At Long Last, “If I Did It” is Here
I really did think—naively, I guess—that this was over and done with, a triumph indicating at least an inkling of collective dignity, when Rupert Murdoch caved to outside pressure and pulled the thing from the presses. Oh but no. The … Read More
I really did think—naively, I guess—that this was over and done with, a triumph indicating at least an inkling of collective dignity, when Rupert Murdoch caved to outside pressure and pulled the thing from the presses.
Oh but no. The American people will get their "If I Did It", courtesy of—wait for it—Ron Goldman's family, which seized the manuscript in a lawsuit. Some of the proceeds will go to the Ron Goldman Foundation for Justice, apparently. The rest, to the devil.
I mean for God’s sake: they could have had a public ceremony and burned the thing. They could have kept it in a safe in a room in the basement. But no: the bullshit self-consuming therapeutic ethos that dominates so much contemporary fiction says: “the people must know”. For Ron’s sake. Because the truth—which, by the way, this isn’t—will set you (yes, You) free. Ah, closure. What dividends it pays to us poor among the living.
The idea that "exposing this confessional” to the rest of the world bravely—self-sacrificingly!— does justice to OJ's victims is so bogus it hurts. For starters, it is nothing the rest of America doesn’t already know, and know, and know. This is redundantly cruel, like a Shrek 3 with murder.
Anyhow, Timothy Noah has a multi-part review of the book’s actual merits:
"Sit back, people," O.J. writes on the book's first page. "The things I know, and the things I believe, you can't even imagine."
"And I'm going to share them with you. Because the story you know, or think you know—that's not the story. Not even close. This is one story the whole world got wrong."
By even half-considering the book seriously, as, you know, literature, Noah manages to send several frissons equal parts anger, disgust, and fear down your spine.