The First Gentleman, by Bill Clinton and James Patterson, imagines a woman we recognize in the White House. She’s tough and savvy, with a sharp tongue and a sharper mind. Her husband, the First Gentleman, is a charmer with a lot of political acumen who helps her behind the scenes. He’s also a former football star who played for the New England Patriots. The body of a cheerleader dead 17 years has been found, and he stands accused of murder.
The First Gentleman is billed as a thriller, but I wouldn’t call it thrilling. The plot is twisty and laced with complicated intrigue. There are about 1000 minor one-dimensional characters. The courtroom drama wouldn’t pass muster on Law and Order. The language of the book suggests that it was written by aging boomers… reporters are “pesky”, opportunities are “golden,” and “no-name muckrakers” threaten to undermine everything the president has been working towards. But the winner is: “This, Maddy [the president] thinks, is our last chance to turn lemons into lemonade. If we don’t, we’ll all be sucking lemons.” Who is editing this?
Still, it was a fascinating read, for the reason you suspect: one of the names on the cover.
I felt absolutely immersed in Clinton’s imagination. The pudgy saxophone player is a football star with all the right moves. His wife – the president – loves him beyond measure, as he loves her. The First Gentleman might not be perfect in these pages, but his wife is. Even with her husband on trial, she’s able to bring the Grand Bargain to the American people: a plan to save the country from imminent and existential financial collapse. She is triumphant, and they stand united – she and her husband – in their love.
Why would you read this? Only – I think – because it is so poignant. How often is someone so honest about the deepest yearnings of their heart? I wonder what Hilary thinks of the book.
***
The Rest of Our Lives by Ben Markovits, also a meditation on marriage, moved me far more deeply as a work of art.
Tom Layward has just taken his youngest daughter to college in Pennsylvania. Instead of returning home to New York, he keeps driving. He hadn’t planned on that at all – he didn’t even bring a change of clothes – though perhaps some part of him did. His wife had an affair years earlier, and the thought had been percolating in his mind ever since that he would leave her after their youngest daughter went to college.
Tom visits several people on his drive from the East coast to the West – his brother, an old girlfriend, a client. He buys a change of clothes at Walmart. He plays some pick-up basketball. He talks to himself. His final destination is his son’s apartment in California.
Something strange is going on with his health, though he keeps ignoring the symptoms. Is he going to drop dead? Is he going back to his wife and his life – or will this be the turning point in his journey?
I can’t remember the last time I was so taken with the mystery of it all. What is he going to do with the rest of his life?
The Booker Prize judges liked it too, short-listing it in 2025: “It’s matter of fact, effortlessly warm, and it uses the smallest parts of human behaviour to uphold bigger themes, like mortality, sickness, and love. It is a novel of sincerity and precision. We found it difficult to put it down.”
***
A field of peonies in Chapel Hill, NC… can you imagine the fragrance?
