Murdoch, by Definition

One of the hardest words in the English language to successfully use is the word "fulsome." What makes it such a difficult word is the fact that since the 13th century, a number of definitions have been attached to it, with connotations that run from the benign to the toxic. Currently, the word has five meanings: 1) offensive to good taste, esp. as being excessive; overdone or gross; 2) disgusting; sickening; repulsive; 3) excessively or insincerely lavish; 4) encompassing all aspects; comprehensive; and 5) abundant or copious. Typically, writers get into trouble when they use it in the benign way -- somewhere out there, someone is going to read it the wrong way, and impute something more sinister. It's a word that's best avoided in nearly every possible case, save one.

When used in reference to Rupert Murdoch, it's altogether perfect.

And if there was any doubt of this, it's been well nigh dispelled by an article in the New York Times, "Murdoch Reaches Out for Even More." The article, engagingly written by Jo Becker and meticulously reported on and researched by Ms. Becker along with Richard Siklos, Jane Perlez, and Raymond Bonner, captures Murdoch at his most base as well as his most dignified. As a man who foments his poisonous opinions in one moment, only to charm the people he's insulted into becoming partners the next. As a master manipulator who's best trick is the way he gets other parties to do most of the manipulating. As an "eighteenth century" man kicking the twenty-first century's ass. In short: a man who's fulsomeness, is fulsomely described.

That Murdoch's editorial output is frequently "offensive to good taste" and "excessive" is not particularly surprising. One need only be aware of the existence of The New York Post. Similarly, that Murdoch engenders feelings of disgust and repulsion has also been made abundantly clear. Since Murdoch first set his sights on obtaining Dow Jones, scores of editorials have been published by those who fundamentally cannot stand the thought of what the man might do to the delicate maidenhead of the Wall Street Journal.

The Times piece does an outstanding job at clarifying the gains Murdoch has historically made by working that third definition of fulsomeness. Of particular interest is the way Murdoch has leveraged Harper Collins as an engine for empire building -- quite literally lavishing money on powerbrokers in order to insincerely manipulate outcomes. Murdoch showered Senator Trent Lott in Harper Collins monies, offering Lott a quarter-million dollar advance on a book that completely fulfilled its destiny of being a tepid seller. A poor investment? Not when you consider that when Murdoch needed a little regulatory wiggle room where media ownership rules were concerned, Lott -- a man with the reputation for being a media consolidation watchdog--came through with the "just enough" that Murdoch needed.

Or, consider that when Murdoch caught wind that a technological advancement at Nielsen Media Research was going to negatively impact his bottom line, he brought in the Glover Park Group, well known as "a consulting firm with deep ties to the Clinton administration" to fight his battle on the grounds that Nielsen's new system "was faulty and that it undercounted minorities." You'd be hard-pressed to describe Murdoch as a civil-rights leader, but, once again, a little lavish spending won a slew of strange bedfellows, and the insincere angle taken in opposition to Murdoch's problem allowed him to win at his sincere objective.

These are just some of the battles, some of the tactics, that the Times piece details. But even with these few examples, that essential picture of Murdoch starts to emerge: he is a man who has truly set his mind to "encompassing all aspects." He's willing to cast aside the conservative politics he's famed for at a moment's notice. He's won to his side people who he had previously disparaged (the Times makes good note of how his relationship with the Clintons has changed since the days of the Post referring to Bill as the "former horndog-in-chief"). He'll even sacrifice potential properties in order to curry favor -- such as a well-known instance in which he cancelled a book that was "critical of Chinese Communist leaders" in order to "protect his Chinese business interests." (Frankly, after reading the article, one wonders if Murdoch greenlit that book, just so he could reap the benefit of killing it.)

That's where this Times piece leaves you: with the image of a man who is calmly playing a game of chess while his opposition is trying to counter him with a fistful of checkers. The article is unsparing -- you're getting the dirt, viewing the manipulations, recognizing the deceptions. And yet, after reading it, you'd be hard pressed to think of his bid for Dow Jones being anything other than inevitable.

Former Journal film critic Julie Salamon describes her reaction to Murdoch's desire to one day own the Journal -- insight gained from a chance encounter with Murdoch -- as initially "preposterous." But later, she confesses, "I went home with a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach, like this guy might actually do it." One imagines that there are many people experiencing that same troubling gastric malady, as it would appear that Rupert Murdoch is poised to become more "abundant and copious" than ever before.

Fulsome. If the word didn't exist, Rupert Murdoch would have forced us to invent it.

Maybe he did.

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