The Gospel Coalition

This week four books were added to the New York Times list of bestsellers.

Jumping straight to number one, and pushing Glenn Beck’s Arguing with Idiots to number two, is Mitch Albom’s Have a Little Faith. It is described in this way: “A suburban rabbi and a Detroit pastor teach lessons about the comfort of belief.” It is endorsed by a wide group of individuals from varied faith backgrounds. That is usually not a very good sign.

Landing on the list at number four is Patrick Swayze’s autobiographical The Time of My Life. Swayze, who died just weeks ago, co-authored the book with his wife Lisa Niemi. This makes it the fourth celebrity biography in two weeks.

Right behind it at number five is novelist James Patterson’s “non-fiction thriller” The Murder of King Tut. He investigates the death of the teen king but appears to do so in a “could-be-true” format where fact mixes with fiction.

And squeaking in at the fifteenth position The National Parks by Dayton Duncan and Ken Burns. It is a book companion to the PBS series of the same name that was released last week. It is the most expensive book to make the list recently, carrying a suggested price tag of $50 (and higher still here in Canada).

So that gives me a lot to read this week. I’ll check in periodically with reviews!

Ted Kennedy’s long-awaited memoir was a guaranteed bestseller. At least Hachette thought so, ordering a first run of one-and-a-half million copies. And sure enough, True Compass moved quickly to the top of the charts following its September 14 release. Weighing in at over 500 pages, it is a big book describing a momentous life and yet a life known almost as much for what it wasn’t or what it didn’t accomplish as for what it was and what it did accomplish.

When reading the memoir of an elderly person, writing in what he knows to be his last days, leaving behind his reflections on life, you might hope for some significant introspection on both good and bad times. In his seventy-seven years Kennedy surely learned some hard lessons from things he did–things that his worldview would allow him to call sin. Here would be a good opportunity to bequeath the next generation with lessons learned by age and the hard experience it brings. Sadly, the reader will find very little in that vein in True Compass. Kennedy occasionally assigns blame to himself, such as in his account of the infamous Chappaquiddick incident, but here he maintains the obviously-contrived story that he has held to all these years, one that absolves him of any legal blame for what happened and leaves him only as a victim of his own bad decisions. Yes, he says that the incident still haunts him every day and that there will be no atonement for what happened there, but still he washes himself of any real culpability. His responsibility extends only so far as his version of the story. Known as a man who struggled with alcohol, Kennedy rarely refers to this, admitting only to a couple of isolated incidents of drunkenness, but even here, the blame really lay outside himself; he drank only because of what he had seen or what he had experienced. Even in describing the end of his first marriage he assigns most of the blame to youthful inexperience and in regard to his notorious womanizing he does little more than offer a wink and a nod, unable or unwilling to discuss such things, but also not willing to let it go without at least acknowledge there is some foundation to the rumors.

So what we have in True Compass is a sanitized version of his life, a Pollyanna life, a life as Kennedy would like it to be remembered. It is a life scrubbed of his own blame, his own sin. He portrays himself as a person who rarely, if ever, worked out of self-interest but rather as a great patriot who constantly sought always and only the best for his nation; he portrays himself as a great humanitarian who, even in his struggle against cancer, was less concerned with winning the battle for his own sake than he was with winning a battle that might lend hope to others. And he portrays his family–his parents and siblings and children and grandchildren–as patriots and humanitarians as motivated as himself for the good of others.

As I read the book I found myself thinking of the film Forrest Gump. In that film we find that the most unlikely of heroes, Forrest Gump, is at the center of so many of the earth-shaking events that defined a whole generation. In every event, he is there, perhaps only in the background, but somehow he is there and somehow he has played a role. In True Compass Kennedy seems to do the same, placing himself at or near every big event. Perhaps you have heard of the new phenomenon of photobombing–intentionally placing yourself in another person’s photographs so that when they later view their photos they will see your face where they did not expect it. Look at the death of Martin Luther King, look at 9/11, look at any great event, and Kennedy wants you to see his face in the background, peering over the heads of those in front.

