I was on Morning Joe earlier this week, and had been planning to defend my editorial in the previous issue claiming Donald Trump was exceedingly unlikely to be the Republican presidential nominee. As I walked into the green room at 30 Rockefeller Center, one of the show’s producers mentioned they were looking forward to discussing the new Washington Post poll. I hadn’t seen it yet, I said. Oh, she said cheerfully: Trump is now at 38 percent, more than double his nearest competitor.
I took the bull by the horns on the show: “I’ve just decided to be in denial,” I said. “I’m pretending that poll doesn’t exist.” And I went on to explain that denial is an underrated life strategy.
Denial is also an underrated holiday strategy. I still don’t think Trump will be the nominee, but apart from a few sallies on Twitter, I intend to let the argument rest until we’re back at work. Indeed, I decided this week’s magazine could do without an editorial from me (partly because we already had excellent editorials in galleys by Jonathan Last on what’s happening on college campuses, Mark Hemingway on the Obama administration’s failure to enforce the Iran deal, and Stephen Hayes on Obama’s lies about Gitmo). I did get the Trump bug a little at work Thursday, but was able to confine myself to a minor poetic effort for the Scrapbook, which I hope you’ll find diverting. (I reproduce it below, since Christmas mail may be delaying the print magazine, and some of you– unaccountably–may not yet have checked out the whole magazine online.)
In any case, what to do while in denial over the holidays? Family, friends, food, and football surely come first. But if you need some diversionary reading, I’m told the new Lee Child (Make Me) and the new Michael Connelly (The Crossing) are both up to snuff. I’ve been swamped so haven’t gotten to them yet, but hope to read both over the break. And since I’ve read everything else by both writers (as have many Americans), here’s something you can do: Tell me–if one likes Lee Child, who else who’s similar would you recommend? And the same question for Michael Connelly. This would be a service to me–and to your fellow newsletter readers, as I’ll share your suggestions. (Send them here.)
What else? I hear there’s a new movie out about some galaxy far, far away. If you want to dip a toe in just a tiny bit of the commentary on the politics of Star Wars, read Mike Warren’s post from Friday and take a look at the contributions by Matt Continetti, Sonny Bunch and Jonathan at the Washington Free Beacon. Is it a little odd that I enjoy reading about the movie while being relatively indifferent to actually seeing it?
Don’t answer that.
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One other recommendation for the holidays, a bit more serious, but perhaps even more interesting: The Foundation for Constitutional Government has released its final Conversation of the year, this one with the remarkable Leon Kass, who is surely our most thoughtful guide both to the questions raised by the Bible and to the questions, moral and philosophical, posed by modern science. In this conversation, Kass recounts how he turned from the study of medicine to an examination of the moral questions and problems that modern science and technology pose for human life. He suggests that science, for all of the benefits it has brought to us, may not offer an adequate account of life as we experience it, and he discusses the Bible as a source of wisdom, and the similarities and differences between the Biblical view of man and the one found in Greek philosophy. And by the way: feel free to watch any of the other Conversations–with individuals ranging from Dick Cheney to Ruth Wisse, Newt Gingrich to Peter Thiel to Harvey Mansfield–over the break. They’re all available here.
So: Conversations with Leon Kass and others: Star Wars and commentary thereon; the works of Lee Child and Michael Connelly. All of these might be enjoyable and interesting for the holidays–and a good break from Donald Trump.
Speaking of which, here’s the aforementioned pseudo-poetry:
A Visit from Chair Priebus
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when out on the stump
Not a creature was stirring, not even a Trump;
The pundits were poring o’er laptops with care,
In hopes that enlightenment soon would be theirs;
The pollsters were nestled all snug in their beds;
While margins of error tapdanced in their heads;
And Susan with Chekhov, and I with Lee Child,
Had just settled down for a fun evening wild.
When out in the drive there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a fl ash,
Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.
The moon shining down on the non-fallen snow
(Climate change is destroying our planet, you know),
Now dimly reveals where the darkness once fell,
A passel of pols in some Uber XLs,
With a perky young leader so lively-Bejeebus!
I knew in a moment he must be Chair Priebus.
More rapid than eagles the others all came,
As Reince whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now! Marco, now! Ted Cruz, now! Jeb Bush and Christie;
On! Kasich, on! Carson, on! Rand Paul and Carly;
To the top of the porch! to the end of the wall!
Now hurry in! hurry in! hurry in all!”
From far they had come and long distances rode.
They rushed through the door of our modest abode;
Into the fam’ly room candidates drew
With a bevy of donors, consultants, too.
And when, in a twinkling, I came down the stair,
The meeting had lately begun with a prayer.
As I stuck in my head, and was looking around,
Across the room came Chair Priebus with a bound.
“No media allowed! Strictly off the record!”
(But I left the door open; here’s what I observed).
A bundle of polls Reince had high on his back,
He looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples, how cute!
He called the meeting to order without dispute.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
But beneath it, his poor face was whiter than snow;
He feigned a broad smile behind grim gritted teeth,
But the tension encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a kind face and a little round belly
But tonight he looked like a very nervous Nelly.
He tried to be friendly, an earnest young man,
While telling himself, “Yes, we can, yes, we can”;
But a glimpse of his eye and the cast of his head
Soon gave me to know he was trembling with dread;
He spoke not a joke, but went straight to his work,
And briefed all on the plan; then turned with a jerk,
And grabbing his bag with a shake of his head,
And giving a nod, out the front door he fl ed;
He sprang to his car, gave his driver
a whistle,
Away they all fled like the down
of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he
drove out of sight-
“If we don’t beat the Donald, for us
it’s goodnight!”
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Until next week–onward. And Merry Christmas!
Bill Kristol
