George Orwell’s dictum that “the top of a book is the place where every bluebottle prefers to die” applies most of all to the political autobiography.

They usually weigh in at around 600 pages, providing enough space for an insect Forest Lawn. And the contents radiate enough boredom to send the flies more or less humanely to their eternal rest.

Self-satisfied, self-serving and complacent, occasionally enlivened by malice toward enemies, they inspire wonder that the politician’s career ever got off the ground.

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