Theologically, Kennedy alternates between consistency with his Roman Catholicism and a kind of universalism that criticizes those who take their beliefs too literally and believe them with any kind of exclusivity. He describes the core of his beliefs as being Matthew 25 where Jesus tells his followers to feed the hungry, to give drink to the thirsty, to clothe the naked. “It’s enormously significant to me,” he says, “that the only description in the Bible about salvation is tied to one’s willingness to act on behalf of one’s fellow human beings. The ones who will be deprived of salvation–the sinners–are those who’ve turned away from their fellow man. People responsive to the great human condition, and who’ve tried to alleviate its misery–these will be the ones who join Christ in Paradise.” Of course to suggest that the people who will enjoy Paradise are those who through their own efforts make themselves worthy is a rash misreading of the Bible.

A hero to many Americans and a member of a family that is close to royalty as America comes, Ted Kennedy enjoyed a long career in the public eye. I suppose I may have been predisposed to struggle through the memoirs of a man whose ideology differed so vastly from my own. But even with that in mind I found this memoir disappointing. It seemed too proud, too self-focused, too easy. Kennedy eschewed harsh reality to describe the life he wants to be remembered for. Such is his right, I suppose. This may be Kennedy’s final word, but it is clearly not the last and definite word about him, his triumphs and his sins. History has a way of bringing such things to light.

Verdict: Wait for the Paperback

I sometimes wonder just how many celebrity biographies I will have to read over the course of a year. The thought is almost enough to compel me to walk away from this whole project. Days after reading Mackenzie Phillips’ High on Arrival I had to turn to Craig Ferguson’s American on Purpose. Like Phillips, Ferguson is not a celebrity who is known for having made any world-shaking accomplishments or contributing anything great to society. No, like most celebrities he is known for being known.

Ferguson is, of course, the host of The Late Late Show, one of those staples of late night television that airs way past my bedtime. Ferguson was chosen to take over the reins from Craig Kilborn when he stepped aside in 2004. A native of Scotland who boasts a thick, Glasgow accent, Ferguson was always a long shot. But his zany sense of humor and his ability to lead compelling interviews eventually landed him the position over many competitors. American on Purpose tells how he got there and does so under the rather thin veneer of the joys of becoming a U.S. citizen.

The book, like its subject, is profane and obnoxious. Growing up in working-class Glasgow, Ferguson was introduced early to alcohol and, hot on its heels, drugs. He gave himself over to both and for decades they dominated his life. Despite his addictions, he put together a career as an actor and comedian–a career that eventually brought him to the United States. After acting in a handful of films, many of which were far from successful, and after years spent in a recurring role on The Drew Carey Show, he was offered his current position as host of The Late Late Show. Along the way he drank endless amounts of alcohol, inhaled vast quantities of drugs, successfully passed through rehab, slept with countless women, married three times, got rich and became a celebrity. All of this is described in the 270 pages of his memoir.

The book’s title, American on Purpose, refers to Ferguson’s decision to pursue American citizenship, something he accomplished in 2008, though he chose to hold on to his British citizenship as well. in the book’s final chapter he says, “America truly is the best idea for a country that anyone has ever come up with so far” and offers a few words of explanation about his love for the nation. But beyond that, there is little in the book that really explains the title. It is, I think, a bit of a gimmick.

This celebrity memoir, as with so many like it, will probably only appeal to people who are fans of its subject or people who have to endure long airplane rides and brought along only the one book. If you enjoy The Late Late Show and are a fan of Craig Ferguson, I can understand why you might want to read it. I’ll grant that there is some value to be had in hearing about how an addict has learned to overcome his addictions. Yet even then I doubt you will find much there to enjoy. It is just another celebrity memoir, filled with drugs and alcohol and tales of sexual conquest and inevitable divorces. It is a big yawn.

Yet it makes me wonder, why do people like to read such books? Why would a book describing a life like this one make its way onto the list of bestsellers, even if only for a week or two? What is the root of this fascination with celebrities who, for all the world, have accomplished so little? Do we really have such low standards for our heroes that we consider the position of a television host reason enough to want to study a person’s life? Surely America has better things to do with its time than dedicate itself, again and again, to studying the lives of its celebrities. Then again, perhaps not. I suspect I’ll be reading a lot more books like this one in the months ahead.

Verdict: Skip it.

