What I've been reading (part of)

I picked up a book the the library called Secrets and Wives: The Hidden World of Mormon Polygamy, by Sanjiv Bhattacharya. I'm always interested in a book about polygamy, told from either side of the moral fence, but this one, told from the perspective of a complete outsider (a British journalist of East-Indian descent based in the US) promised to be interesting and hopefully fairly non-biased. The following excerpts were from within the first 60 pages of the book.

It's April 1, the Sunday of the LDS Church's biennial National Conference weekend, and anywhere between a billion and a trillion Mormons are pouring out of the conference center. The men and boys look chipper and corporate, their dark suits so stiff the hangers might still be in the jackets. The women resemble an army of Martha Stewarts or small-town news anchors, supreme in their assurance that their salvation is secure, their linens spotless and their souffles certain to rise in this life and in the next. No one rushes or dawdles or crisscrosses the rows, and this goes for the children, too. The orderliness is immaculate. Their pacing and posture is so even, so metronomic that I'm thinking of microchips and slow-release medication, to Nurse Ratched, George Orwell and Invasion of the Body Snatchers starring Donald Sutherland. Outside of Japan or the insect world, I've never seen anything less unruly. It's so very ruly it's terrifying.

Really? Terrifying? I've been to conference. I've seen the crowds when they get out. I've never seen anything metronomic about them. Kids run and skip. People jostle each other as they try to get to their cars just a little bit faster than the family next to them. The only difference between this crowd and the crowd leaving say, a symphony performance or an Amway convention (hee hee) is that the General Conference crowd is nicer. But slow-release medication? Either this guy went to the one conference where only robots attended, or he was looking for a certain behavior before he set out. Later in the same chapter, he discusses the streets of Salt Lake City:

Spend a few days in Salt Lake City, however, and the prospect of Mormon power is a shuddering thought. And not just because of the dismal liquor laws. In the Downtown District surrounding the temple, the streets are vast, vacant, and alienating; the intersections are barren expanses; pedestrians look lost and cowed. It's Brigham Young's fault for stipulating that the streets should be wide enough to turn a horse and carriage. He surely envisioned his Mormon Mecca as a hive of bustling saints, busy consecrating their profits to his beloved church. Instead he created a scene from 28 Days Later, peopled only by missionary drones stalking the streets searching for new souls. Even cars look adrift, stranded at red lights for eternities, watching tiny pedestrians traverse immense crossings.

All right, he does have some funny comments to make, I agree. Mormon women confident that their souffles will rise in this life and in the next? Funny. Dismal liquor laws? I don't even drink and I agree the liquor laws in this state are very quirky, and not in an endearing way. But alienating streets? Pedestrians lost and cowed? There are many avenues just as wide in New York City. I doubt he would use the same descriptions for the streets in the Big Apple. Maybe we just keep things too clean here. Or need more winos begging on the corners. Then maybe he'd feel more comfortable. My point, though, is this: If the man can't even describe Mormon crowds or the streets of Salt Lake City without resorting to negative and foreboding imagery, how can I believe that his take on any of his experiences is without a serious slant? I can't. My hopes of a non-biased perspective are misplaced. I'm so disturbed by the smarmy, condescending tone, I'm wondering if it's even worth my time to finish the book. What should you do when you begin to question the value of a book partway through?