Think of it as gilding the pain. Last year, hedge fund manager John Paulson of Paulson & Co. hauled in a nifty $3.7 billion. (Yes, you read that right.) Mainly, he did so, according to the Wall Street Journal, "by shorting, or betting against, subprime mortgage securities and collateralized debt obligations." And he wasn't alone. Hedge fund money-maker Philip Falcone of Harbinger Capital Partners raked in a comparatively measly $1.7 billion in 2007, also by shorting subprime mortgages. These are fortunes beyond imagining, made in no time at all by betting on the pure misery of others. Think of them as Las Vegas with a mean streak a mile wide.

In a week in which Citibank released news of quarterly losses of $5.1 billion and sweeping job cuts, food riots dotted the planet, oil hit $117 a barrel, and regular gas prices averaged $3.47 a gallon at the pump (with another 30 cents likely to be tacked on in the next month), Institutional Investor's Alpha magazine released its list of the 50 top hedge fund managers. In 2007, they "made" a cumulative $29 billion. (Even to slip in among the top 25, you had to take in at least $360 million.) To put this in perspective, Paulson alone made $1.6 billion dollars more than it is going to cost J.P. Morgan Chase to pick up the tanking Bear Stearns; in one hour, he made 30 times what the median American family earned all last year. And here's a little tidbit to go with that: Income inequality in 2007 was, according to the Associated Press, "at the highest level since 1928, the year before the Great Depression began."

And still, a New York Times piece on the gains of Paulson and crew described the hedge fund managers with genuine awe as "those masters of a secretive, sometimes volatile financial universe." Master of the Universe (a label originally attached to an over-muscled action figure of the 1980s by the name of He-Man) -- such descriptions have been with us since the beginning of our new Gilded Age and no one knows this better than Steve Fraser. His book on our financial "masters of the universe" from the eighteenth century to the present, Wall Street: America's Dream Palace, has just been published. As he writes, "Beginning with the merger and acquisition mania of the mid-1980s, the media were overrun with depictions of Wall Street 'gunslingers,' 'white knights' and 'black knights,' 'killer bees,' 'hired guns,'… and 'barbarians at the gates,' warrior appellations borrowed helter-skelter from antiquity, the Middle Ages, and America's mythologized West." The language brought to bear always had that requisite edge of awe, part of an ethos that added up to a cult of the Titan. Fraser, whose book is simply superb (and, in this age of information onslaught, mercifully short), offers a brief history of key images of Wall Street movers and shakers -- the aristocrat, the confidence man, the hero, and the immoralist -- taking you on a concise tour of America's love/hate relationship with Wall Street from the founding of the republic to late last night.

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