I can’t deny it–I kind of like Glenn Beck. Sure you can argue that he’s just another outrageous radio windbag who will do nearly anything to fight his way to the top of the charts. That’s probably true. Yes he is annoying and occasionally obnoxious and, for all appearances, ridiculously self-assured. All true. But this does not necessarily mean that he is not correct about a lot of things. Through all the bluster I hear a lot that sounds to me like just plain common sense–the kind of sense that seems a rare commodity today. Maybe it is a sign of the times that common sense can sound radical and can be labeled as such.

In Arguing with Idiots Beck takes on small minds and big governments. In a question and answer format he answers the objections of “idiots” on a series of hot-button issues: capitalism, the second amendment, education, energy, unions, illegal immigration, the nanny state, home ownership, and economics. He also looks to the long history of progressive Presidents (focusing on Wilson and Roosevelt and showing how contemporary Presidents are little different) and offers a refresher course on the U.S. Constitution. You probably know exactly the kinds of things he stands for and the kinds of things he hates, so I will not recount them all for you. If you don’t know, just imagine what Rush Limbaugh would say and you’re on the right track.

The book is assembled in a kind of scrapbook format that features endless sidebars and callouts and cartoons and other visual distractions. There are even bits of colored text labeled “ADD Moments” woven almost right into the main body of the book. It makes for a rather distracting read and perhaps adds just a bit too much levity to what is really a series of very serious topics. Or maybe I just prefer the straight dope. Regardless, Beck does a very good job of taking a wrecking ball to countless idiotic objections to common sense solutions. From beginning to end he relies on his trademark sarcastic humor and offers plenty of moments when the reader will laugh or roll his eyes or, more likely, both.

Strangely, the book has a very, very abrupt ending. One moment you’re reading through the flow of text. The next moment you flip the page and are surprised to see that the book is over and that you are into the end notes. Just like that. Call this one of my pet peeves. Couldn’t Beck have tacked on at least a couple of pages just to wrap things up? You and I both know that he certainly didn’t run out of words.

It has often been noted that the New York Times, though honest in compiling their list of bestsellers, rarely reviews books that, like this one, come from the far right. Michelle Malkin’s book Culture of Corruption is a recent example. While it sold hundreds of thousands of copies and dominated the bestseller lists for a short while, the Times gave it no review and made no mention of it beyond placing it on the list. The same is true of Arguing with Idiots. It is there on the list, but it has not been reviewed; neither do I expect that the Times will do so before it falls back off. Over the course of the year I will be tracking this phenomenon, seeing whether books of this nature merit reviews or whether they are mostly just ignored by the editors.

Verdict: Buy it.

If you are celebrity eager for your brand new memoir to make a splash, here is one surefire way of making that happen: go on Oprah and confess to having a lengthy affair with your own father. This is what Mackenzie Phillips did and, not surprisingly, her book High on Arrival debuted at number three on the New York Times list of bestsellers. In the two weeks since its release it has remained well inside in the Amazon top-100 as well. Readers, outraged and sickened by her tell-all tales seem, nevertheless, eager to read them.

Mackenzie Phillips may need no introduction to most people but I can’t deny that I had to Google her name. It turns out she was made famous for her role in the 70′s sitcom One Day at a Time and her role in the iconic film American Graffiti, both of which were at their apex before I was taking much notice of such things. She was born into the celebrity lifestyle as the first child of John Phillips, lead singer of the band The Mamas & The Papas (think “California Dreamin’” and “Monday, Monday”). In fact, she was born into the hedonist lifestyle as the daughter of a man who did his utmost to take hedonism to its furthest extent. Based on his daughter’s account, there is no length to which John Phillips would not go to further his own pleasure, even if that led him to carry on an affair with his own daughter–something she referred to as “rape” and he referred to as “making love.”

