It has been said that the reason women join book clubs is to be able to drink a few gallons of Chardonnay with some close friends. That may be so. But men, at least men my age, join a book club to grumble and complain and grouch about stuff. The actual book, which for the women is merely an excuse to twist open another bottle, is for us the touchstone to a litany of grievances about the way things are these days.