It’s called What Happened, full-stop, and the words are plastered on a blue-and-white cover with a yellow border that just screams “I rock monochromatic pantsuits and will gladly explain my middle east policy for you in excruciating detail.”
At first glance, I thought it was a pretty sad title for a memoir about a period of time that will probably come to define Clinton’s legacy. (And it’s a great legacy! You know, for the most part...)
But then I read it a different way. And a different way. And a different way. And now I’m not really sure what the hell it means.
Here, see for yourself...
You can almost hear the exasperated sigh that comes after the word “happened” when you read it this way. You get the sense with this one that she’s still replaying the events in her head, out there in a cabin in the woods, trying to figure out where she went wrong. This is probably the most pathetic read.
Second-most pathetic. This is the title you’d read if you believe Hillary Clinton is still in a shell-shocked daze. Which I don’t. Which is kind of amazing, isn’t it?
"No, really, what the fuck happened?! How is this fucking lunatic president? Am I losing my goddamn mind? Bill? Bill?” [Picks up a pen and begins writing maternity leave legislation just to calm herself down.]
Defiant. Weirdly excited. A little too proud for a book about being on the wrong end of the biggest political upset in the history of the United States.
Simple question, setting up a straightforward answer—laid out in what I can only imagine is rigid, voiceless prose for 512 pages.
Dry. Emotionless. A robotic regurgitation of facts. In other words, probably the most true to Hillary.
If you read it with distinct emphasis on both words, it’s like saying words that taste bad in your mouth. Try it. See? Yucky. This feeling is a kissing cousin to disbelief. But with the acidic aftertaste of vomit.
Ugh. That’s the one.