By Christian Viveros-Fauné
By Miriam Felton-Dansky
By Tom Sellar
By Tom Sellar
By Jessica Dawson
By Tom Sellar
By R. C. Baker
By Tom Sellar
Monica, in her early days at the White House, regarded the president as just another gray-haired old guy until she got her first taste of the Clinton effect up close. "I remember being very taken aback. My heart skipped a beat, my breathing came a little faster and there were butterflies fluttering in my tummy. He had a glow about him that was magnetic. . . . I thought to myself: 'Now I see what all the girls are talking about.' " (Staffers referred to it as "the full Bill Clinton.") Lewinsky may be somewhat more of a participant observer than Weber when it comes to methodology, but not so coincidentally, Weber too was in the midst of an adulterous affair when he embarked on untangling the role of erotics in the nature of leadership. Perhaps the experience of being in love is close to charismatic fervor, which also indicates how little its lure has to do with rationality.
Among the virtues of Andrew Morton's Monica's Story is the you-are-there feel for life in the Clinton sexual orbit: we get the play-by-play on those first thrilling glances of recognition, the shared Diet Cokes and childhood stories, the presents and late night phone calls. Have no doubt that Clinton did his share of the pursuing. Though he wants to "be good" his code for not having sex it's clear that he never really mastered this all-too-Republican of skills, which is one reason to still like him. And as Monica carefully notes, before they kissed for the first time, he asked her permission. Notwithstanding her wishes for "more," and the obvious differences in power, age, and marital status, the book's point of view is that, at least during the affair, Clinton wasn't a shit: despite an earthshaking case of conflicted sexuality, he acted like a real person and actually put up with a fair amount from Monica who, by her own account, could be kind of a pushy brat. It was only when Clinton the politician started trying to save his skin that he jettisoned her loyalty in a crunch also not being high on the list of Clinton attributes.
You do end up savoring this book more for Clinton's story than Monica's. Read between the lines and it's a treatise on the psychology of modern political leadership, or indeed, a national parable: really, what's so different in form between Monica's crush-turned- obsession and the nation's? Monica's fantasy that Bill might leave Hillary and wind up with her is hardly less fantastical then the nation's belief that Bill, once in office, would suddenly abandon womanizing and become a faithful husband, or stick to his principles, or not launch a few missiles at Third World countries if it meant staying alive politically. A few erotophobics and Christopher Hitchens excepted, the citizenry continues to adore him. Having elected him twice not in spite of his glaringly apparent flaws but because of them (the charismatic personality does not typically stem from a reconciled inner life), isn't it a little hypocritical to then try to nail him to the cross of marital conventionality when it was always clear that this wasn't his particular talent?
As for Monica's story, although Morton offers his own measured views on Lewinsky as a character throughout this third-person narration, it's far more compelling when Monica gets to deliver her own usually astute insights into the Clinton psyche than when hashing over her own. Feel free to skip the inevitable childhood chapters. It's not that any of it seems particularly false, it's just unnecessary: since when did getting romantically entangled with powerful men start requiring so much psychological explanation? Until recently it was a prototypical female aspiration (Jackie Onassis, anyone?). Given all the mocking pundits, you'd think it was now a national crime. (I must have missed the announcement.) So she was young and romantic, got weepy and depressed or maybe a little obsessional when her lover wanted out, but Bill would break up, then the next week be on the phone again the kind of thing that drives even mature types emotionally berserk. Yes, be warned that this book traffics in Girl Talk (although adequately translated into adult-speak by Morton), and call me a girl, but I really don't get what's so mockable about that: it's a vernacular like Ebonics or Spanglish, which doesn't mean that the experiences it describes are somehow lesser ones. Is obsessional love only a theme of gravitas when authored by dead European men (cf. The Sorrows of Young Werther, Death in Venice, Lolita) and delivered up in high-flown literary language? Maybe the trivialization of Monica's story isn't unconnected to her now well-known "self-esteem issues." How are girls meant to have self-worth with everyone so sure that their experiences are, like, one big joke?