The Secret Man: The Story of Watergate’s Deep Throat by Bob Woodward
Last week the world should have learned the answer to one of the best-kept secrets in Washington, D.C. history: the identity of Deep Throat. But the cat was let out of the bag early: in 2005, W. Mark Felt himself revealed that he had been Bob Woodward’s secret source during the Watergate investigation. When I woke on December 19 to learn that Mark Felt had died the previous day, it was strange to think of the news day this would be, if he hadn’t told the news during his living days. When I first read All the President’s Men as a freshman in college, two things happened: I was instantly turned into a political science major, and I actually prayed I would someday learn the identity of Deep Throat. Prayer answered. Bob Woodward has admitted to being stunned when he learned that Felt revealed that he was Deep Throat; Woodward had believed he would be the person to spill the news only upon Felt’s death. I have to confess: I felt a little bit sorry for Woodward, getting scooped by his own source.
The book The Secret Man was released very soon after Felt’s announcement, because Woodward had written it a couple of years earlier and then locked it up. This book is absolutely fascinating: we see the story from the inside—how Woodward met Felt (in the White House, of all places), the details of their meetings, how Woodward kept the secret of “my friend” for so many years, how he had a falling-out of sorts with Felt, and how, in 2000, he communicated with Felt for the first time in decades. The single fact that most tantalized me was the address of the parking garage where they met: 1401 Wilson Boulevard/1820 North Nash Street in Rosslyn, VA. The other amazing revelation is that Felt ordered an investigation into the leak of Watergate details from FBI files—in a brilliant CYA move.
In a manic bout of Watergate Googling, I came across this delightful find: images of Woodward’s notes after each meeting with Felt on the web site of the Harry Ransom Humanities Research Center at the University of Texas, which archives the Woodward and Bernstein Watergate papers.
So here’s my question: Is “The Secret Man” Mark Felt—or is it Bob Woodward himself?
Friday, December 26, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
Chicagoland Mystery
A Safe Place for Dying by Jack Fredrickson
Down and out, unlucky in love, and living in a tower, Dek Elstrom is a bit of a wreck. Then the security guard at the gated community where Dek used to live—back when Dek and his ex-wife were still happy and still married, and before Dek melted down one night and was forcibly removed from the premises—approaches him to request help investigating a recent explosion in one of the houses. When it turns out to have been a bomb, rather than a gas line accident, the gazillioinaire financial manager who’s funding the investigation makes sure Dek keeps it quiet. In spite of—or maybe because of—his failings and his contrarian streak, Dek won me over. As he’s rehabbing the family folly he inherited—the turret where he sleeps on a cot —he finds an inspired, brilliantly juvenile way to deal with the annoying little zoning guy who plagues him. Plus, Dek has an uber-geek friend named Leo who wears hideously tacky clothes and drives a Porsche. You gotta like that. A great debut novel, with the next installment (Honestly Dearest, You’re Dead) due soon.
Down and out, unlucky in love, and living in a tower, Dek Elstrom is a bit of a wreck. Then the security guard at the gated community where Dek used to live—back when Dek and his ex-wife were still happy and still married, and before Dek melted down one night and was forcibly removed from the premises—approaches him to request help investigating a recent explosion in one of the houses. When it turns out to have been a bomb, rather than a gas line accident, the gazillioinaire financial manager who’s funding the investigation makes sure Dek keeps it quiet. In spite of—or maybe because of—his failings and his contrarian streak, Dek won me over. As he’s rehabbing the family folly he inherited—the turret where he sleeps on a cot —he finds an inspired, brilliantly juvenile way to deal with the annoying little zoning guy who plagues him. Plus, Dek has an uber-geek friend named Leo who wears hideously tacky clothes and drives a Porsche. You gotta like that. A great debut novel, with the next installment (Honestly Dearest, You’re Dead) due soon.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Truman. I just adore him.
Harry S. Truman by Robert Dallek
First, before I even write anything about this book in particular, I have to announce the terrific thing I discovered because of this book: There exists something called "The American Presidents” series, and this book is part of it. I opened the book right here in my kitchen and saw a list of all the books in this series, and I confess that I gasped and then uttered a word I will not repeat here (this word was said with great joy and reverence [in the privacy of my own home], but it's still best not repeated). The other books in the series are written by such notables as Douglas Brinkley (on Gerald Ford), John Dean (on Warren Harding), and H.W. Brands (on Woodrow Wilson). The Truman book is fairly short – just over 150 pages. On the series web site, the editors say they wish to offer books that are “compact.” I tell you, this is just the ticket for learning just enough about some of those less-well-known fellows like Chester A. Arthur and (my own favorite-to-mention, obscure, oft-forgotten president) Millard Fillmore. Excellent!
