More Vanity and More Despair

So, this is what I've been up to. Of course, there's an infinite amount to say about this, all of which is far too much and too overwhelming and too wonderful to give shape to just now. So for now I'm writing about easier things. Sadly, motherhood has not insulated me from the freak show that is the Republican primary, but distaste is a lot easier than love. Hence, Callista Gingrich.

During the 2008 election, I was reading Curtis Sittenfeld's novel American Wife, which revolves around a fictionalized version of Laura Bush. It was an odd thing to be reading at the height of Obama mania. At the end, there's a "twist": she didn't vote for him. On some level because she didn't want to be First Lady, but also because in her sensible librarian way she thinks the other guy is more qualified. When she thinks about all the decisions the Bush-like character has made, she tells the reader, hey, I just married him, you all elected him. It's a funny moment. It's also one that from a certain point of view could be seen as a kind of liberal fantasy, with all the flaws therein, an extension of the old knock against Pauline Kael not knowing anyone who voted for Nixon: the liberal feminist novelist can't imagine anyone who would vote for Bush, not even his wife. But Sittenfeld can't really explain why she married him either, except suggesting his sexual prowess from some scenes I'm still trying to get out of my head and which prevent me from recommending the novel to anyone in good conscience.

Another funny moment comes when the Laura character describes the low point of being first lady: the book she writes under the "pen name" of the first pet. It's a little unfair since as far as my google-fu can tell, she's penned only her memoirs and a children's book. Her mother-in-law, on the other hand, is the author of "Millie's Book as dictated to Barbara Bush," while Hillary Clinton has Dear Socks, Dear Buddy Kids' Letters to First Pets to her credit along with Living History and It Takes a Village. It is of course beyond unfair to think this all says anything about these women; I'd wager that none of these were their ideas and that they spent no more than a few hours on them, and even if this weren't the case, so what?

Still, I'll cop to a curious fascination with the literary output of First Ladies and those who aspire to be First Ladies, which is how I ended up with a copy of Callista Gingrich's Sweet Land of Liberty, a romp through American History with Ellis the elephant, on my shelf. I started thinking about Callista after reading this brilliant profile by the always-brilliant Ariel Levy. I remember talking about it when I was in the hospital and a friend was flipping through the then-new issue. When I got to it a few weeks later, I thought, have I already read this? No, that was the profile she did of Cindy McCain the last time around. You have to hand it to these women: god knows it takes a lot of something to do what they do on the campaign trail: as Levy notes, they have to gaze adoringly while listening to the same stump speech over and over.

In Wild Man Blues, Barbara Kopple's documentary about Woody Allen touring Europe with his jazz band, we see Soon Yi taking care of his laundry and keeping the outside world at bay. It's a bit of a shock, given everything, to see her acting as a sort of mother figure to him. You get the same feeling reading about the third Mrs. Gingrich. When Sean Hannity poses and unwelcome question, she "raised her eyebrows slightly and replied in the implacable tone of a kindergarten teacher scolding a six-year-old." The sentiment seems to extend to her husband: "The woman is always the grown up," her husband is quoted as saying. "No matter what." No matter how much younger she is, presumably. It's been said lots of times before, but it's always stunning to hear this stuff from the traditional values crowd. Not that we feminist man-hating types never roll our eyes at stereotypical Peter Pan stuff, but we almost always have the good taste not to do it in public about men we supposedly love, let alone ones we're holding up as great leaders.