Dirty Harry with a Notebook
The Pelican Brief By John Grisham Running Mates By John Feinstein The Murder of Albert Einstein By Todd Gitlin
Book review by
Carl Sessions Stepp
Carl Sessions Stepp (cstepp@umd.edu) began writing for his hometown paper, the Marlboro Herald-Advocate in Bennettsville, South Carolina, in 1963, after his freshman year in high school. He studied journalism at the University of South Carolina, where he edited The Gamecock. After college, he worked for the St. Petersburg Times and the Charlotte Observer before becoming the first national editor at USA Today in 1982. In 1983, he joined the University of Maryland journalism faculty full time. In the ensuing 30 years, he also has served as senior editor and book reviewer for AJR, writing dozens of pieces. He has been a visiting writing and editing coach for news organizations in more than 30 states.
The Pelican Brief
By John Grisham
Doubleday
372 pages; $22.50
Running Mates
By John Feinstein
Villard Books
242 pages; $19
The Murder of Albert Einstein
By Todd Gitlin
Farrar Straus Giroux
240 pages, $22
They lie to editors, deceive sources and pose
as people they aren't. They pick locks and fistfights, pack pistols and
shoot it out with villains. And, naturally, they have sensational sex lives.
These are reporters — at least reporters as they're
portrayed in several recent novels.
Novels are, of course, fiction. Authors are supposed
to make things up. So it won't do to get too sanctimonious about besmirching
a noble profession.
Still, after reading several current novels that
feature reporters, I began pondering whether the collective portrayal of
journalists reflects some cultural stereotypes and, if so, what larger
impact it might be having on the public and the press.
One-time lawyer John Grisham has leaped atop bestseller
lists with "The Pelican Brief," a page-turner about a law student and a
Washington Post reporter caught up in the assassinations of two U.S. Supreme
Court justices.
As a novel, it's a compelling if formulaic suspense
tale, full of double-dealing and high adventure. Among the double-dealers
is reporter Gray Grantham, described as "a serious, ethical reporter with
just a touch of sleaze." Just enough sleaze, in fact, to get a key source
murdered.
In one early scene, the jittery source calls Grantham
from a pay phone and makes him swear not to trace or tape the call. But
after the source hangs up, the reporter immediately locates the pay phone
by using a version of caller identification.
He assigns a photographer to watch the phone,
the photographer snaps the source's picture, and Grantham shows it around.
Before you can say Deep Throat, the source winds up, as they say in the
mystery game, on the slab.
People also die in John Feinstein's "Running Mates,"
and it's a reporter who pulls the trigger.
Feinstein, a former Washington Post reporter who
has written several fine nonfiction books, has a wise-guy, elbows-out style
that, as fiction, is engaging. The improbable but thoroughly enjoyable
story line has a couple of state capital reporters chasing down wackos
who assassinate a governor of Maryland.
Wisecracking, two-fisted reporter Bobby Kelleher
routinely lies his way past dull-witted security guards, makes love to
a source, beats up one thug and guns down another.
Feinstein seems to be both wickedly sending up
newsroom politics (the editors come across as slightly less treacherous
than the murderers) and deliciously avenging himself on every two-bit politician
who ever crossed him.
Social critic Todd Gitlin tries something more
ambitious in "The Murder of Albert Einstein," a philosophical if slow-moving
story featuring TV journalist Margo Ross.
The plot has Ross pursuing evidence Einstein was
poisoned. Gitlin's writing seems self-conscious and sluggish compared to
that of yarn-spinners such as Grisham and Feinstein.
But he, too, manages to produce a reporter protagonist
who lies to her sources, stiffs her editor, and incapacitates a bad guy.
"A journalist breaks down doors," Gitlin has one
character say. "That's a violent act... That's why doors are closed in the
first place. The question is which doors, and in whose interest."
I don't want to jump these authors for roughing
up the image of journalists. Their characters appear no worse than the
standard depictions of reporters in fiction and film.
Maybe that's what worries me. There's a danger
that this image will take hold: the renegade, no-holds-barred journalist-as-enforcer,
Dirty Harry and Harriet with notebooks, cynical, self-obsessed, unaccountable
to anyone and all but unable to maintain civil relationships with normal
people.
To the degree that we perpetuate this macho swaggering,
don't we egg on a public less and less tolerant of using the First Amendment
to cover lying, cheating and thieving? Someday soon, the answer to the
age-old question, "Whodunit?," may become:
We did. To ourselves.
Briefly..
Watergate in American Memory,by Michael
Schudson (Basic Books, 269 pages, $24). The astute sociologist Schudson
provocatively re-examines myths and mysteries embedded in Americans' memories
of Watergate. In his chapter on the press, he calls Watergate the "unavoidable
central myth of American journalism." Among his conclusions: Watergate
did not, as is often claimed, spawn a great rush of youth into journalism;
it hastened the trend toward "celebrification" of journalists; and it played
a role in the "rise of prurient reporting." If you read nothing else in
this book, search out the spellbinding quote from Washington Post Executive
Editor Leonard Downie Jr., who captures in an interview with Schudson the
exquisite agonies and bedlam that accompanied the paper's Watergate effort.
The Age of Missing Information, by Bill
McKibben (Random House, 262 pages, $20). McKibben has done something truly
stupefying: He arranged to tape every minute of television broadcast by
a nearly 100-channel Virginia cable system. And then he watched it, more
than a thousand hours, including the stunt on "Super Sloppy Double Dare"
where a team, which failed to answer a question about Tom Sawyer, had to
"turn themselves into 'human tacos' by pouring vats of guacamole on their
heads." After a contrasting day of solitude in nature, McKibben meditates
on how obsession with television blinds us to the messages of the "realer
world." ###
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