Racy Tales of a Fictional First Lady cause Red Faces in the White House” was
one headline, says Curtis Sittenfeld, laughing. “Then there was “Book to
Smear First Lady's Sex Life”. NBC said my bedroom scenes were too graphic to
print. In one poll 60 per cent of Americans said that the book shouldn't be
published.”
Sittenfeld refused to be deterred. The 33-year-old, who only half-jokingly
compares herself to a young Sylvia Plath, has written a novel based on the
placid Laura Bush that caused a sensation even before it was published. Word
leaked out that it contained repeated references to the President's “cute
little butt” and talked about the couple's inability to climax together.
Sittenfeld soon became the most Googled young author in America.
Now it has become a bestseller - but not just for the sex. You have to read
100 pages before you get to the First Lady's kiss with the future President.
There are, it's true, passages about oral sex. But it is far more
illuminating about political wives and fame than about anything that happens
in the White House bedroom.
The story, Sittenfeld admits, is taken unashamedly from that of Laura Bush,
who has always intrigued the author because she is so reticent about her
life. Hillary would be more obvious, particularly as Sittenfeld calls
herself a “flaming liberal”. Laura has rarely opened her mouth, except to
say that her favourite book is The Brothers Karamazov.
But this is what Sittenfeld admires. “I love Laura Bush,” she says. “In fact,
there is no figure I admire more. She seems so unpretentious and
down-to-earth. She prefers to fly on South West Airlines, the bargain
airline, and during formal events she sneaks outside to play with the dogs.”
The First Lady's popularity in the US is higher than the Queen's is in
Britain, which is why the book's steamy scenes have caused so much
controversy. “Laura does have the highest approval ratings of the Bush
Administration, yet she rarely makes herself available to the public,” says
Sittenfeld. “That's what is amazing about her. She is confident enough to
allow herself to come across as bland when her life has been so
extraordinary.”
American Wife is the tale of a Midwest girl, Alice, who kills her high
school sweetheart in a car crash when she is 17. Distraught, she leaves town
and becomes a librarian. Resigned to remaining a spinster, she buries
herself in children's books until, at 31, she meets an upper-class,
heavy-drinking charmer from a well-known Republican family at a barbecue.
Within six weeks he has proposed and she marries him. He eventually sobers
up, buys a baseball team and becomes President.
Sounds implausible? This is exactly what happened to Laura Bush. The only
difference is that Alice marries into a meatpacking empire while Laura
married into oil.
“Laura Bush has this incredible story that she has never talked about. She ran
a stop sign in Texas one night and killed the hero of her high school. It
must have been heartbreaking - yet she has only once mentioned it, and that
was to say that it must have been crushing for the family of the boy she
killed.” The author takes this story and adds her own twists. Alice has an
abortion, her grandmother is a lesbian and the librarian turns out to be far
from reserved in bed. It is easy to see why the White House has let it be
known that the First Lady has not read the book.
But Sittenfeld, who lives in St Louis, Missouri, wasn't trying to embarrass
her: “I really didn't want to be horrible. I talk about sex, but this is
about a woman's life and a 30-year marriage. It would be odd not to put some
of it in - of course they make love in different positions.
When you meet Sittenfeld, it is hard to believe that she has ever read a sex
scene. Dressed in black trousers and loose T-shirt and four months pregnant
with her first baby, she seems far too demure. Impeccably polite, she takes
me on a tour of St Louis after our interview, but we don't go anywhere
racier than her favourite children's bookstore and to buy Hallowe'en
chocolates. I certainly haven't done half the things in the book," she
says. "My life is quite mundane, there's a lot of waiting in for the
plumber."
At least 85 per cent of the story, Sittenfeld says, is fiction. “I borrowed
the outline but not the details. Laura Bush is reputed to smoke cigarettes
but I didn't put that in because to me it's not that interesting. This isn't
wink, wink, I know what Laura Bush thinks. It's meant to explore motives. If
you come to this book looking for gossip, you will be so disappointed.”
“What fascinated me more was the marriage of opposites. Laura was a Democrat
before she met George Bush. I don't think she ever dreamt of being First
Lady and I wondered whether she felt that she shared moral culpability for
her husband's policy decisions.”
