By George Stephanopoulos
All Too Human is a new-generation political memoir, written from the fresh point of view of 1 who obtained his palms at the levers of remarkable energy at an early age. At thirty, the writer was once at invoice Clinton's aspect in the course of the presidential crusade of 1992, & for the following 5 years he used to be hardly ever greater than a step clear of the president & his different advisers at each very important second of the 1st time period. What Liar's Poker did to Wall road, this publication will do to politics. it's an irreverent & intimate portrait of ways the nation's weighty company is performed through humans whose egos & idiosyncrasies aren't any sturdier than a person else's. together with sharp images of the Clintons, Al Gore, Dick Morris, Colin Powell, & ratings of others, in addition to candid & revelatory bills of the recognized debacles & triumphs of an management that consistently went excessive, All Too Human is, like its writer, a super mixture of pragmatic perception & idealism. it really is destined to be crucial & enduring e-book to come back out of the Clinton management.
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Moreover, our family had grown in Cochabamba. Family legend has it that I tried to see the arrival in this world of the first daughter, Wanda, born to Uncle Lucho and Aunt Olga, by spying on her birth from one of the tall trees in the front patio, from which Uncle Lucho hauled me down by one of my ears. But that must not be true, since I don’t remember it, or if it’s true, I didn’t manage to find out very much, because, as I’ve already said, I left Bolivia convinced that children are ordered from heaven and brought into the world by storks.
When it got dark, I stretched out on the back seat, pretending to be asleep. But I was wide awake, my head and my soul focused on what they were whispering. ” “We’ll call them from Chiclayo,” the man who was my papa volunteered. We arrived at Chiclayo just at first light and there was nothing to eat at the hotel, but I didn’t care, because I wasn’t hungry. They were, though, and bought crackers, which I didn’t touch. They left me in a room by myself and locked themselves in the one next door. I spent what was left of that night with my eyes open and my heart pounding with fear, trying to hear a voice, a sound from the adjoining room, dying with jealousy, feeling that I was the victim of a monstrous act of betrayal.
At times I found myself retching in disgust, overcome by an infinite loathing, imagining that my mama might be in there doing those filthy things with that stranger that men and women did together to have children. ” I stammered. ” he answered. “Shouldn’t a son be with his father? Shouldn’t he live with his father? What do you think? ” He said this in a quiet voice that I heard him use for the first time, with a cutting tone, emphasizing every syllable, which was soon to instill more fear in me than the sermons on hell given us by Brother Agustín when he was preparing us for first communion, there in Cochabamba.
All Too Human by George Stephanopoulos