Are the kids all right? Careful, that’s a trick question. Your answer will probably reveal more about you than it will about the next generation. Kids tend to elicit pangs of anxiety (if not outright moral panic) in people over 30; they are the promise and the threat of what’s to come, citizens-in-training whose potential must be harnessed lest they burn the place to the ground. You don’t hear many complaints about this arrangement from the grade-school set, provided you bribe them with snacks and playtime, but adolescents aren’t as easily pacified. As British historian Jon Savage amply demonstrates in Teenage: The Creation of Youth Culture, it’s in their nature to talk back.
A colorful though scattershot portrait of youth in the modern era, Teenage documents the impact of roughly seventy years of social, political, military and economic convulsions on young people in four Western societies: the United States, Britain, Germany and France. Tracing the “prehistory” of youth culture from its nineteenth-century roots to the end of World War II–at which point, Savage claims, most narratives on the subject begin–the book tracks a loose dialectic between moralistic attempts to control adolescent behavior and the forms of resistance such efforts have engendered.
Savage, author of England’s Dreaming, the definitive history of British punk, clearly has a keen ear for subcultural rumblings and an appetite for archival research. But in Teenage he bites off more than he can chew. Whereas England’s Dreaming offered a thrilling, deliriously exhaustive profile of a single movement, Teenage attempts to provide a comprehensive treatment of modern youth movements and winds up with a rather motley crew. Savage’s sympathies lie where you’d expect them to: with bohemian “decadents” like Rimbaud and Oscar Wilde; with the Wandervogel, a youth-run group that rejected imperial Germany and looked for utopia in the countryside; with the party-hopping American flappers and their British counterparts, the Bright Young People–that is, with all those who, like 22-year-old John Dos Passos, were repulsed by “the swaggering old fogies in frock-coats” who ran the world.
But while Savage’s heart is in the right place, it’s not clear that these bands of outsiders belong on the same historical stage. Though they shared an exclamatory non serviam and happened to come of age at about the same time, their milieus, motivations and modes of expression were vastly diverse. Ditto for those who played by the era’s militarist rules, such as the British Boy Scouts, the legions who rushed off to the slaughterhouse of World War I and the Hitler Youth. And what of those who don’t quite fit in with the “decadent” misfits or the “muscular Christian” conformists? At what cafeteria table do we seat the working-class “factory fodder” and the slum-dwelling “hooligans,” whose heightened visibility prompted a wave of hysteria and opened the path toward juvenile courts and child labor laws? The anecdotes Savage relates in his epic prologue are insightful and engaging, but the narrative string that holds them together is noticeably thin.