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About three weeks ago, when it was abundantly clear that there was really no way for Hillary to clinch the nomination, she reminded me of George W. Bush soon after Florida 2000 -- the loser who refused to concede. To quote Joan Didion in her marvelous early essay, "Goodbye to the All That," Hillary had stayed too long at the fair. Weeks later, as candidate Clinton's stubbornness sinks in, defying Howard Dean's, Patrick Leahy's, and even Nora Ephron's pleas to take a respectable powder, the comparisons just keep coming. Josh Marshall was reminded of the eternally optimistic Mr. Micawber in David Copperfield, who kept hoping that "something would turn up" to rescue him from debt. Sticking with the 19th century for the moment, today I'm thinking of Melville's Bartleby the Scrivener, whose only answer to every request was, "I would prefer not to."
But as the days and weeks -- and months -- drag on until the convention, to which Hillary has vowed to schlep her losing streak, I fear the comparisons will become much less flattering. (What, you might ask, could be less flattering than George Bush after Florida 2000? George Bush full stop.) Though the Clintons spend a good chunk of their marriage living in separate places, they seem romantically united in their quest to go down with the sinking ship, even if the rest of us drown along with them. (Alas, this too sounds like GWB going into Iraq, but that's a disaster for another day.)
With their negatives rising and her poll numbers plunging, before long Hillary and Bill may begin to invite comparisons that we Dems would have never imagined affixing to two such truly intelligent people. But the longer they overstay their welcome, and the longer they obstruct the party's ability to unite and defeat McCain, the more they will be reviled, ridiculed, and Ralph Naderized -- which is to say, despised for putting their narcissistic needs before their professed concern for the welfare of the country -- for claiming to want to get up every day and solve our problems. Never mind answering the hotline at 3 a.m.
How long will it be before Hillary's quixotic quest will be likened to her husband's refusal to admit to having sex with "that woman," even as dozens of his staff members were hauled into court and grand juries at their own expense? How long before Hillary's delusional behavior will start to look like Britney's wigged-out public displays before her parents got her to the psych ward? Anyone have a date in mind for when we might start thinking that Bill Clinton reminds us of Bill O'Reilly, a deluded loudmouth who is paid attention to only because of the extreme foolishness of what he has to say? Out of boredom and rage, we'll be combing the cultural landscape for comparisons, just you wait. Paris Hilton, Anna Nicole Smith, the 400-pound Marlon Brando -- this could get ugly sooner than you can say "a majority of superdelegates."
It pains me to say these things about the Clintons. I voted for both of them. I've defended both of them against attacks from every side. But it's impossible to defend them in this losing quest. They are like drug addicts in your midst: at some point, the only choice you have is to kick them out of the house. Like Bush himself, they seem locked into a pattern of magical thinking that can only lead us, metaphorically speaking, straight into Baghdad.
Elizabeth Benedict's books include the novels Almost, The Practice of Deceit, and Slow Dancing, and the classic writers' resource, The Joy of Writing Sex: A Guide for Fiction Writers. For a copy of her recent essay, "What I Learned About Sex on the Internet," please click here. She is currently teaching writing at Barnard College.
Posted April 1, 2008 | 11:10 AM (EST)