Some Democrats have complained that Sittenfeld has made the fictional
President too endearing - he may be an alcoholic but he has a boyish charm
that makes you want to share a beer with him. “If I met him at some fancy
wedding, I think he would be a perfectly agreeable, entertaining dinner
companion. I don't think he is a moron or a monkey. I don't think he is
presidential material, but he does have some skills and charisma.”
It is the sex scenes that have enraged the Republicans. “The two characters
get married pretty quickly and their physical attraction is a big part of
their meeting. It makes the story more persuasive and comprehensive.
Sometimes I think it's a cop-out when sex is not in books or movies, when it
cuts to the morning with the sheet up around their shoulders. It's part of
life - anyway, it's awkward sex, not super-steamy.” But it's like reading
about the Queen having sex. “I suppose thinking of the President having sex
is a bit like thinking of your parents doing it. But I have wondered if some
of the reaction is because I am a young woman of 33. Roth and Updike can
describe a woman's breasts and no one bats an eyelid.” Sittenfeld admits
that she would feel extremely uncomfortable if anyone wrote a novel
exploring her marriage to Matt Carlson, a professor of communication at St
Louis University, “partly because I can't see why anyone would want to read
about it, and partly because I want to preserve the anecdote about how we
met for my own writing”.
Her first book, Prep, was based closely on her experiences as a pupil at an
elite East Coast private school. Sittenfeld, the second of four children,
was the only one who chose to go to Groton, in Massachusetts, from her town
in Ohio, and she wrote so mesmerisingly about class and status that it
became her first bestseller.
American Wife carries no political or moral message, she says, “but
it's about the way we make decisions when young that have extraordinary
consequences”. It paints a vivid picture of how an extremely bright,
likeable woman can remain deeply in love with a president who is dismissed
by many in his country as a buffoon.
Sittenfeld interviewed White House members of staff and aides of Hillary
Clinton to discover how Laura Bush's life changed in the White House. She
learnt some extraordinary details, such as “the time that Hillary and
Chelsea went to stay in a Third World country and they drained the swimming
pool for them so they could refill it with bottled water”. In the novel,
Alice finally takes a stand against the unpopular war that her husband is
waging.
“This book can't be distilled into a bumper sticker that says War is Wrong,”
she says. “The word Iraq never appears - but it would be fascinating to know
what Laura actually thinks about her husband's foreign policy.”
This is a question that Robert Harris asks of the heroine of his book Ghost,
which is based loosely on the Blairs. “Cherie Blair seems so different from
Laura, so much more like Hillary,” says Sittenfeld. “I laughed when I heard
about her mislaying her contraceptive device. I think that's more
embarrassing than me writing fiction. Then there is Carla Bruni - can you
imagine writing about her? She is almost shouting ‘I'm having sex with the
President'. She leaves nothing to the imagination.”
She pities them all. “It's a terrible job,” she says. “As First Lady you think
you can say 'I'd like a Cobb salad', but you probably end up eating whatever
is put in front of you. It's like being a child - you have to provide the
energy, show up and entertain, but you don't have much say in the day-to-day
running of your life.”
Her new heroine is Michelle Obama, who, unlike Mrs Bush, is happy to talk
about pantyhose and her husband's bad breath. “I interviewed her during the
Democratic convention. She had to give the same speech hundreds of times
over, and I said, ‘Don't you get bored?' and she said, ‘Yes, absolutely'.
She is so blunt. And she is very funny - she talks about her husband as ‘his
cute self'.”
But she recoils instinctively from Cindy McCain. “The media have been weirdly
critical of Michelle and given Cindy a free pass - she is not my kind of
heroine.”
Sarah Palin causes her even more grief. “Every time I watch Laura Bush going
in to bat for her, a little bit of me withers.” But surely Palin's story is
as remarkable as that of Laura Bush? “I can't imagine writing a novel where
I didn't respect the protagonist. It would inevitably be satire. The way I
see Sarah Palin is that she is not very intelligent but extremely confident
- that's the worst combination. It's hard to think of a public figure who I
find more off-putting. I read articles in which people say that they like
her because she reminds them of themselves. I want someone who is smarter
and more pulled-together than me, and better informed than me about world
affairs.”
Sittenfeld squirms as she admits: “I am related to people who will vote for
McCain. I don't belittle Middle America. Laura Bush typifies a kind of
Midwestern American woman who, because of when she came of age, didn't work
after she got married, who is affluent and who quietly contributes a lot to
her community. Many Midwesterners are quietly intelligent and poised.”
