Alec Douglas-Home always seemed like a dry, dull, anachronism, but his autobiography apparently sold very well, so I wondered whether he had some hidden depths behind that tweedy facade. Unfortunately, it was not the case--he's dull as dirt, and even though his book is much shorter than the autobiographies of many other past prime ministers, it still feels as though it takes an eternity to finish.
It's not that he has led an uninteresting life--far from it!--but he has a literary gift for making
Alec Douglas-Home always seemed like a dry, dull, anachronism, but his autobiography apparently sold very well, so I wondered whether he had some hidden depths behind that tweedy facade. Unfortunately, it was not the case--he's dull as dirt, and even though his book is much shorter than the autobiographies of many other past prime ministers, it still feels as though it takes an eternity to finish.
It's not that he has led an uninteresting life--far from it!--but he has a literary gift for making the extraordinary into the mundane. A man who accompanied Neville Chamberlain to Munich had nothing more to remark about it after the fact than the unusual nature of Adolf Hitler's gait! Sir Alec also decides it's a good idea to interrupt the unfolding tension of the chapters on World War II with a statement of his Christian faith as a form of witnessing. Even the chapters on foreign affairs, which are by far the meatiest part of his political career, are frustrating to get through, largely due to his patronising attitude toward Africa as well as towards his own domestic opponents in the Labour party (which he seems incapable of ever referring to by their party name; they are merely "the socialists").
Ol' Alec probably should've stuck to the grouse hunting and fly fishing, as his image probably did more to damage the Conservative party's electability in the 60s than any socialist plot ever did.
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