In 1968, Andy Warhol predicted that "In the future, everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes." How could he have foreseen this era of reality TV, where anyone who knows anyone gets to be a fleeting star? In this case, the star’s claim to fame is as the father of the baby of the daughter of the candidate who never became Vice President in 2008. His biography’s title, “Deer in the Headlights,” is quite appropriate, since he was apparently as dumbstruck as a daft young fawn during his rise into the national spotlight. There are some other animals he brings to mind: he's as cunning as a fruit-fly and as masterful as a gnat, to name a few. Portrayed as your prototypical Alaskan white boy, Johnston presumably emerged from the womb fully clad in camo, steering a monster truck with one hand and clutching a gun in the other. He is a self-proclaimed expert on all game animals of the Alaskan frontier, and likens his life experiences to tales of the hunt. Bristol Palin, for example, reminds him of a female black bear he closely encounters who refuses even to acknowledge his existence. Sarah Palin is like a sly black bear who snuck up to slaughter a hunter unsuspectingly enjoying the scenery on a bright Alaskan morning. Johnston compares himself to a studmuffin of a black bear, who piteously fell prey to hunters because of his naive failure at constant vigilance.
Johnston paints the Palin siblings as Narnian creatures, inhabiting a mystical home in the tundra, where countless young nymphs with charmed names, such as Bristol, Willow, Piper, Track and Trig, bound in and out of the household, where parental guidance is missing, and the domain is ruled by wild children. Todd Palin is an absentee dad, brooding solitarily in his garage until the wee hours when he stalks into the living room to pass out on an armchair. Sarah Palin permanently hides herself in her room, stampeding in and out of the children’s lives whimsically, only to brush off her daughter’s pleas for attention, order fast food for her hungry clan, label her youngest son "my little retard," or proclaim things like, “I hate this friggin’ job [as Governor of Alaska]! I should be making some real money!”
That this book is actually readable is testament that it was not independently written by the semi-literate high-school dropout who is named as sole author. His ghostwriters, to their credit, managed some authenticity by preserving the voice of the overconfident teenage would-be frat boy that likely represents Johnston’s true persona. Despite his cockiness, he is a bit endearing in his frankness; and sympathetic in his obvious inability to match the wiles of Palin’s teams of lawyers and PR crew. This book seemed, to be Johnston’s golden opportunity to relate his side of the story, and—most pointedly—to affirm Sarah Palin’s reputation as “the gift that keeps on giving.” The reader’s hilarity at the expense of Sarah, Bristol, or even Levi himself, won’t do any of these folks much harm. They have cashed in on their ridiculousness, and each one is laughing all the way to the bank.