Knopf, 957 pages
Available at National Book Stores
and Powerbooks
Okay, I admit it. Like most people picking up Bill Clinton’s hefty memoir, My Life, I immediately skipped to the index to see how much space would be devoted to Monica Lewinsky. Not that much, it turns out. President William Jefferson Clinton obviously had lots of other ground to cover about growing up in Arkansas, being governor of that state for 10 years, being president for two terms. In fact, you get details about Bill’s life that become, after 300 pages or so, exhaustive and irrelevant, if not excruciating. Want to know about Bill’s favorite Elvis Presley movies? Didn’t think so. And while My Life is not "eye-crossingly dull," as one reviewer put it, it is frustratingly sequential, leaving nothing out, an approach that would have benefited from book sections.
But what emerges quickly in My Life is a recurring theme, and that theme is imperfection. Even in the brief prologue, Clinton lays it out: "Whether I’m a good man is, of course, for God to judge. I know that I’m not as good as my strongest supporters believe or as I hope to become, nor as bad as my harshest critics assert." It’s hard to imagine, say, Richard Nixon grappling with such self-effacement. Over and over, Clinton shows how he learned (or didn’t learn) from a misstep, then went on to craft a compromise. Few presidents have made such a virtue of their tendency to make mistakes; Bill adopted it as his political philosophy. In fact, the book could have easily been titled Nobody’s Perfect.
Bill was born in 1946 to Virginia and William Jefferson Blythe. His father died after a car accident before Bill came into the world. So he was raised by his mom and an assembly of aunts, uncles, grandparents and friends, a pattern of interdependence that probably influenced his whole life.
Clinton is the quintessential "people person." Not only does he like people and listen to them, he thrives on them. This makes him a born politician, and in these Oprah-ized days, he is also a product of his times. He seems to know every single person in the state of Arkansas, and he thanks the hundreds of FOBs (Friends of Bill) who helped launch him to the presidency.
Thus, we march gamely through My Life, pausing to tip the hat or shake the hand of countless ordinary individuals who changed Bill’s perception of the world. Really, they show up on every other page. He usually notes how such "little" people influenced his policies ("I thought often of Mitzi Polk when I pushed to expand opportunities for the disabled as President.") That sort of thing. They’re anecdotes, but they also show that Clinton has either a remarkably absorbent memory and has taken copious notes since childhood, or that he really does remember most people he meets.
This trait serves him well in Georgetown University (where he met Hillary), at Oxford on a Rhodes scholarship, working for the Democratic Party on several political races, then when winning his own state seat in Congress. His visibility and likeability helped him win three terms as Arkansas governor, where he was loved, then hated (for infamously raising license-plate fees), then re-elected, then re-elected once again. As homey and good-ole-boy as Arkansas is, it was a good testing ground for what Clinton could accomplish: he managed to raise literacy and testing scores, rebuilt highways, and increased disability and health benefits in the lagging state.
Of course, he also made enemies. Clinton makes it clear (as does Hillary in her memoir) that he believes a core of Arkansas political opponents launched a "right-wing conspiracy" against him, all the way from his home state to Pennsylvania Avenue. Whether you believe it or not, Clinton refutes many common theories: about his use of Arkansas state troopers to procure women when he was governor, about Paula Jones and Gennifer Flowers, about the "mysterious" death of friend and White House aide Vince Foster.
Still, it must be said, a lot of bad events did surround Clinton. In an imperfect world, in a far from perfect state like Arkansas, bad stuff did happen. Clinton’s stepfather (from whom he got his surname) was an abusive drunk. Bill’s brother, Roger, was busted for selling cocaine to federal agents. And bodies did pile up, including the suicides of friends Frank Aller and Foster, and the brutal murder of classmate David Leopoulos’s family. It’s these kind of events that led Clinton bashers like Jerry Falwell to hawk videos like Circle of Power, noting the "countless mysterious deaths in Arkansas." But in a life as far-flung as Clinton’s, maybe it’s only natural that a number of his acquaintances met with bad ends.
Other issues revolved around Clinton’s character. In Bill’s view, the word "character" became a political tool to set the media digging into his alleged marital infidelities. It worked. The phrase "bimbo explosion" became synonymous with Clinton’s campaign in 1992, though he still won against George Bush, largely, he acknowledges, because the economy was in bad shape.
Was Clinton a good president? Did he leave behind a solid legacy? He makes a lawyerly case for it, listing the many progressive programs his administration passed, even those – such as welfare reform and deficit reduction – that were politically painful. He acknowledges the failures, too – such as the "gays in the military" issue, and the universal health care plan that was gutted by partisan Republicans. But towards the end of his second term, he notes that 18 million US jobs had been created, the country’s deficit cut in half, unemployment was at a low, and there was actually a huge budget surplus.
In the wake of September 11, though, it’s frustrating that Clinton didn’t do enough to take out Osama bin Laden. After bombings of the USS Cole and embassies in Kenya and Tanzania were tied to bin Laden, Clinton tried bombing Al Qaeda training camps in Afghanistan, but missed the mastermind. He then approved economic sanctions against terrorist organizations, a move which seems unenforceable and absurd. But as he left the White House, Clinton told incoming President George W. Bush what the top foreign policy priorities should be (in order): Osama bin Laden and Al Qaeda; Middle East peace; India and Pakistan; North Korea; and finally Iraq. He lets readers decide whether Bush followed his advice, or turned it upside down.
But enough about foreign policy, you may say. What about Monica? Clinton admits again and again that he made "mistakes." He had an "improper" relationship with her that lasted several months (to this day, he will not define such relations as "sex"). He did not ask her to lie about it, a fact that Lewinsky corroborates. The whole matter was dragged into the public eye by Independent Prosecutor Kenneth Starr, who had been assigned to look into Whitewater. Three years and 40 million taxpayer dollars later, the investigation had spread to women who claimed to have had affairs with Clinton, and one who wanted to keep it private: Lewinsky was compelled to testify after secret (and illegal) tapes made by Linda Tripp landed in Starr’s lap. When Starr released his final report to Congress, the word "sex" appeared 500 times; "Whitewater" appeared twice.
Clinton is more contrite in My Life than he was when "Monicagate" broke, but he still tends to put more blame on those who attacked him. To wit:
As a husband, I had done something wrong that I needed to apologize and atone for; as President, I was in a legal and political struggle with forces who had abused the criminal and civil laws and severely damaged innocent people in their attempt to destroy my presidency… Finally, after years of dry holes, I had given them something to work with.
Remarkably, the former president describes his marital counseling sessions with Hillary, offering a clue as to what may have led to his indiscretions: "I came to understand that when I was exhausted, angry, or feeling isolated and alone, I was more vulnerable to making selfish and self-destructive personal mistakes about which I would later be ashamed." In other words, nobody’s perfect.
Clinton also uses another phrase, "parallel lives," to describe his life. He believes everyone keeps certain matters private and secret, even from their loved ones. They may show one side in public, and another in private.
The question of secrets is one I’ve thought about a lot over the years. We all have them and I think we’re entitled to them. They make life more interesting, and when we decide to share them, our relationships become more meaningful. The place where secrets are kept can also provide a haven, a retreat from the rest of the world, where one’s identity can be shaped and reaffirmed… Still, secrets can be an awful burden to bear, especially if some sense of shame is attached to them, even if the source of the shame is not the secret holder. Or the allure of our secrets can be too strong, strong enough to make us feel we can’t live without them, that we wouldn’t even be who we are without them.
I can’t think of another US president who would commit such thoughts to public record. But then again, there’s only ever been one Bill Clinton.