P.J., at his best:
IF YOU PLAN not to read this summer, “Living History” is just the book. Hillary Clinton’s new memoir is more than 100,000 pages long. At least I think it is. There are only 562 page numbers, but you know how those Clintons lie. A mere ream of paper could not contain the padding that has gone into this tome. Hillary–with the help of at least six ghostwriters–nails the goose of a manuscript to the barn floor and force-feeds it with lint.
We are informed, for instance, that Jackie Onassis was once, herself, a first lady and later married a Greek shipping magnate. We learn how a chief executive walks to the podium to deliver a State of the Union speech: “The president greets members of both parties who, by tradition, sit on opposite sides of the aisle.” Even Hillary’s grief over the death of her dad is padded: “My father would not be at the table vying with Hugh and Tony for one of the drumsticks or asking for more cranberries and water-melon pickle, two of his favorites from childhood.” And then there are the fulsome tales of official junkets–unimportant, uninteresting, uneventful, and unending. “I had given a lot of thought to how Chelsea and I should dress on the trip. We wanted to be comfortable, and, under the sun’s heat, I was glad for the hats and cotton clothes I had packed.” And I was glad for the scopolamine transdermal patch.
If you read only one book review this summer, make it this one.