Monica Lewinsky, the former White House intern whose affair with then-President Bill Clinton paralyzed the nation, has been shopping a memoir for several weeks, and according to the New York Post, she has apparently sold it for $12 million to an unnamed publisher. I suppose I could be disappointed that we're still so trash-obsessed that Lewinsky, who already cooperated with celebrity gossipmonger Andrew Morton for a 1999 book called Monica's Story, can command an advance that knocks at the door of the $15 million one Clinton himself pulled down for his autobiography, My Life. I could be depressed for a publishing industry that has so few ideas that it's going back to the same old well. But mostly I feel bad for Monica Lewinsky.
Right, OK, she's making $12 million. But I do pity a woman who, at 39, has apparently reconciled herself to the idea that she's never going to be someone other than the woman who gave a blow job to the president of the United States. The hook for Lewinsky's book is reportedly going to be letters she sent to Clinton that apparently she retained copies of and that apparently reveal that Clinton complained about his sex life with Hillary. None of this is surprising or even terribly interesting.