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Edited on Tue Sep-30-03 03:16 PM by Skinner
History can be written without irony, so can journalism. But neither can decently be written without objectivity, and this history doesn’t rise even to the journalistic level, says Christopher Hitchens
Great pretender BILL CLINTON: AN AMERICAN JOURNEY By Nigel Hamilton Century, £25; 480pp ISBN 1 844 13208 0 Buy the book
One should not hold it against anyone, even a modern historian, that he was not fortunate enough to have an Oxford education. But one is entitled to complain, of such a luckless person, that he affects knowledge of the old place. President Clinton’s former college, University College, is not situated “on the Broadway”, chiefly because there is no such street. (There is a street named Broad Street, but that college is not situated on it.) Then again, since Clinton was in so many ways such a child of the Sixties, it would be helpful to feel confident that the historian knew his bearings in this over-studied decade. I was not a contemporary of Tariq Ali’s at Oxford, nor was Tariq a contemporary of Clinton’s, and nor did either or indeed any of us “wear dark glasses in which everything looked either black or white” — which is not, in any case, the effect that dark glasses produce.
No, I did not look only myself up in the index. I have covered Clinton all the way from Arkansas to Washington and back, and I did, in fact, know some of his male and female circle a quarter of a century before that; but long before I reached Nigel Hamilton’s chapter on Oxford, I had worn out a ballpoint or two by marking things that were vaguely or wildly “off”.
Unease begins in the section devoted to “Acknowledgments”. Here I learnt of a chance meeting between subject and author at a dinner in Little Rock in the summer of 2002: “At first, having heard my name, the President appeared, as we shook hands and posed for a photograph, not to make any connection between my name and my impending biography. Instead, taking the beautifully embossed menu card from my hand, he began to autograph it for me, in the manner of a star — which, indeed, he has remained, out of office, wherever he goes.”
Cambridge historians were less deferential in my young day. Be that as it may, having suddenly recognised the name of his Boswell-to-be, Clinton “pulled back at least a yard. He stared at me. His blue eyes narrowed. The blood drained from his face. He looked, at that moment, as if he might strike me.” But so entrancing was the subsequent monologue he delivered that Hamilton now thinks that Thomas Mann, “the great German ironist of the 20th century, would have been profoundly intrigued” by the encounter. Not just “intrigued”, you notice, but profoundly so.
EDITED BY ADMIN: COPYRIGHT
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