Spooky

Who'd have guessed that all of the writing, editing, fact-checking, printing and so on would happen to be completed a couple of weeks before a national election. But things have a way of working out for Bob Woodward. Michael Ledeen explains why you don't hear much from serious people about Bob anymore:

There doesn't seem to be much interest in Woodward's book here [at National Review], and for good reason. Anyone who thinks he knows what other people are thinking, especially in situations he didn't witness—which is after all what most all Woodward books are all about—is not to be taken seriously. I haven't read a Woodward book since I reviewed his thing on Casey, which famously contained an account of a sort of conversation he claimed he had with the stroke-stricken director of central intelligence in the hospital. Woodward was scheduled to go on Nightline, and earlier that day Ted Koppel called me and asked what I would ask Woodward. "Ask him to describe the room," I said. "You know, what was Casey wearing? Were there lots of flowers? What color were his pajamas, that sort of thing..." And Koppel did. And Woodward froze, deer-in-the-headlights. Then he said he couldn't discuss it because it would "reveal sources."

He couldn't discuss it because he wasn't there. He was the source himself.

I'm not going to read this one either.

It must be a crushing distraction for Woodward to have the inner lives of everyone around him constantly crowding out his own thoughts and feelings. There are, however, ways of dealing with such problems.