As First Lady, she says, Laura Bush “managed to get it right even though it's
clear that she never really wanted the job. Men are more consumed by the
idea of a legacy than women - most women don't care.”
Yet hasn't Sittenfeld compared herself to Sylvia Plath? “Only because I won
the same teen magazine fiction contest that she did. Everyone always
compares young American authors to her. I don't think about whether I will
be read after I die - I don't feel part of some literary set. I spend my
time here in St Louis; I've never lived in New York.”
What's more, she says, “I never thought I'd become famous for my sex scenes. I
only thought that my parents would mind. When I sent them a first draft for
Christmas, I cut out all the sexual references. My mother was pleased but I
think my father was rather disappointed.”
Born in Cincinnati, Ohio, Curtis Sittenfeld has become a surprise star of
the US literary world with her intelligent form of chick-lit.
Her first novel, Prep, was the sleeper hit of 2005 in America.
Critics were so convinced by the dialogue in this tale of a girl's
experience at an elite and highly competitive boarding school near Boston
that they wondered whether it was partly autobiographical. Sittenfeld came
to attention in the UK with her second novel, The Man of My Dreams,
which was shortlisted for the Orange prize. It examines the battle between
our personal choices and external forces, through the story of a young woman
called Hannah as she grows from a teenager into a young woman. American
Wife, her new novel, is the much-anticipated story of an ordinary young
woman who is swept off her feet and into the White House.
Extract: American Wife
Charlie emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, his
torso bare. Although the presidency has aged him, as it has aged all the men
who have held it - his hair is greyer now, his face more lined - he is still
extraordinarily fit and handsome. He comes over and kisses me on the nose.
“How'd I mess up the world today?”
“There's a Broadway production of The Glass Menagerie that got a
great review,” I say.
“What are they saying about Ingrid?”
In what I intend to be a neutral tone, I say, “They're mostly trying to gauge
her stance on abortion.” Ingrid Sanchez, Charlie's Supreme Court nominee,
was a US attorney in Michigan and then a judge for the US Court of Appeals
for the Sixth Circuit. She is a practicing Catholic and a lay ecclesial
minister of her local church, and though she has made no official statement
on the subject, she is widely assumed to be pro-life. She also appears to
have an impeccable record, and the fact that she's female makes protesting
her nomination trickier for women's groups, which isn't to say they're
staying quiet. Charlie's last appointee, the new Chief Justice whose
confirmation occurred in September 2006, is conservative as well, though his
views on abortion, even after his first term, remain ambiguous. If Ingrid
Sanchez is confirmed, it is possible that the Court will vote to overturn
Roe v Wade. While this makes me uncomfortable, the matter is not in my
hands, and it's scarcely as if Charlie doesn't know my views; the whole
country knows my views. Shortly before Charlie's first inauguration, the
anchor of a national morning news show asked if I thought abortion should be
legal and I said, “Yes”. Asked by the same anchor in 2004 whether I had
changed my mind, I said, “No”. Though I didn't expand on the topic in either
instance, both times the question was one I had agreed in advance to answer.
“Typical of the Times,” Charlie says, and his nostrils flare in
irritation. “Here Ingrid's got nearly three decades of legal and judicial
experience, and they've got to reduce it to one issue.”
“Sweetheart, I think that's to be expected. The Republicans are as curious as
the Democrats.” While Charlie [the President] reads no newspaper on a
regular basis, relying instead on briefings from his staff, his contempt for The
New York Times is particularly intense. This is ironic, given that in
the Eighties, when we were in Halcyon in the summers, he and Arthur would
drive an hour and twenty-five minutes to Green Bay to buy the Times Sunday
edition; they would call ahead to a grocery store to reserve their copy.
I push off the sheet and duvet and stand, wrapping my arms around Charlie and
inhaling the scent of his neck and shoulders. “You smell very clean,” I say.
I reach for the slim leather folder on his nightstand and open it. These
folders - an identical one is on my nightstand - contain our schedules for
the day. Before we go to bed, we each receive both our own and each other's.