Mackenzie Phillips grew up surrounded by sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll as her father drew to himself whoever was popular, whoever was anybody in Hollywood or in music. Drugs and alcohol flowed freely, fueling a lifestyle of almost unbelievable depravity. As a young child Mackenzie might fall asleep in the arms of Paul McCartney one night and watch a famous movie star do drugs the next. Left largely to bring herself up, she was often without any real rules or oversight. Her mother, long divorced from her father, fell into alcohol-addiction and abusive relationships while John might disappear suddenly and for weeks or months at a time. Needless to say, her life was brutal and turbulent. She writes about baking (and eating) pot brownies and just eleven years of age; she writes about getting involved in drugs and becoming sexually active when just a young teenager; she writes about being raped and abused and taken advantage of at almost every turn. Mostly she writes about the throes of addiction, falling prey to drugs and spending decades of her life completely consumed by them. Brief moments of sobriety serve to highlight the harsh realities of life as an out-of-control addict.

By the time the book closes at a slightly-too-long 290 pages, Phillips is one-year sober after a much-publicized relapse into drugs (and this, in turn, after having been sober for several years before). She writes as one who has put the past behind her and who is no longer tempted by the old demons; yet she is just one year removed from a lifetime of addiction and places her hope, at least partly, in confidence as flimsy as a psychic who assured her that her future was drug-free. There is little redemption here, little to assure the reader that she truly has put all that behind her. After a long, grueling read, the reader receives little assurance, little joy, at the end.

Mackenzie appears to have little desire to explain or even critique the failure of the hedonist’s lifestyle. But perhaps she does not need to as her story speaks for itself. Her story shows how hedonism is ultimately not just the pursuit of pleasure but ultimately the reckless pursuit of pleasure at the expense of other people. The hedonist will eventually need to harm others to bring pleasure to himself. Her father is as clear an example as we could possibly see and Mackenzie herself is both victim and victor at times.

This is a heart-breaking story and one that grows increasingly hard to read as it progresses. It is just too much–too much pain, too much addiction, too much depravity. It is horrifying to read of a man as selfish, as given over to self-focused pleasure, as John Phillips; it is horrifying to see how a daughter can so easily assume the lifestyle in which she was raised; and it is horrifying to see the ravages of evil. This is a vile, repulsive story of a life that barely seems livable. Reading of Mackenzie Phillips’ childhood, it is hard to begrudge her the means she used to seek to escape the ugly reality of her life. We can but hope that Mackenzie finds in her remaining years the joy, the happiness, that has evaded her for so long.

Verdict: Skip it.

In 2002 Pat Tillman walked away from a multi-million dollar NFL contract to join the U.S. Army. Just coming into his own after a career year as safety for the Arizona Cardinals, Tillman had all the opportunity in the world. Young, ridiculously good-looking, sporting the squarest chin in all of human history and with all sorts of people waving millions of dollars in his face, he could have taken any number of offers and set himself up for a long and comfortable life. Instead, he walked away from it all to became a soldier and, in so doing, an icon of post-9/11 patriotism. He was a reluctant hero who lost his life in a tragic friendly-fire accident in the mountains of Afghanistan. The events surrounding his death were quickly covered up and seemingly uncovered almost as quickly, bringing with them both horror and scandal. Already the subject of several books, Tillman appears again as the subject of Jon Krakauer’s Where Men Win Glory.

Tillman is a fascinating, multi-faceted character and one who is very difficult to pin down. Though he was no supporter of President Bush, he still felt that it was his duty as an American to answer the call to arms. Though an extraordinary athlete, he was a deep thinker and far from the stereotypical football jock. Excerpts from his journals show a man who drank hard and played hard, yet was fiercely loyal to his girlfriend (who became his wife shortly before his death) and who was always reluctant to be the center of media attention. He read widely, thought deeply and wrestled constantly with the moral implications of what he was called on to do as a soldier. Eager to fight in Afghanistan, he was perturbed, disgusted even, by much of what he witnessed in Iraq. An atheist, Tillman’s last words mocked a comrade who, with Tillman, was pinned down with fire from their own men. This soldier, terrified and facing an imminent death, cried out to God. Tillman asked why he was acting this way and what possible good it could do him. Seconds later Tillman died when three American bullets tore into his head. The most famous man in the Army lay dead at the hands of his friends.

