Never Enough
If you’re going to hide the body, try…actually hiding it.
I’ve read nearly everything Joe McGinniss has written. The Selling of the President is great, straight-ahead reporting; it has a new-journalism twist to it, I guess, but compared to, say, Tom Wolfe’s work from the same period, the writing is more grounded, and feels more concerned with the story than with what it itself is doing. That same quality is what makes Fatal Vision a titan in the true-crime genre. Most true crime is written adequately at best, so McGinniss is already ahead of the game skills-wise, but his real talent is for bringing the reader carefully along with him to a conclusion, not trying to stay above the facts but putting his audience into his story and into his process of forming a theory. In the case of Fatal Vision, that caused some controversy, but I think the best work in true crime doesn’t pretend not to have an opinion. Cruel Doubt is another gripper, in no small part because McGinniss makes it clear — subtly, without rancor, but still clear — that he thinks Chris Pritchard is a little fuck-knuckle.
In Never Enough, by contrast, McGinniss doesn’t seem engaged with the material. Your opinion of whether a true-crime writer should draw conclusions based on the evidence, and/or make them clear to the reader, may differ from mine; maybe you think a dispassionate recounting of facts in evidence is preferred, and that’s fine, but I do think the writing suffers if the author is merely laying out timelines and data without committing to a presumption of guilt or innocence. It isn’t a court of law; the author isn’t required to remain impartial, and the story flows better if s/he isn’t. It’s quite apparent here, at least, because McGinniss’s diction is remote, choppy and flat both. The sentence structure doesn’t vary much. Towards the beginning, it’s like he’s going for some kind of Hemingway rhythm, but it’s poorly suited to the material. When McGinniss cares about the story and has an interest in rendering his considered opinion with a fullness, it’s a completely different reading experience, but this reading experience is a lengthy, subpar-Vanity Fair-story effort — and if McGinniss had taken a strong position on Nancy Kissel (almost harder not to do, given what we’re told about her), the quality of the narrative would have taken a huge stride forward.
As it is, Never Enough is comparatively rushed; it seems thoroughly enough researched, but McGinniss doesn’t take his usual care in setting the scene. The second murder the book discusses isn’t really “discussed” so much as submitted perfunctorily. The events in question took place relatively recently, but I’d rather have read a more considered account in a couple of years’ time than one that feels like a half-baked book-contract obligation. It’s rather boring, in the end, because McGinniss appears to have been rather bored by writing it. I can’t blame him for that — the outline of the story is quite familiar, because the “dissatisfied, gilded-caged wife is materialistic harpy, cheats on and then kills hard-charging super-rich husband” plot is a staple of the genre, and there’s only so much new to say about it — but he’s the ranking name in the field, and I expected better.
Tags: books
The only McGinniss I’ve read, “The Miracle of Castel di Sangro” suffered from the opposite problem – he was too engaged with the story. Inspired by the soccer team in a small rural area of Italy that amazingly qualified to play in the 2nd level of Italian soccer, McGinniss moved to Castel di Sangro for an entire soccer season to follow the team. He became friends with the players, went on some road trips with the team, and the story wound up being as much about McGinness as the team (along the lines of say, Peter Mayles, “A Year in Provence”). This did not present a problem with the storytelling for most of the book – it was quite endearing.
However, when he stumbled into the conclusion that the team had thrown the last game of the season upon likely orders from higher up (based on very convincing circumstantial evidence), the book takes a turn for the worse – not from the subject matter directly, but McGinness’s reaction to the subject matter. He responded with such vitriol, both in his writing, and vocally to the players he’d previously befriended as if he alone were the Nancy Grace-all-knowing-arbiter-of-right-and-wrong. I’m not justifying the throwing of the soccer match – that’s indefensible – but McGinness chopped up all his bridges, doused them in an entire Venezuelan day’s worth of gasoline production, lit it, and then nuked them from orbit just to be sure. His righteous indignation poisoned the last few chapters of the book, and there is no attempt to be an impartial observer reporting on the season.
He’d come to believe so much in the team, that his reaction to the corruption went well beyond “Say it ain’t so, Joe!” He lashed out at the players in person, and presumably months later in print, and the mental disconnect is right there for all to see. The same material would have been much better presented either with an attempt at being somewhat impartial, or with editorializing, but a year later after he’d had time to take himself out of the moment and not treat the fixed match as such a personal affront.
“that he thinks Chris Pritchard is a little fuck-knuckle.”
Lately you have been giving me all these new things to say!
I might sit this one out. I’m a fan from way back. (you should SEE my copy of Fatal Vison, it is literally falling apart) As a fan of the genre Joe M. has always been my favorite and I think you accurately describe why. One reason for my Fatal Vison love is that I love the transformation that you go through in the book along with him. From wondering to knowing for sure, however sure you can ever be about an event that you were not present for. Did you ever watch the movie? I loved the casting. I’m surprised that I could ever enjoy Gary Cole in comic roles after that. He was so good as the charming evil guy.
I’ve also recently been re-reading some Wambaugh. The Onion Fields was a paticular favorite.
Man, I agree. What happened to the McGinniss this true-crime junkie loves? Booooooring. I honestly don’t think it was a great case for him. Ann Rule chooses much better crimes.
And I must say, Jerry Bledsoe’s BLOOD GAMES is a better version of the Pritchard murder. Henderson/Upchurch were more interesting than Pritchard/Von Stein, I think.
I liked Blood Games too, but not as much as Cruel Doubt…although half the fun of that book, for me, is the faint contempt that perfumes every description of Chris (and Angela).
My favorite McGinniss book is Blind Faith about sociopath Rob Marshall (father-in-law of Tracey Gold). Great book about a horrible, horrible man, who, btw, is eligible for parole — even after being given the death penalty — in 2014.