As a waitress ushers him from the bar to a table in Dotty Dumpling’s Dowry, Thomas Frank, author of the politically analytical “What’s the Matter with Kansas,” starts to point at the model planes dangling about the restaurant. Not only can he identify each, but with a certain childish gleam about his eyes, he knows the details of the aircrafts’ history, purpose and use.

Mr. Frank then proceeds to sit down, order a refill of his coffee, and enter into a discussion about the complexities of the American political spheres that forcefully affirms his status as a leading authority on the ideological and strategic divides between the Republican and Democratic parties.

The whole episode may at first seem bizarre, but it is in a way revealing: Mr. Frank is thoroughly delicate with his deft political treatments, but also forcefully careful not to apply the sort of ideological blinders that might lock him into a world of liberal punditry at the expense of a genuine understanding of life beyond Capitol Hill.

And therein lays much the argument of “What’s the Matter with Kansas,” that the Democratic establishment has estranged itself from the much of the country by taking its eye off the true sensibilities of the public and allowing a radical backlash over hot-button social issues perceived as offensive in the heartland.

But Mr. Frank is a liberal, and apparently hopeful that his whistle-blowing might just save the Democratic establishment before it completely self-destructs. “Hot-button issues are a proxy for class anger,” the author explains while nibbling on a hamburger. He goes on to suggest the road to recovery for Democrats, “The economic issues can overshadow the cultural ones…The Democrats have to become economic populists again.”

Thinking for a second while taking in a French fry, Mr. Frank finds the right quote to summarize the point: “All that is solid melts into the air, all that is holy is profaned,” he asserts, citing Marx.

And yet, for a man full of convictions so firm that borrowing words from the lightning rod author of the Communist Manifesto is not out of the question, Mr. Frank has a very sweet demeanor about himself. Quick to shed his jacket and apparently unaware that his dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top, is crying out for an iron, the author glows as he discusses his family, periodically peppering the chatter with compliments about Madison — things that a man in a thin shirt should not be able to find so easily on one of the first days of the semester when students can see their own breath.

But with a 3-year-old child of his own and a pregnant wife, the author seems deeply concerned about the evolving face of America. Prompted as to why college students should care about his book, Mr. Frank is quick to answer, “It’s about the world they’re going to graduate into.” Then, with a smirk, he adds, “And all the cool kids are reading it.”

Asked about the timing of his book’s publication and the presidential election, the author admits, “I aimed [“What’s the Matter with Kansas”] for 2004,” and then proudly notes that unlike many writers, “I hit deadline.” Of the election itself, Mr. Frank is strangely detached and largely analytical, commenting in the least partisan tone possible, “The election is a referendum on Bush…Kerry ought to be wiping the floor with Bush.”

But he is quick to point out that President Bush, “is no dummy — he is a polished public speaker,” subtly implying that certain wings of the left may be underestimating the president’s rhetorical abilities.

But Mr. Frank is careful not to loiter on the subject too long, quickly moving to a lighter topic, as he does throughout the lunch interview. Indeed, this writer got the distinct impression that despite being one of the foremost political minds currently sitting on the New York Times Bestseller List, the author is a rather happy-go-lucky man with an optimistic worldview seemingly contrary to the bleakness so delicately painted in “What’s the Matter with Kansas.”

Late that evening, after Mr. Frank had spoken at University Book Store, I ran into him practically skipping about Library Mall. Recognizing my face from lunch, he passed on a quick “hello,” and then exclaimed of himself and his company, “We’re going to go to a bar and drink beer!” The enthusiastic glee in his voice was all too familiar. It was the same tone with which he had rattled off so many obscure facts about airplanes just hours before.