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TIME: Almanac 1995
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1995-02-26
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<text id=93TT2074>
<title>
Aug. 02, 1993: Reviews:Books
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1993
Aug. 02, 1993 Big Shots:America's Kids and Their Guns
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
REVIEWS, Page 56
BOOKS
Teddy, We Hardly Know Ye
</hdr>
<body>
<p>By PRISCILLA PAINTON
</p>
<qt>
<l>TITLE: The Last Kennedy</l>
<l>AUTHOR: Joe McGinniss</l>
<l>PUBLISHER: Simon & Schuster; 626 Pages; $25</l>
</qt>
<p> THE BOTTOM LINE: Ask not why you should buy this book; ask why
it was written in the first place.
</p>
<p> It seems the courts will now decide whether Joe McGinniss is
a plagiarist or, as his readers will find, just a lazy reporter.
For at the very least, this is not a biography but the world's
most slowly executed book report--except this one has no footnotes
and no index, only a bibliography listing 74 other books involving
the Kennedys that McGinniss took years to ingest. Last week
William Manchester, the historian who wrote the definitive account
of John F. Kennedy's assassination, told New York magazine he
intends to sue McGinniss after pinpointing 187 instances where
he claims the author largely lifted his prose. McGinniss also
draws heavily--sometimes down to the dialogue and sentence
structure--from Leo Damore's exhaustive account of Chappaquiddick,
from Nigel Hamilton's portrayal of the dysfunctional Kennedys
and from Doris Kearns Goodwin's description of Ted Kennedy's
childhood. Have any of these authors thought of a class action?
</p>
<p> The remarkable achievement of McGinniss's book is not that he
fails after 618 pages to unearth fresh nuggets about Ted Kennedy
or that he ignores the basic obligations of journalism and historical
biography (you know: legwork, attribution). No, the remarkable
thing is that McGinniss does not even live up to his pretensions.
In the author's note, he says he is a storyteller. He also claims
for himself the right to invent the thoughts of his main character
for the sake of "making Teddy come alive for a reader as he
never has in any of the previously published works." But by
the end of the book, Kennedy remains a stony caricature, and
the reader mourns McGinniss's enrollment in the David Halberstam
school of bad writing--where repetition is meant to create
drama and the accretion of subclauses is meant to create elegance.
</p>
<p> Here is McGinniss's imitation of mini-series string music: "Riedel,
that was his name. Richard Riedel--now running toward him."
Or this: "Little emotion was expressed. Kennedys did not express
emotion openly, not even to one another, especially at times
of emergency. Emergency required action, which was something
with which emotion interfered. Emergency required logistical
planning, which was something at which both Bobby and Eunice
were expert."
</p>
<p> For all its literary thievery, the book is a bazaar of banalities:
we find out that Jack's assassination was "a national event--a worldwide event," that "it had always been [Ted's] belief
that however junior and sometimes unsatisfactory a member, he
was a part of the Kennedy family," that the "waves of Nantucket
Bay [were] a brilliant blue," and, two pages later, that "the
sky was as blue as the waves in Nantucket Bay." Most of all,
despite McGinniss's purported empathetic imagination, Ted remains
a peripheral figure throughout the first three-quarters of the
book.
</p>
<p> When McGinniss does focus on him, it is only to say obvious
things with superficial evidence: that he carried the burden
of having bigger-than-life brothers (one sign: his face twitched
when McGinniss broached the subject years ago), that he felt
left out of the family, and that he had a lousy childhood and
marriage. The book seems obsessed with debunking the Kennedy
myth, as if it needed debunking. And nowhere does it explain
Ted's fundamental paradox: that a man so self-destructive stuck
so willingly to the daily tilling of the legislative field and
left such a profound mark on his country.
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>