Midway through this book, a character references "A Modest Proposal", Jonathan Swift's well-known satire about how to solve the issues of poverty in Ireland by selling Irish children as food. The character referencing it does so to explain that an outlandish idea, intended as satire, can turn thoughts to the problem when they ask themselves why they were so outraged.
It's a tricky comparison to make, though, because though this book alleges to have similar ends, there are a number of things it lacks: a straight-faced approach to its proposals, a grounding in reality, and an attention span. All this makes the book wobble off its centre almost immediately.
I've read Christopher Buckley before: his book "Thank You for Smoking" about a tobacco lobbyist. I mostly read it because I liked the film version of it, but the book fell short for me, because it had a habit of losing interest in its own satire, and going off on fanciful diversions. But even so, at least that book kept its head better than Boomsday.
It's grounded in an idea worth discussion: that being the immense baby boomer generation, born between 1946 and 1964, all reaching retirement age. When they start collecting their pensions, it will quickly implode the social security system, and the next generation is expected to pay higher taxes to cover it. This is a forthcoming crisis that needs a better solution.
Cassandra Devine, a 29-year-old PR whiz-kid and famous blogger, believes she has a solution. At first promoting revolution against retirees by vandalizing golf courses, she then suggests that baby boomers should voluntarily kill themselves at age 70, in exchange for such perks as free Botox, and no estate tax. The idea is absurd, of course, but its potential threat will have people discussing more workable solutions to the pensions crisis.
Or at least it would, if she didn't propose this idea within Christopher Buckley's America. This federal body is fighting 18 different wars, has a Wal-Mart on the National Mall, and seems mostly populated by broad caricatures. Clearly they're not in much position to think laterally about anything.
And, indeed, that's what happens. Much has led to this point, and most of it interferes with this book's apparent point. A younger Cassandra was encouraged to join the Army to pay for Yale, when his dad blew the college fund on a start-up, which leads to her going to Bosnia, where she gets in a minefield accident with Senator Randolph "Randy" Jepperson. She's fine, but he loses a leg, and quickly becomes a war hero. Eventually, he becomes her champion on the Hill for her voluntary suicide proposal.
But, inevitably, other forces conspire against it. Cassandra's dad's startup made him filthy rich, when his company developed a program that can erase Google results (which is impossible, illegal, and idiotic). He's a major sponsor to the sitting president, Riley Peacham, a bellicose and foul-mouthed hothead. Another major ally of his is Gideon Payne, a Southern reverend and fanatical pro-lifer, who wants a huge memorial built for "43 million unborn" built on the Mall (maybe next to the Wal-Mart), and staunchly defends vegetative hospital patients from having their life support removed (anyone remember Terry Schiavo? She was big in the mid-2000s.)
Naturally, none of these players want to take Cassandra's outrageous proposal and think of a better solution, they just want to disgrace it and be rid of it. Maybe that's more typical of American politics, but if Christopher Buckley didn't want to write about it, he shouldn't have made his premise revolve around it.
Indeed, the voluntary suicide initiative (or, more accurately, its impedance) is whisked into the background, while all these characters bounce off each other. Some of them become dangerously close to being rounded, but they never really rise any higher than just being simple agents of the satire, full of dry, witty dialogue, unencumbered by feelings or empathetic traits.
The pace of the book is pretty screwy, as well. Much happens early in the book, as it expounds upon Cassandra's misadventures in Bosnia, and how she rose to one of the most formidable political bloggers in America (another stretch; what blog that's not about celebrity gossip or video games is influential?) The middle of the book approaches being about the suicide proposal, and the statecraft to get it before the Senate, but then the plot loses interest, and starts getting the characters into fixes and binds, as it all starts to unravel. This might have been satisfying, had the last four or five chapters not then rushed them all into reasonably happy endings. What, is this satire too nervous about hurting anyone's feelings?
As for Cassandra's idea, it mostly just resolves itself by the book claiming "Well, they're working on it." Maybe this kept the book more briskly paced, but that's only a plus because it made it end faster.