The Gimlet Eye

THROUGH no exertions on my part, I came by a copy of The Last Brother, Joe McGinniss’s controversial biography of Teddy Kennedy. I call it “controversial,” but “controversial” is one of those words, like “diversity” and “taboo,” that has come to mean precisely the opposite of what it used to mean. The Last Brother isn’t controversial at all. Opinion is unanimous. Everybody hates it—and hates it, moreover, with a spectacular hatred that lights up the sky (and the newspapers) with fiery streamers of ill-will.

And by “everybody,” of course, I mean tout le monde, the publishers, booksellers, academics, and journalists who make up the literary establishment. Their revulsion crested in waves. First were news stories reporting that McGinniss had invented some of the thoughts and “interior monologues” his book attributes to Teddy. William Manchester then set off another round of reports by charging McGinniss with plagiarism, an accusation in which he was soon joined by Doris Kearns Goodwin, another Kennedy biographer and friend. Arthur Schlesinger dutifully suited up for an appearance on Charlie Rose, where he dismissed the book as a Michelin chef might dismiss a headcheese casserole. Next, the reviews: remorseless, ferocious, salivary. And finally, a few days later, the death-rattle quotes, from wholesalers lamenting the unsold copies stacked in warehouses and booksellers allowing as how nobody—not a soul!—had bought the book in days.

About the Author

Andrew Ferguson

Andrew Ferguson, a former columnist for NR, is a contributing writer at The Atlantic and a fellow at the American Enterprise Institute.

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THROUGH no exertions on my part, I came by a copy of The Last Brother, Joe McGinniss’s controversial biography of Teddy Kennedy. I call it “controversial,” but “controversial” is one of those words, like “diversity” and “taboo,” that has come to mean precisely the opposite of what it used to mean. The Last Brother isn’t controversial at all. Opinion is unanimous. Everybody hates it—and hates it, moreover, with a spectacular hatred that lights up the sky (and the newspapers) with fiery streamers of ill-will.

And by “everybody,” of course, I mean tout le monde, the publishers, booksellers, academics, and journalists who make up the literary establishment. Their revulsion crested in waves. First were news stories reporting that McGinniss had invented some of the thoughts and “interior monologues” his book attributes to Teddy. William Manchester then set off another round of reports by charging McGinniss with plagiarism, an accusation in which he was soon joined by Doris Kearns Goodwin, another Kennedy biographer and friend. Arthur Schlesinger dutifully suited up for an appearance on Charlie Rose, where he dismissed the book as a Michelin chef might dismiss a headcheese casserole. Next, the reviews: remorseless, ferocious, salivary. And finally, a few days later, the death-rattle quotes, from wholesalers lamenting the unsold copies stacked in warehouses and booksellers allowing as how nobody—not a soul!—had bought the book in days.