; The Kray brothers; Help!; Rubber Soul; David Bailey’s Pin-ups; Stanley Matthews plays his last first division game, aged 50; Beeching’s railways report; Malcolm X in Birmingham; Round the Horne on the radio; The Pennine Way opens; Ian St John in the FA Cup; George Best in the League; the first Pizza Hut, the first KFC; Ronnie Biggs escapes; Tony Crosland requests that local authorities switch to comprehensive schools; Ted Heath becomes Tory leader; Roy Jenkins leads cultural liberalisation; cigarette ads banned on TV; The War Game is pulled by the BBC; Bob Dylan tours the UK solo acoustic for the last time; “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction”; The Magus; the final Bond novel; arrest of Ian Brady and Myra Hindley; The Post Office Tower; The Magic Roundabout; Corgi Toys James Bond car; Mary Quant mini skirts; ‘fuck’ on the TV; Mary Whitehouse; 70mph speed limit; Beatles’ last UK tour.
It’s a lot, but then any year you care to name would produce a similar list. The question is, does this mean 1965 is the year modern Britain began? Well, the key to this question lies in the definition of modern. And since this book is written by a cultural critic, it’s important to understand that he means modern as in modernism.
TS Eliot dying and being in the first chapter is a clue. As one of the founders of literary modernism he was an important cultural figure, though not perhaps a household name in the way that Churchill was. And the main focus of this book are those artworks and artists (including op art and pop musicians) who did interesting things in 1965. So Rubber Soul gets some love, and Dylan’s transformation, and Bridget Riley, David Bailey, John Fowles, various espionage texts, The Avengers and so on.
I found it really interesting and engaging, but not so much as the Kynaston books I’ve been exploring. I think the most powerful thing about this is Bray’s argument that certain cultural and social changes were harbingers not just of Swinging London and the Summer of Love but the Thatcherite agenda of the late 70s. That sense of personal liberation, so strong in those heady days, was at heart a selfish libertarianism that leads directly to the death of collectivisation and, let’s be honest, Brexit. The mistakes that were made in 1965 included (for Bray) the Labour government’s move towards comprehensive education and the closure of branch lines on the railways.
It’s hard to argue. While it is true that grammar schools and the 11+ became a game for the sharp-elbowed middle classes to win with tutors and appeals, it is simultaneously true that the 1944 Education Act gave us social mobility like never before or since. 1965 was the year we started to reap the benefits. And yet, no sooner had the first generation to benefit from that social mobility started graduating from university than the government of the day began the process of abolition. Grammar schools are a middle class shiboleth, but what was needed back then was a process of reform, to mitigate the advantageous effects of having money. They tried it a few years ago, in those places where grammars still cling on, but it never works. There seems to be no way to design an academic aptitude test that isn’t inherently biased.
As for Beeching, where do you start? The chopped logic that led to the closure of so many train branch lines and the closure of so many stations was ridiculously flawed. As Bray points out, of course there are fewer passengers on the branch lines. That’s how the fucking system is supposed to work. A few passengers get on at point A, a few others at point B, C, D, etc. and then all take little trains on little lines to a mainline station, where they join more people on a bigger train going a longer distance. And the reverse. Clippety clop down the track until you are the last passenger alighting at the last station. A perfect way of transporting masses of people to and from big cities to their own doorsteps. But all Beeching saw was inefficiency and all he bequeathed us was… even more inefficiency. Take away the passengers from the branch lines and suddenly there are fewer passengers on the main lines. Who knew?
Beeching, Crosland, Roy Jenkins: it’s their world we live in.
This is not a different version of Days of ’62. Christopher Bray is not a historian; he’s a cultural critic, or an art critic, who has written for various right-wing newspapers as well as the New Statesman and The Word. A journalist, in other words, with a critic’s eye for detail and a critic’s way of foregrounding their opinions. Of which more below.
I’ve seen a few reviews on Goodreads complaining about the latter: that Bray is clearly opinionated and unafraid to express those opinions. It is, to be fair, just an opinion to say that 1965 is the year modern Britain was born. So one should approach a book like this aware that everything about it is going to be opinionated. I saw one reviewer complain that the author was clearly biased in favour of John Lennon and against Paul McCartney. My own take, after nearly 50 years of reading about the Beatles, is that Bray is merely the victim of received wisdom from the “jean jackets” and rockist critics, who had the field largely to themselves until relatively recently. If your sources are the books and rock criticism of the pre-podcast era, then, sure, you’re going to come out with all the old guff about Lennon being the avant garde one and Paul being susceptible to “ditties”.
(Never forget that in his book about the music of 1971, David Hepworth barely mentions Paul McCartney’s Ram.)
I didn’t find Bray’s Beatles opinions too egregious, and I thought that his chapter on Dylan managed to toe the line quite effectively. The line, of my own invention, is the one where (in a book called 1965), you are not allowed to write about events from other years, just because they happen to fit your thesis. I was alert for any mention of “Judas!”, but it wasn’t there. Bray writes about things you see in Don’t Look Back, which was released in 1967, but we all know it was filmed in 1965. So that’s okay.
