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This book presents a rather peculiar duality. On one hand, it feels oddly personal, as if the author is sharing intimate details with us. On the other hand, it can seem strangely impersonal, like a pre-internet time capsule that only gives us hints of a world filled with radio podcasts and "no-license broadcast" technologies. It is also an eternally relevant commentary on the power of radio and music, regardless of the time period or our emotional state. The book is a strange mix of awkwardness, goofiness, and deadening cynicism, yet it is also honest, thoughtful, and perfectly pessimistic. Vowell shares her fears about politics, art, and other aspects of her life, but like randomly spinning the radio dial, there's a lot we don't hear. This can lead to disjointed reading, with the narrative disappearing amid more random radio reflections. However, this isn't necessarily a failing of the book, as it's mainly about her radio listenings and less about her. Ultimately, her thoughts on a year of tuning in offer a scary and quaint look back at the 90s, its political and musical figures. It made me realize that our current world is only slightly more insane than hers was 10 or 15 years ago. At the very least, reading this book made me think about how I engage with the voices on the air, whether it's news, music, or something else. If it can make me do that and even encourage me to explore new aural landscapes, then it's a good thing and worth reading. But for the record, she's completely wrong about Garrison Keillor. So very wrong.