Call me crazy, but I’m starting to think Pejman wasn’t terribly impressed after reading 957 pages of Bill Clinton:
My Life has to rank as one of the most god-awful books of the genre that I have ever read. I can’t remember a political memoir that so appalled me in both form and substance. And remember: I like the genre of political biography and autobiography, so it takes a special kind of suckage to turn me off of a particular book from the genre. This book achieved that suckage, and then went on to suck in a manner few books have ever sucked before. It was a waste of time, a waste of paper, and ruthlessly defeated any effort to try to come away with any sense of illumination concerning eight crucial years in American history. It represents nothing more than banality, platitudes, and outrageous nonsense clumsily conveyed by insipid prose. It is the Chinese dinner of political memoirs. After finishing it, one wonders whether one actually read anything.