By Bill Minutaglio and W. Michael Smith
For those not familiar with her, Molly Ivins was a Texan daughter of privilege who rose through the ranks of newspaper and political journalism (including the Minneapolis Tribune) before becoming a successful nationally syndicated columnist. She died of cancer in 2007.
This is typical of her statements:
"The thing about democracy, beloveds, is that it is not neat, orderly, or quiet. It requires a certain relish for confusion."
Molly Ivins is a personal hero of mine. Despite not always agreeing with her exact politics, her passion and sense of justice were undeniable. Her columns in the fallout after 9/11, when Bush somehow had 90 percent approval ratings, were a small light in the dark of unending war and cynical manipulations of fear. I'd bet that her final column, dictated to an assistant as she was racked by cancer, will bring tears to your eyes.
This recently released biography is an exhaustive chronological examination of Ivins, using letters, friends, and published writings. It guides us from her grandparents, through her revolt against her privileged upbringing as the daughter of a Texas oil man (sound familiar?), to her
position as one of the most popular columnists in the country. It really is a well-researched book that keeps Ivins' memory alive. I'd recommend it to anyone curious about her upbringing or path through journalism.
Despite the attention to detail and thrown-in curse words, what the book fails to do is capture the spirit of Molly Ivins.
It's interesting to see her high school elitism as she dabbles with Ayn Rand and a patrician
boyfriend, but it's only consequential as far as it builds the woman she becomes. The writers
spend much time analyzing Ivin's relationship with her father, attributing her activism to him and his bourgeois Texan values. And they sketch lines between Ivins and G.W. Bush, one of h
er main subjects in later life.
Essentially, it argues that the epic Texan Molly Ivins was a conscious creation (a difficult argument to prove considering we all play a hand in forging our identities). With all the time spent exploring her background, the book should instead be called "A Rebel Aristocrat."
But I'm reminded of stories that journalism elders passed down from Ivin's days at the
Minneapolis Tribune. I've been told she was a police reporter who dug in the muck enough for
the MPD to name their annual pig at their pig roast after her. I was told of her glee at the honor. The book tells instead of her testifying in court against police for her then-activist boyfriend. It strikes me that much of her myth was created by people who knew her through
stories like these-- yes, with some contexts smudged-- but these myths were themselves a testament to her character.
What I miss about this book is Molly's passion, her optimism, and her distrust of authority. While this book documents the details of her life and attempts to psychologically analyze her, a focus on the values to which she dedicated her existence would better have fit the title, "A Rebel Life."
This is a very interesting story of Molly's life. Thanks a lot for the post and for the book recommendation, I'm sure to read it!
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