That’s the other thing really. Dates and decades are arbitrary, and to pull out one year and not have it blend and shade into the other years around it is impossible. So, for sure, he writes about Antonioni’s Blow Up (1966), because it was filmed in 1965, and (he argues) if you want to see what London 1965 looked like, you should watch that film. So there is passing mention of events that took place in 1967 (especially), but that seems inevitable, when you’re talking about seeds being sown.
(And never forget: Hepworth spent fucking ages in 1971 writing about Exile on Main Street [1972] and The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars [also 1972] because he likes those records whereas he obviously doesn’t like Ram [1971] and presumably doesn’t like Sticky Fingers [1971].)
*whistles*
Anyway, 1965. Here is a list.
Death of Winston Churchill; Death of T S Eliot; The Kray brothers; Help!; Rubber Soul; David Bailey’s Pin-ups; Stanley Matthews plays his last first division game, aged 50; Beeching’s railways report; Malcolm X in Birmingham; Round the Horne on the radio; The Pennine Way opens; Ian St John in the FA Cup; George Best in the League; the first Pizza Hut, the first KFC; Ronnie Biggs escapes; Tony Crosland requests that local authorities switch to comprehensive schools; Ted Heath becomes Tory leader; Roy Jenkins leads cultural liberalisation; cigarette ads banned on TV; The War Game is pulled by the BBC; Bob Dylan tours the UK solo acoustic for the last time; “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction”; The Magus; the final Bond novel; arrest of Ian Brady and Myra Hindley; The Post Office Tower; The Magic Roundabout; Corgi Toys James Bond car; Mary Quant mini skirts; ‘fuck’ on the TV; Mary Whitehouse; 70mph speed limit; Beatles’ last UK tour.
It’s a lot, but then any year you care to name would produce a similar list. The question is, does this mean 1965 is the year modern Britain began? Well, the key to this question lies in the definition of modern. And since this book is written by a cultural critic, it’s important to understand that he means modern as in modernism.
TS Eliot dying and being in the first chapter is a clue. As one of the founders of literary modernism he was an important cultural figure, though not perhaps a household name in the way that Churchill was. And the main focus of this book are those artworks and artists (including op art and pop musicians) who did interesting things in 1965. So Rubber Soul gets some love, and Dylan’s transformation, and Bridget Riley, David Bailey, John Fowles, various espionage texts, The Avengers and so on.
I found it really interesting and engaging, but not so much as the Kynaston books I’ve been exploring. I think the most powerful thing about this is Bray’s argument that certain cultural and social changes were harbingers not just of Swinging London and the Summer of Love but the Thatcherite agenda of the late 70s. That sense of personal liberation, so strong in those heady days, was at heart a selfish libertarianism that leads directly to the death of collectivisation and, let’s be honest, Brexit. The mistakes that were made in 1965 included (for Bray) the Labour government’s move towards comprehensive education and the closure of branch lines on the railways.
It’s hard to argue. While it is true that grammar schools and the 11+ became a game for the sharp-elbowed middle classes to win with tutors and appeals, it is simultaneously true that the 1944 Education Act gave us social mobility like never before or since. 1965 was the year we started to reap the benefits. And yet, no sooner had the first generation to benefit from that social mobility started graduating from university than the government of the day began the process of abolition. Grammar schools are a middle class shiboleth, but what was needed back then was a process of reform, to mitigate the advantageous effects of having money. They tried it a few years ago, in those places where grammars still cling on, but it never works. There seems to be no way to design an academic aptitude test that isn’t inherently biased.
As for Beeching, where do you start? The chopped logic that led to the closure of so many train branch lines and the closure of so many stations was ridiculously flawed. As Bray points out, of course there are fewer passengers on the branch lines. That’s how the fucking system is supposed to work. A few passengers get on at point A, a few others at point B, C, D, etc. and then all take little trains on little lines to a mainline station, where they join more people on a bigger train going a longer distance. And the reverse. Clippety clop down the track until you are the last passenger alighting at the last station. A perfect way of transporting masses of people to and from big cities to their own doorsteps. But all Beeching saw was inefficiency and all he bequeathed us was… even more inefficiency. Take away the passengers from the branch lines and suddenly there are fewer passengers on the main lines. Who knew?
Beeching, Crosland, Roy Jenkins: it’s their world we live in.
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April 24, 2016This isn't really working for me as a useful research book or an interesting read. And when the chapter on feminism screams mansplaining, you know it's time to move onto something less annoying and boring...
September 2, 2021
Picked up for a dollar in a thrift store in Sedona, Arizona of all places. And just about worth a read. Yes I agree it was a pivotal year, but some of the sections are summaries of things I know well already, or a bit erm not sure about, one tone deaf - after reading his thoughts on Sylvia Plath who’s Ariel was published posthumously in this year, I consulted the author bio to yes find written for….Mail on Sunday. Want to read something by R D Laing now, having only heard of him but not knowing much, his writings and alternative approaches to therapy sound intriguing. Is 2016 going to go down as the year modern Britain began to die…?
