Braun's Berlin is a paradise of unexplored caveats. The great lacunae of the book are the Holocaust and World War II, and Braun admits to almost papering over the defection of East Berliners. The utopia he wants to write isn't always there, and his reticence almost scuttles his message: that Berlin is a city of acceptance. But the message gets through when Braun stops being an historian and starts being a journalist: the anecdotes lengthen, and we go with the author to meet Berlin's counterculture icons. Then the dynamism Braun tries to harness becomes protean and flowing, light instead of heavy. Coupled with the knowledge and focused nostalgia Braun offers when he allows himself more time, the complexities of the city are evoked. We come to know Wahlberliners: they still flash off, but leave an impression when they go, and the city-on-the-page becomes what Braun believes it is: welcoming and liberating.