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Living History, Living a Lie

By Jonathan David Morris on 06/12/03
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Just when you thought it was safe to go back to B. Dalton, Her Royal Highness -- Hillary Rodham Clinton -- releases Living History, a 576-page work of autobiographical fiction the likes of which can cause permanent illiteracy in literate adults ages 18 to 45. Much to my dismay, however, Hazmat's Web site contains nary a warning and/or word about this book at this time. But I'd still suggest staying far away from the local Barnes & Noble or adjoining Starbucks for the next few weeks to come. Play it safe, I mean. Don't be a hero.

But if you absolutely, positively must read this book, please, promise me you'll wear rubber gloves.

Because once the bullcrap gets beneath your fingernails, you can wave those squeaky clean hands goodbye.

As for me, I don't have a copy of Living History just yet, and -- brace yourself -- I don't plan on buying one. If I wanted to read Marxist propaganda, I'd read Karl Marx. But I wouldn't read Hillary if you paid me. I wouldn't read her for a million-billion-trillion dollars, nor all the money in the world. I wouldn't even read her with someone else's eyes. Much like Perseus in the story of Medusa, I refuse to look at this thing directly for fear that I'll turn to stone.

I'm young. I don't want to turn to stone.

(All right, maybe I'd read it for a million-billion-trillion dollars, but not a penny less.)

(All right, two pennies less, but that's my final offer.)

Don't get me wrong, though: I'm glad Hillary published this book. Even though she told Barbara Walters she doesn't "have any intentions or plans of running" for president, we all know this former first lady's been dreaming of a White House just like the one she used to know -- well, not just like the one she used to know, but you get the basic idea.

So, if she's sitting out till 2008 and willing to hog her party's spotlight in the meantime, I think that's swell. Let her write another book every month between now and November of next year, for all I care. Keep 'em coming, lady. Keep 'em coming.

But as for why I won't be reading Living History, my reasons are two: (1) I don't care; (2) I don't want to.

First of all, I have a hard time caring about a book when its own author didn't care quite enough to write it. Calling Hillary's book "Hillary's book" is like calling Jayson Blair's take on the facts "the facts" -- and, in fact, for what it's worth ($19.60 on Amazon), I'd rather wait for Blair's nonfiction novel than head to the store for Hillary's, since Blair at least writes some of his own words.

Not that having a ghostwriter, or even a team of ghostwriters, is wrong. It's not. It's legit. Plenty of people do it and that's fine. But Hillary's a big girl -- and a senator, somehow -- and you've got to believe she's capable of committing her own thoughts to paper by now.

Or maybe she's not and that's the big secret? Maybe she isn't programmed for human emotion? No, wait. I'm thinking of Darth "John" Kerry. My mistake.

Still, the imagination stirs like a starstruck girl at an Engelbert Humperdinck show. The possibilities here are magically delicious. It's just too bad the possibilities are probably wrong. I mean, I'd love to believe this thing was secretly written by the CIA's person-of-interest/preferred-customer, Stephen Hatfill, he of [alleged] anthrax envelope fame -- it would validate the hazardous materials shtick at the start of this article, after all. But that's about as likely as Hillary having been shocked by Bill and Monica's inappropriate sexual escapades, so you've got to figure this had as much to do with laziness as anything else.

Wait a minute.

This just in: Hillary now says she was shocked by Bill and Monica's inappropriate sexual escapades. Go figure.

Indeed, according to the excerpts, Hillary believed her husband was blameless till the day he told her otherwise. In her words, or the words of a reasonable facsimile: "I could hardly breathe. Gulping for air, I started crying and yelling at him, 'What do you mean? What are you saying? Why did you lie to me?'"

Now, although this may seem a bit hard to believe (if you were thinking "hard to swallow," shame on you), this is one time I'm almost willing to give the old gal the benefit of the doubt. Almost. Not because I believe her -- I don't -- but because, quite frankly, Bill's infidelity is her business, and who are we to say how she handled it emotionally?

But that brings me to my second point: I don't care about this story, nor do I want to, so why is Hillary -- the victim -- treating it like it belongs on my mind?

Time and again in 1998, we were told Bill Clinton's lies were sins against his family not his homeland. He may have used his position as the most powerful man in the galaxy to put a wee intern in a position all her own, but then we were told it was a personal matter. But if that's the case, why is Hillary peeling back the skin of her own wounds? And for $8 million, no less? (Sure, it's a far cry from a million-billion-trillion, but it's still a lot of money.)

What's come to be known as Monicagate was an unfortunate -- and, I might add, annoying -- time for our country. On one hand, we had Democrats defending precisely the type of person (see: rapist; sexual harasser) that groups like NOW would've wanted in jail if he wasn't their hand-picked president. On the other hand, we had Republicans all but refusing to take the high road, choosing instead to step in the Democrats' mess as politicians on both sides dragged this country through the mud.

Think about this for a moment: Five years ago, a sitting president's DNA had to be matched to a stain on a woman's dress, just to prove he lied under oath. That's just weird, okay?

And I'm not going to lie and say this stuff isn't compelling, because it is. There's a reason why they say sex sells. It's interesting. But all the same, I'd like to believe the Western world has a higher purpose now. Call me old-fashioned but that's what I'd like to believe. But Hillary's book is just the sort of thing -- right up there with Raelian cloning and Reality TV -- that makes me wonder sometimes.

For all the wrong reasons, Living History takes an ugly moment from our recent political past and beats it like the dead horse it was always meant to be -- not for historical perspective, but to give an embarrassed ex-president's wife a semi-clean conscience and her own chance at running for the Oval Office someday.

Whether she's telling the truth, stretching it, or just plain tearing it apart, it'd be easier to believe Hillary if she treated this situation like the intensely private issue she always claimed it was. Instead, she's soaking it up on 20/20 and 60 Minutes, and no doubt TRL before long -- all with a made-for-TV smile.

Hell hath no fury like a woman's want for Oprah. So it goes, I suppose. So it goes.