June 1, 2025
An engaging discussion that leans more towards the cultural than social and political turning points, although the latter are there too. Bray is particularly interested in the Avengers and Bob Dylan. It's debatable how central Dylan is to understanding the UK in this period (as opposed to the US) but Bray still makes an engaging contribution to a well-worn debate about Dylan's protest folk to electric evolution (personally I think he underestimates his initial sincerity). Overall there's lots to agree with here, but I can't endorse his knee-jerk dismissal of child-centred learning in the chapter on the growth of comprehensives.
October 18, 2021
This book was, sadly, quite a disappointment. I was so looking forward to reading about Great Britain during this specific time period, the middle of the 60's. Thinking to read about trends and fads, a bit of government, class struggle, the celebrities and rock stars of the era, instead I found the author took to over-analyzing, over-theorizing, and over-intellectualizing all the "sacred cows" (and not so ) of that auspicious year. Perhaps someone way smarter than myself would get something out of this. I just did not.
September 9, 2023
As someone who loves learning about the 1960s I am so disappointed. I was expecting a book on politics, feminism and fashion. Instead what I got was a rambling on of art and poetry that didn’t really have a direction.
I had to DNF this book at chapter 3. I found myself constantly looking at the page number in the hopes that I was almost done. Thankfully I didn’t pay full price for this book, I’d be annoyed if I had.
I had to DNF this book at chapter 3. I found myself constantly looking at the page number in the hopes that I was almost done. Thankfully I didn’t pay full price for this book, I’d be annoyed if I had.
September 16, 2021
Interesting, heavily opinionated, but I didn't quite buy the thesis that this particular year (as opposed to several others in the 60s alone) was the most significant turning point towards the Britain of today. Indeed, I'm unconvinced that singling out individual years like this will provide proof of anything much, beyond the ease of marketing popular history books.
February 6, 2022
What can you say about 1965? That was a year and a bit... It seems that I am a bit older than the author, but I have to confess I was impressed by his analysis of the year. Picking out salinet events and personalities, Bray illuminates this most seminal of years. If it is true, that if you can remember the sixties then you were not there, this book will help to fill in some of the blanks.
April 22, 2019
Dire, avoid this book. It was self indulgent, uninformative, rambling. I was there, there are better histories. Oh, and make sure you know what putative means, it's a word he's very fond of.
December 20, 2019
meh.
boring, forgettable, too basic and very much his personal opinion.
pass on it
boring, forgettable, too basic and very much his personal opinion.
pass on it
January 9, 2016
Has there ever been a decade as picked over as the 60s? Putting to one side the usual type of history book, this is the third book,that I'm aware of, that takes a single year and looks at it in detail (the others being 1966 & 1968). This one starts with the deaths of TS Eliot & Churchill: indicating the passing of a definite era and then proceeds to tell a wide ranging story that takes in the usual suspects like The Beatles & Dylan (naturally) & maybe not so usual: Pete & Dud, John Steed & Emma Peel,R.D.Laing and Mary Whitehouse amongst many others. It also includes things I've never heard of (Chichester Psalms by Leonard Bernstein anyone?).
Of course, the book can't stick rigidly to only looking at the events of a single year as in order to place what he writes about in context he has to go back & forth in time.
It's hard to ignore the feeling that the author is sometimes sneeringly dismissive at some of his subjects, but in fairness that does bring some balance to things (who wants to read that everything about the 60s was great anyway?) He writes a particularly powerful chapter on censorship, which takes in Edward Bond's play Saved as well as the Moors Murders. Ultimately Christopher Bray's thesis is that 1965 was the year when we stopped seeing things in terms of High Art & Popular culture, and instead looked at things in terms of 'good' & 'bad'. It gave us the world we live in today. And who can argue with that?
Of course, the book can't stick rigidly to only looking at the events of a single year as in order to place what he writes about in context he has to go back & forth in time.
It's hard to ignore the feeling that the author is sometimes sneeringly dismissive at some of his subjects, but in fairness that does bring some balance to things (who wants to read that everything about the 60s was great anyway?) He writes a particularly powerful chapter on censorship, which takes in Edward Bond's play Saved as well as the Moors Murders. Ultimately Christopher Bray's thesis is that 1965 was the year when we stopped seeing things in terms of High Art & Popular culture, and instead looked at things in terms of 'good' & 'bad'. It gave us the world we live in today. And who can argue with that?
February 15, 2015
Totally accessible, this gave me a broad overview of the world I was born in to. Think I might have to read the Roy Jenkins biography, hadn't realised what an influential man he was. Depressing, some of it, particularly the stuff on global warming, climate change and the car industry.All in all, a fascinating read.
June 2, 2015
Superficial, mean-spirited, derivative and overly opinionated. I found this book repellent.
March 19, 2016
Read this before the next election...
Displaying 1 - 16 of 16 reviews