Don't ever read a Bill Bryson book while drinking a carbonated soft drink, or (as in my case) draft root beer. A snort of laughter—inevitable in a Bryson book—will send frothing bubbles up your nose or (as in my case) out your nose, which can be momentarily very painful, albeit exceptionally amusing to anyone in your immediate vicinity. Bryson's latest, The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid, chronicles the writer's early years in Iowa, as well as the rich history of his alter-ego, the valiant Thunderbolt Kid, scourge of villains worldwide (well, perhaps just Iowa-wide). The Thunderbolt Kid arrived in Des Moines in 1951 (electron year 21,000,047,002), dropped off in a silver spaceship by his father, Volton, who hypnotized the Bryson family into thinking that Bill was a normal boy.

In the manner of a latter-day Mark Twain, Bryson spins tales of everyday events that somehow transcend normality to a plane of wonderment and humor. When his father was once invited out for Chinese food, he reported back incredulously to the family: "They eat it with sticks, you know." His mother's horrified reply? "Goodness!" In one of a series of Midwest-inflected vignettes, Bryson rats out his sister, who could spot celebrity homosexuals with uncanny precision: "She told me Rock Hudson was gay in 1959, long before anyone would have guessed it. She knew that Richard Chamberlain was gay before he did, I believe."

For boomers, Bryson's latest will serve up a steaming course of nostalgia for times long gone (he and I were born in the same year, as was Sting, but I digress): Sky King, TV dinners, the Brooklyn Dodgers, X-Ray Spex, Sputnik, Dr. Kildare, the Cold War, Tareytons and Strato Streak V-8 engines. For those who arrived later, The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid will still be a hilarious look at bygone days, but you may need help from an old Saturday Evening Post or that old bald guy down the street to understand some of the references. Whatever your age, you will yuk it up big time reading Thunderbolt Kid. Just don't forget what I said about the soft drinks. Copyright 2006 BookPage Reviews.

I can't imagine there has ever been a more gratifying time or place to be alive than America in the 1950s, writes Bryson (A Walk in the Woods ), and his wryly amusing stories of his childhood in Des Moines almost convince the reader this is true. Bryson recounts the world of his younger self, buried in comic books in the Kiddie Corral at the local supermarket, resisting civil defense drills at school, and fruitlessly trying to unravel the mysteries of sex. His alter ego, the Thunderbolt Kid, born of his love for comic-book superheroes and the need to vaporize irritating people, serves as an astute outside observer of life around him. His family's foibles are humorously presented, from his mother's burnt, bland cooking to his father's epic cheapness. The larger world of 1950s America emerges through the lens of Billy's world, including the dark underbelly of racism, the fight against communism, and the advent of the nuclear age. Recommended for public libraries. [See Prepub Alert, LJ 6/1/06.] Alison M. Lewis, Drexel Univ. Lib., Philadelphia

Though billed as memoir, Bryson's follow-up to A Short History of Nearly Everything can only be considered one in the broadest sense. Sure, it's filled with Bryson's recollections of his Des Moines, Iowa, childhood. But it's also a clear foray into Jean Shepherd territory, where nostalgia for one's youth is suffused with comic hyperbole: "All sneakers in the 1950s had over seven dozen lace holes," we're told; though all the toys were crummy, it didn't matter because boys had plenty of fun throwing lit matches at each other; and mimeograph paper smelled wonderful. The titular Thunderbolt Kid is little more than a recurring gag, a self-image Bryson invokes to lash out at the "morons" that plague every child's existence. At other times, he offers a glib pop history of the decade, which works fine when discussing teen culture or the Cold War but falls flat when trying to rope in the Civil Rights movement. And sometimes he just wants to reminisce about his favorite TV shows or the Dick and Jane books. The book is held together by sheer force of personality--but when you've got a personality as big as Bryson's, sometimes that's enough. (Oct. 17)

Adult/High School The Thunderbolt Kid was born in the 1950s when six-year-old Bryson found a mysterious, scratchy green sweater with a satiny thunderbolt across the chest. The jersey bestowed magic powers on the wearerX-ray vision and the power to zap teachers and babysitters and deflect unwanted kisses from old people. These are the memoirs of that Kid, whose earthly parents were not really half bada loving mother who didn't cook and was pathologically forgetful, but shared her love of movies with her youngest child, and a dad who was the greatest baseball writer that ever lived and took his son to dugouts and into clubhouses where he met such famous players as Stan Musial and Willie Mays. Simpler times are conveyed with exaggerated humor; the author recalls the middle of the last century in the middle of the country (Des Moines, IA), when cigarettes were good for you, waxy candies were considered delicious, and kids were taught to read with Dick and Jane. Students of the decade's popular culture will marvel at the insular innocence described, even as the world moved toward nuclear weapons and civil unrest. Bryson describes country fairs and fantastic ploys to maneuver into the tent to see the lady stripper, playing hookey, paper routes, church suppers, and more. His reminiscences will entertain a wide audience.Jackie Gropman, Chantilly Regional Library, Fairfax County, VA