Rave Reviews

The following is a sample of book reviews that caught my eye this past weekend.

We start with Douglas Feith--the man who put the neo in neocon--in Friday's Wall Street Journal on what George Tenet's book should have been called:

Mr. Tenet's point here builds on the book's much-publicized statements that the author never heard the president and his national-security team debate "the imminence of the Iraqi threat," whether or not it was "wise to go to war" or when the war should start. He paints a distorted picture here.

But even if it were true that he never heard any such debate and was seriously dissatisfied with the dialogue in the White House Situation Room, he had hundreds of opportunities to improve the discussion by asking questions or making comments. I sat with him in many of the meetings, and no one prevented him from talking. It is noteworthy that Mr. Tenet met with the president for an intelligence briefing six days every week for years. Why didn't he speak up if he thought that the president was dangerously wrong or inadequately informed?

One of Mr. Tenet's main arguments is that he was somehow disconnected from the decision to go to war. Under the circumstances, it seems odd that he would call his book "At the Center of the Storm." He should have called it "At the Periphery of the Storm" or maybe: "Was That a Storm That Just Went By?"

Next, we have Mark Steyn's opening in his review of "Can We Trust The BBC?" in Saturday's Wall Street Journal (sub req):

Despite the 24/7 quagmire wallow of CNN International (which makes CNN domestic look like the Michael Savage show), the rolling news network founded by Ted Turner is still seen around the world as, believe it or not, "American." The truly globalized broadcaster remains the BBC.

Truer words have never been spoken about CNN International.

Finally, we close with David Pryce Jones reviewing "The Life of Kingsley Amis" in the April 30th edition of National Review:

Amis was no respecter of persons, but neither was he a rebel. For him, exhibitionism had priority over social commentary. His many comedies of manners are similar, and rather restricted in range, because they are so many urgent dispatches from the war between the sexes, a war in which he often led the charge. He could never quite make up his mind whether men or women were perpetrators or victims of the many traps and betrayals in this war, nor could he say what victory might be like. He also wrote a lot of pretty good poetry, criticism and journalism, a James Bond pastiche, a futuristic account of Britain under Soviet rule, a book about language and another about Kipling, a memoir, and much else besides. The professionalism driving this output was all the more impressive because he would polish off a bottle of whisky a day and a variety of wines as well, spending most afternoons sleeping off lunchtime boozing, and going to bed drunk again every night. Those who knew him used to marvel that he could sit down to work soon after breakfast, apparently free from hangovers and with a liver that never acted up.

Makes Atomizer look like a piker.