Michael Wolff and the Death Rattle of Trumpophobia

Maybe the foolish book “Fire and Fury” by Michael Wolff isn’t just another shot at Trump, but a death rattle. Here is Conrad Black:

He has shamed the sane opponents of Trump into separating from the bloodless assassin.

Having encountered Michael Wolff and having had an acidulous public exchange with him, I attest that he is an utterly odious man. He can’t write properly, has no professional integrity, and is a sociophobic mud-slinger and myth-maker. His entry into the continuing Trump controversy in its twilight proclaims that we have reached the era of the swiftly evaporating, nausea-inducing nothingburger. And yet, in what will surely prove the one civically useful thing Wolff will have done in his adult life, he has performed almost the final evisceration of the throbbing pustule of deranged Trumpophobia. His book is so overtly and egregiously false, so completely worthless as an account of what is happening in the White House, the respectable elements of Trumpophobia are finally taking to the lifeboats. They can no longer do boat drill with, and wear the same uniform as, the psychotics, the displaced crooks and decayed servitors of Clintonia, and the violent riff-raff of the extreme Left and Right.

Attempting to mind-read Michael Wolff is a task for a rare specialist of psycho-zoology, a field where I have no standing, but I suspect he thought he could play a role in administering a death blow to the Trump administration. Instead he has produced a work of such filth that he delighted and exploited the politically insane elements of anti-Trumpism, picking their pockets while leading them into the no-go zone of claiming the president is an idiot, a lunatic, and a belligerent menace. Instead of taking the headship of an accelerating dump-Trump movement, Wolff shamed the sane opponents of Trump into separating from the bloodless assassins, the Carl Bernsteins and Maxine Waterses, and into beginning to reconstitute themselves as a loyal opposition. The initial enthusiasm for the Wolff demonography, replete with polite references to Steve Bannon, formerly represented as the puppet-master of the Trump dunciad, gave way to cooler heads recognizing that the game was up.

Read more: National Review

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