Conan O’ Brian with First Lady Michelle Obama at the White House Correspondents Dinner 2013 | Photo Courtesy of the Daily Caller
Danny Zeng | December 23rd, 2013
Mark Leibovich’s This Town reads like a juicy sensational piece that could become the next Netflix original hit (like really though), until one pause to realize that the characters portrayed in the book are governing this country…The book is like the perfect misplaced airport magazine filled with colorful sketches of the sort of incestuous political-media-consultancy infestation that America hates and politicians campaign against. I cannot possibly scratch even the sheen of such New Age “Iron Triangle” in a blog post, but it’s worth reflecting. Every time I flip the page of this journalistic rendition of high-profile D.C patrons by a conscious elite member of The Club (Leibovich is the chief national correspondent for the New York Times Magazine), I cannot help but feel sorry for thousands of idealistic politicos whose world may well be shattered before they even plant foot in the Swampland. Leibovich unveils his characters with acerbic bluntness, a degree of high sass surely fermented by a copious amount of Club Soda (exquisite-yet-free bottles of vinos). It does not matter if his characters are elected Republicans/Democrats, superlawyer/fixer, socialites, “formers,” or Hill staff; Leibovich dusk off the front row for his readers on this inside-the-Beltway extravaganza (at times I felt the urge to zap some popcorns myself for all captivations).
Warning: This is a rather poisonous piece (for the high minded), not your Mr.Smith-goes-to-Washington-kind-of sweet civic tonic.
“Washington is a ‘real city,’ but This Town is a state of belonging, a status and a commodity.'” The book begins with Tim Russert’s funeral, an occasion that is typically very personal, somber, serves as a closure for the deceased, a revenue booster for Kleenex, and a reunion for family members and friends. Well with Washington, such occasion serves as a great schomoozing venue, self-promotion, photo ops, Twitter posts (possibly with an attached selfie, as President Obama so well attended to at the Mandela memorial…o too soon?), and false feelings.
“Russert would have loved the outpouring from the power mourners. And he also would have understood better than anyone that all of the speeches and tributes and telegenic choke-ups were never about him. They were about people left behind to scrape their way up the pecking order in his absence.”
Leibovich pokes fun of the Obama people, who campaigned on this change-Washington mantra in ’08, only to become “formers” themselves and retire into the comfortable riches of D.C. strategy firms, often founded and run by other “formers.” His depictions of Majority Leader Harry Reid and Republican fiscal hawk Tom Coburn are easy bedtime reads. The Bardella episode with Congressman Darrell Issa (and Bardella himself) is wonderfully instructive for those power-hungry, headstrong, I-am-kind-of-important ladder-climbers. His theory on the rise of such insider culture amongst our nation’s elite (two-party comity, revolving door, increased lobbying interests, rise of political consultants, etc) is not extraordinary in of itself, but his stories and profiles of the elite lend much credence to such theory. Many familiar politicos were described in the book: James Carville and Mary Matalin (“Mataville”), Andrea Mitchell/Alan Greenspan, Haley Barbour, Arianna Huffington, Paul Ryan, David Axelrod, Valerie Jarrett, etc. Discernible recurring foci – motifs if you will – from the book emphasize the likes of Mike Allen and his Playbook from Politico, the lavish centrifugal suck-up force that is the red-carpet-style White House Correspondents Dinner (aka “nerd prom” amped up by – you guessed it – Politico) and the apparently two dozen pre-and-post parties planned around it, and Tammy Haddad (maybe it’s only OK that the insiders called her that…btw the New Republic featured a profile on the ‘Tamster’ from Leibovich that reads as a teaser for the book).
The book’s subtitle reads: “Two Parties and a Funeral – plus plenty of valet parking! – in America’s Gilded Capital.” The stately funeral of Richard Holbrooke, former special envoy to Afghanistan and Pakistan, handpicked Hilary darling, an obviously important-sounding public servant who was sidelined by the Obama people, brought in dozens of foreign dignitaries to the Kennedy Center (secular church of sort for the well-do Club members) for another obsequy for the obsequious. The Generals (McChrystal and Allen) were apparently decorated enough to warrant an honorable mention themselves. The book ends with The Last Party, hosted by Sally Quinn and her husband, the journalist demigod, Ben Bradlee, who oversaw the release of Pentagon Papers and the Post’s coverage of Watergate in the 1970s. Apparently Bradlee’s favorite phrase is that “the caravan moves on,” and so as the book comes to a close, Washington rolls on in high spirit. (D.C. is doing so well that it’s the only city, except four other states, that posted gains in its residents’ earnings in the last decade)
As I was finishing the book, I pulled out my computer, stumbled onto Politico, which featured a story about the political power couple James Carville and Mary Matalin “recall finding ‘love,'” only did I find the article to be a promotional push for their newest book, “Love & War: Twenty Years, Three Presidents, Two Daughters and One Louisiana Home” (now available on Amazon I’m sure). While I was on Politico, I also looked up the paper’s special coverage of the White House Correspondents Dinner 2013 on a dedicated page of its own! It’s the kind of place where where Travis McCoy could surely smile with Oprah and the Queen (uh he’ll have to do with just the Obamas this time). Do your plane ride justice: read the book.
Time Out 