His superiors reacted swiftly, muzzling the men who knew the circumstances of Tillman’s death. A friendly-fire accident would be a media catastrophe and this at a time when the war was not going well and when support for it was falling fast. Soon, however, the truth began to leak out and Tillman’s family reacted with outrage. He was again on the front pages. Subsequent investigations proved that poor leadership, poor organization and inadequate fire control had led to Tillman’s death, though some conspiracy theorists have tried to show that he was, in fact, deliberately murdered. The consequences for those involved were minor, shockingly minor, really, with most simply being removed from the Special Forces and busted back to the regular Army.

In this biography, Krakauer cannot contain his utter disregard for President Bush and jumps on every opportunity to take swipes at him and at his administration. In the end there is almost nowhere he will not go, short of having George Bush light a fuse at the base of the Twin Towers. He almost makes it sound as if from the very moment of Tillman’s death a massive conspiracy was instantly put in place, from President on down the chain of command to Tillman’s direct superior. Krakauer goes so far as to tacitly suggest that a member of the military should have told Tillman’s parents at the funeral that he had been killed in a friendly fire incident. As horrible as it is that Tillman died as a result of friendly-fire, such things are known to happen and happen today far more often than they did in the past. It is a tragic and unavoidable consequence of the fog of war. Krakauer’s outrage stems more from the cover-up, the deception and the lack of consequences for those involved than from the nature of the incident itself. His disregard for President Bush just gives him one more outlet for his anger.

Where Men Win Glory raises important issues about the nature of modern warfare, though it does so only between the lines and not as a core objective. Krakauer is outraged that the U.S. government covered up Tillman’s death. But are we to be surprised that the government relies on propaganda in times of war? This is as it has always been (and always will be!). The expectation today seems to be that reporters will travel with troops and provide moment-by-moment Twitter updates as to the whereabouts of the soldiers. Deception is viewed as evil. But since when has war ever been fought under the same kind of rules that govern court rooms? The propaganda efforts in Iraq and Afghanistan are nothing when compared to the all-out campaigns during the First and Second World Wars. But that was an era of total war. War today is meant to be surgical, touching only the most guilty military targets and avoiding altogether any peripheral damage. It is a near-impossible mandate. Every time a soldier touches a trigger he must have court martials in mind. Of course there must be some kind of oversight and some kind of consequences for those who go beyond the bounds of morality. It leads me to wonder: if you cannot fight a war which you believe in so much that you are willing to regard peripheral damage as an unfortunate, tragic even, necessity of war, is it a war worth fighting? More than ever it seems that wars are won and lost on the home front far more than in the trenches. None of this is meant to defend what happened; rather, I simply suggest that the issues are deeper than they may appear and really ought to be less surprising than they seem.

Read for its portrayal of its protagonist, Where Men Win Glory is very interesting. Tillman truly is a fascinating subject and one who is very difficult to categorize, to solve. But read as history, I would urge caution. The author seems unable to separate his outrage toward Bush from his account of what happened. There appears to be little emphasis on objectivity here. Thus the facts appear tainted by a thinly-veiled agenda that comes perilously close to the propaganda that so disgusted the author.

Verdict: Wait for the Paperback

Love him or hate him, you probably have an opinion about Ron Paul. He’s a guy on the fringe, a guy who does not quite seem to fit into any camp but his own. And a time when the economy is undergoing a severe test, he is one of the few politicians who actually sounds like he knows what he is talking about when it comes to economics. Firmly rooted in the Austrian school of economics, Paul advocates pretty much the opposite of all America has done in the past few years: Where Washington has continually bailed out those corporations it deems too big to fail, he advocates allowing them to go bankrupt; where Washington remains firmly committed to fiat currency, he is eager to return to the gold standard; where Washington looks increasingly to socialize health care (and those companies that would fall apart but for federal aid) he has implicit confidence in the free market and its consequences; and where Washington continues to grant far-reaching power to the Fed, Paul advocates eliminating it altogether.

Few people understand macro-scale economics (heck, judging by the debt loads of most Americans I’d suggest that few people can wrap their minds around household economics) and fewer still understand the role of the Federal Reserve in economics and politics and the sometimes-fine line between them. Among the immensely important organizations in Washington, the Fed has one power that is unique: the ability to create money out of thin air. You do not need a graduate degree in economics to understand the magnitude, the potential ramifications, of this kind of power. When you consider that the Fed operates without any real congressional oversight, that it is protected from audits and that its leaders are appointed rather than elected, it becomes more shocking still. Ultimately, if you want to understand money in America, you need to understand the Fed. As Paul says, “It is irresponsible, ineffective, and ultimately useless to have a serious economic debate without considering fundamental issues about money and its quality, as well as the Fed’s massive role in manipulating money to our economic ruin.” Paul has spoken endlessly about the Fed for decades now and in this book he advocates his solution: get rid of it.

