Kobek casts a jaundiced eye at the late 1960s in general, and San Francisco’s ultra brief Summer of Love in particular. He flips hippies upside down. Shakes the peace, love and happiness from their filthy jean pockets. And, brace yourself, about halfway through the book, Kobek gives the reader a gut check when he describes “motor spirit” with relentless precision and pathos. This book is less about Zodiak — though it is that — and more about how national bloodlust created a myth.