On his plate today: intelligence and FBI briefings, a late-morning speech at a
conference for small-business leaders in Columbus, Ohio, a fundraising
luncheon in Buffalo, and a meeting with his economic advisers back in the
Oval Office this afternoon, before and after which he'll make calls on
Ingrid Sanchez's [Supreme Court nominee] behalf. Tonight at eight o'clock
there is a White House gala titled “Students and Teachers Salute Alice
Blackwell”, which I find quite embarrassing. As Hank reminded me when he got
me to agree to it in April, Charlie's approval ratings have dipped to 32 per
cent, while mine rest at 83 per cent; I am allegedly the second most admired
woman in the United States, just behind Oprah Winfrey. (Ridiculous as it is,
this ranking is hardly the most ridiculous aspect of my life.) “Reminding
Americans how much they love you reminds them they love the President,” Hank
told me. “You'll be taking one for the team, and all you have to do is show
up and pretend you have an ego like the rest of us.”
Charlie glances at his schedule, then pulls mine from beneath it. “You're not
travelling today, are you?”
I shake my head. “The breast-cancer panel is in Arlington.”
“A titty summit, huh?” Charlie grins. “Need any help performing a self-exam?”
“Get dressed.” I push him away and turn to make our bed, a habit I've been
told the maids find hilarious, but one I can't suppress. Prior to our
arrival over six years ago, the sheets in the residence were changed daily,
but I requested, so as not to waste water, that they be changed no more than
once a week, even for Charlie and me.
He reappears a few minutes later in a white Oxford shirt, a charcoal suit and
a red tie marked with tiny yellow dots. “You look nice,” I say.
“You excited to be the belle of the ball tonight?”
Drily, I say, “I'm beside myself.”
“You're not dreading it, are you? Lindy, you deserve to be recognised. People
have no idea how much you've done not just for the Administration but for
the country.”
This is a way of talking I don't care for, talking as you'd hope others might
talk about you, believing your press, or what you wish were your press.
Though in public I try to graciously accept both compliments and criticism,
in the privacy of my head I avoid giving myself credit for vague
achievements tied to my position - for being a role model, for showing
leadership - and at the same time, I don't blame myself for the broad
general failures for which I am held responsible by my detractors. To
others, I am a symbol; to myself, I have only ever been me.
I set my hands on Charlie's shoulders, and we lean in and give each other a
minty, toothpastey kiss. “Ella gets in around four, and I have to give a
tour to a third grade choir after that, but otherwise, I hope she and I will
get to relax,” I say. (That our daughter is coming home for tonight's gala
is, in my opinion, its main benefit; though I try not to crowd her, I adore
when she visits.) “If you want us to come and say hi, if you have a spare
minute, have Michael call up.”
“Wyatt's not coming with her?” Wyatt is Ella's boyfriend of a year and a half.
They both work as investment analysts at Goldman Sachs in Manhattan, and
Charlie likes to play tennis with Wyatt because Wyatt is good enough to be
challenging but not so good that Charlie can't have the pleasure of beating
a man half his age.
I say, “Well, Ella leaves again tomorrow, so it's such a short visit. Will you
have a good day today and be careful?” I say this to Charlie every morning.
You would think - I would have thought - there would be an entirely
different vocabulary that a President and a first lady would use, one that
encompassed the constant possibility of national or international disaster,
the weight of a country. And there's White House jargon - FLOTUS and pool
spray and “the football” - but it turns out that, for the most part, we make
do with the same words we've always used.
“I love you, Lindy,” Charlie says. It is six-twenty, and from here he will go
for breakfast in the Family Dining Room, where Hank and Debbie Bell, a
senior adviser, will be waiting for him; they meet daily and call themselves
the Oatmealers. From the dining room, Charlie will move on to the Oval
Office for his briefings and then go directly to the South Lawn for the
short ride on Marine One to Andrews Air Force Base and the longer plane
flight to Columbus. (Punctuality has been a major point of pride with
Charlie during both his administrations.)
He always reminds me in this early-morning moment of an actor going onstage,
an insurance salesman, or perhaps the owner of the hardware store who landed
the starring role in the community-theater production of The Music Man.
Oh, how I want to protect him! Oh, the outlandishness of our lives, familiar
now and routine, but still so deeply strange. “I love you, too,” I say.
© Curtis Sittenfeld 2008.
Extracted from American Wife, published by Doubleday at £11.99.
Available from Times BooksFirst for £10.79, free p&p:
0870 1608080, timesonline.co.uk/booksfirst
