Hillary Clinton's autobiography is the latest in a lucrative line ofpolitical memoirs. But few of them tell the real story, writes ShaneHegarty.
How much are a person's stories worth? Hillary Clinton was paid $8 million for hers. The first volume of her autobiography is out next month and will be, insist her publishers, a "complete and candid" account of her years in the White House. Will they be as candid as those of her husband? Bill Clinton has been given $10 million for a book expected on the shelves next year. Both books are sure to be a little spicier than the anecdotes of the man who had previously commanded a record fee, Pope John Paul II. The worldwide rights for His Holiness's memoirs were bought for $8.5 million in 1994.
The Clintons' publishers will be hoping to make their money back, but experience will make them nervous. Ronald Reagan (who received $8 million for his autobiography) and even Richard Nixon saw their books quickly moved to the bargain bin. In the UK especially, there is a growing expectation that everyone from the prime minister to the tea lady will put pen to paper.
Every prime minister since Churchill has published a personal account of their time in office. Margaret Thatcher earned £2 million for hers; John Major made £400,000 from his. "Some are actually quite good," says Dr Richard Aldous, lecturer in British history at University College Dublin. "They are guaranteed bestsellers. Even John Major, who was perceived as grey and dull when he was prime minister, wrote diaries that sold by the lorryload. There is always a fascination with politics, and there is a very English way of seeing politics primarily through personalities, while in Europe it tends to be more about ideas."
Given that they tend to be self-serving accounts, do historians really learn from them? "They are absolutely of value. Of course they're self-serving but, like all sources, a historian has to judge where the truth lies. Anyway, it's the very things that are in the shadows that are picked up. For instance, in the Alan Clark Diaries, his account of the sheer boredom of junior government life is fascinating."
Yet Clark's account of his sexual escapades made the headlines, and ask anyone about Edwina Currie's recent memoir, and it will be her affair with John Major that they remember. In order to recoup some of the money spent on the advance, publishers rely on lucrative newspaper serialisation deals, and scandals are what sell. "It's true that most writers don't want to talk about the things that the readers find interesting," says Dr Aldous. "The reader wants to know who hates who, who's sleeping with who and who shafted who. A prime minister might have an Olympian view of himself and may be worried about his place in history, but the publishers will be asking them to tell us about the scandals."
Which is one reason why political memoirs are almost exclusively written after the author has left office. Fergus Finlay wrote his account of his time as Labour spin doctor only after he'd left the party in 1997. He wasn't concerned about burning bridges at the time. "Not at all. I was unemployed." Of course, he didn't realise then that he would return as an adviser to Pat Rabbitte. "If I had known I would return to politics, I may have thought twice," he laughs.
His book, though, is a rare example of Irish political memoir. Sean Duignan's One Spin On The Merry-Go-Round is another fine account of the spin-doctor life, while Gemma Hussey's 1987 diaries were the first from the pen of a former minister. Eamon Delaney's The Accidental Diplomat, an account of his time as a third secretary in the Department of Foreign Affairs, proved a surprise bestseller. Garret FitzGerald, meanwhile, is the only taoiseach to have published memoirs. Fianna Fáil taoisigh have been conspicuously silent. It may be that there is no culture of diary writing here, suggests Finlay. Or maybe it's the restrictive libel laws. A diarist gets something wrong at their peril. "The laws of libel," he says, "cost me half my royalties."
Some might suggest that there are few Irish political memoirs because there is a long tradition of politicians losing their memory at crucial moments. Finlay suggests that, while every biography is a personal history, outrageous accounts would struggle to make the shelves. "Everyone sets out to be self-serving. They can't help it. Am I going to write a book in which I'm the villain of the piece? Of course not. Only nobody gets far with that approach, because editors and publishers won't let them. I don't think you can refer me to a political memoir that is utterly self-serving. Garret FitzGerald's is very honest, even if there are few moments where he says 'I really cocked up there'. Human instinct is not to do that, but most have to be honest or they'll get seen through straight away."
The bookshelves are not groaning with personal histories from the Arms Trial, the Beef Tribunal, the government scandals of the early 1990s or the peace process. There is a market for them. According to sources in the publishing industry, a Fianna Fáil connection does wonders for a memoir's value. In the current climate, P.J. Mara, if happy to burn his bridges, could expect a large six-figure sum for his anecdotes, with Des O'Malley on a similar level. Albert Reynolds would not be so valuable, with his account valued at about €50,000. Mary Robinson could expect maybe twice that. But what about the memoirs everyone would want to read? How much would Charlie Haughey's account command? "Any price," says one publishing source.
Presuming, of course, that it is a "complete and candid account".