Rosenblum is at his best when he arrives at a new place with an open mind and allows himself to be vulnerable. In one especially moving encounter, he strikes up an acquaintance with a Pennsylvania Dutch man, who confides his distaste for being on constant display. "Saying good-bye, I asked Mike if I could photograph him with his daughter," he writes. "He looked pained, caught between courtesy and disapproval of yet another jerk with a camera. 'You can take it from across the road, but I won't pose for you,' he said. I apologized for even suggesting it. And I wished I were dead." What works here is that Rosenblum has joined hands with the Americans he's analyzing. No longer the foreign correspondent from on high, he admits to wanting what they want, which is a slice of the past in a world overdosed on change.