Paul minces few words. He says, “We need to take away the government’s money power. The banking industry needs its welfare check ended. The dollar’s soundness depends on its being untied from the machine that can make an infinite number of copies of dollars and reduce their value to zero.” Later he says, “The Federal Reserve System must be challenged. Ultimately, it needs to be eliminated. The government cannot and should not be entrusted with a monopoly on money. No single institution in society should have power this immense. In fact, I believe that freedom itself is at stake in this struggle.”

While clearly targeted at a general audience, End the Fed is stock full of “economese”–the lexicon of economics–and this may make for difficult reading for those not well-versed in such matters. I often found myself confused, reading back a few lines or pages and, on occasion, just giving up and moving on. In several areas Paul assumes just a little bit more knowledge than I’ve got. Inflation is a relatively simple concept to understand from a personal perspective, but when it comes to understanding its causes and effects on a national or international level, my head begins to spin. Nevertheless, I read on and largely enjoyed Paul’s arguments. He argues from three perspectives: the philosophical, the constitutional and the economic. In each case he makes a compelling case that the Fed is harming America far more than it is helping and that its very existence is contrary to the U.S. Constitution. Of course the book is inherently one-sided and one must assume that the Fed’s supporters can make arguments of their own as to why it can and should remain; they will undoubtedly also argue for increasing rather than decreasing its mandate. I must have Libertarian leanings (or perhaps just common sense leanings) because I tend to agree with Paul. There has to be a better way and one that is more consistent with American ideals. “The Federal Reserve should be abolished because it is immoral, unconstitutional, impractical, promotes bad economics, and undermines liberty. Its destructive nature makes it a tool of tyrannical government. Nothing good can come from the Federal Reserve.” At least he does not leave us wondering what he really believes.

Created in time of crisis, it is ironic that the Fed is responsible for many of the nation’s subsequent economic crises, at least according to Paul. Constantly manipulating the markets, responsible for bubbles created and bubbles burst, and forever cranking out more real and virtual greenbacks, the Fed is at the center of American economics and politics. Its power is immense, its accountability near non-existent. Should not this, alone, call for abolition or, at the very least, radical modification?

Verdict: Wait for the Paperback

There were five new books added to the bestseller lists this week. There was a strange diversity in those five titles. It’s interesting to note that in the top five books there are four new titles.

Rocketing straight to the top position is Glenn Beck’s Arguing with Idiots. It looks like it will be pretty standard Beck fare–interesting, informational and at least a little bit obnoxious and overstated. The book shows a lot of creativity in its formatting (it kind of looks like a scrapbook) so even if much of the information is “same old,” the book itself is at least plenty different.

Arriving at #3 on the list is Mackenzie Phillips’ much-discussed memoir High on Arrival. Phillips has been making plenty of media appearances including an appearance on Oprah in which she revealed that she had an affair with her own father. The book is a tell-all memoir about her family, her childhood and her long years of drug addiction.

At #4 is American on Purpose by comedian and television host Craig Ferguson. This, like High on Arrival, is a celebrity memoir about finding success after a life of sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll.

#5 brings us the latest book by famous scientist and atheist Richard Dawkins. The Greatest Show on Earth looks to nature to find evidence for evolution. This is a direct counterattack against those who advocate intelligent design.

And finally, arriving at #10 on the list is Karen Armstrong’s The Case for God. Armstrong is a former nun who, in this book, looks to rescue the idea of God not only from today’s New Atheists but also from religious believers who are just a little too literal-minded.

I expect High on Arrival and American on Purpose to be grueling reads (especially the former). The Case for God will probably make me a whole lot angrier than The Greatest Show on Earth and Arguing With Idiots will, I expect, not teach me a whole lot that I haven’t already learned. I’d better stop writing and start reading!