Now, to the Truman book itself—
While David McCullough’s Truman is my favorite biography of our 33rd president, Robert Dallek’s book does a fine job of highlighting the key parts of his presidency. Interestingly, though I have just praised the concept of this series of compact presidential biographies, it occurred to me while reading Harry S. Truman that Dallek wasn’t able to spread his wings the way he has in his other, longer books. There was nothing wrong with this book; it just didn’t make me hum contentedly the way Dallek’s writing usually does. On the up side, Dallek gives us a grittier view of Truman than McCullough did—and it’s fine to see that Truman really had some serious failings. (I also liked seeing examples of his famously colorful language; other books have glossed over it, and I was edified to see that the man truly could swear.) I would suggest this book to anyone seeking to learn the basics about Truman’s presidency without committing to the very long McCullough biography.
First, before I even write anything about this book in particular, I have to announce the terrific thing I discovered because of this book: There exists something called "The American Presidents” series, and this book is part of it. I opened the book right here in my kitchen and saw a list of all the books in this series, and I confess that I gasped and then uttered a word I will not repeat here (this word was said with great joy and reverence [in the privacy of my own home], but it's still best not repeated). The other books in the series are written by such notables as Douglas Brinkley (on Gerald Ford), John Dean (on Warren Harding), and H.W. Brands (on Woodrow Wilson). The Truman book is fairly short – just over 150 pages. On the series web site, the editors say they wish to offer books that are “compact.” I tell you, this is just the ticket for learning just enough about some of those less-well-known fellows like Chester A. Arthur and (my own favorite-to-mention, obscure, oft-forgotten president) Millard Fillmore. Excellent!
Now, to the Truman book itself—
While David McCullough’s Truman is my favorite biography of our 33rd president, Robert Dallek’s book does a fine job of highlighting the key parts of his presidency. Interestingly, though I have just praised the concept of this series of compact presidential biographies, it occurred to me while reading Harry S. Truman that Dallek wasn’t able to spread his wings the way he has in his other, longer books. There was nothing wrong with this book; it just didn’t make me hum contentedly the way Dallek’s writing usually does. On the up side, Dallek gives us a grittier view of Truman than McCullough did—and it’s fine to see that Truman really had some serious failings. (I also liked seeing examples of his famously colorful language; other books have glossed over it, and I was edified to see that the man truly could swear.) I would suggest this book to anyone seeking to learn the basics about Truman’s presidency without committing to the very long McCullough biography.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Midwestern Mystery
Eleven Days by Donald Harstad
The debut in a heck-of-a-good mystery series set in— don’t run away, now— Iowa. I’m here to tell you these two things: First, Iowa can be darn interesting when you get past your preconceptions. (Sort of interesting, anyway. Yes, I’m from there, so I have to say that— but I also have a whole new appreciation for Iowa-ness now that I’m in exile. : ) Isn’t it strange how that happens? But really, Iowa has all kinds of hidden virtues, and I’ve seen it surprise and delight non-Iowans many a time. So give Iowa a chance, people!) And, second, this mystery is just plain excellent. Carl Houseman is a deputy sheriff in eastern Iowa, and he’s faced with a strange new situation: a satanic cult has taken hold in the area, and all hell’s broken loose. (bad pun, intended) Houseman is a bit of an anomaly— a fictional police detective who is happily married. I just have to like it. Author Harstad himself worked as a deputy sheriff in northeastern Iowa (Clayton County, for those who appreciate such details), so he knows his stuff inside and out. And, happily for us, the man can write. If you’re a fan of Craig Johnson, you’re apt to like Donald Harstad, too. I sure do.
The debut in a heck-of-a-good mystery series set in— don’t run away, now— Iowa. I’m here to tell you these two things: First, Iowa can be darn interesting when you get past your preconceptions. (Sort of interesting, anyway. Yes, I’m from there, so I have to say that— but I also have a whole new appreciation for Iowa-ness now that I’m in exile. : ) Isn’t it strange how that happens? But really, Iowa has all kinds of hidden virtues, and I’ve seen it surprise and delight non-Iowans many a time. So give Iowa a chance, people!) And, second, this mystery is just plain excellent. Carl Houseman is a deputy sheriff in eastern Iowa, and he’s faced with a strange new situation: a satanic cult has taken hold in the area, and all hell’s broken loose. (bad pun, intended) Houseman is a bit of an anomaly— a fictional police detective who is happily married. I just have to like it. Author Harstad himself worked as a deputy sheriff in northeastern Iowa (Clayton County, for those who appreciate such details), so he knows his stuff inside and out. And, happily for us, the man can write. If you’re a fan of Craig Johnson, you’re apt to like Donald Harstad, too. I sure do.
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