We see very little of them anymore, we hear from them even less these days…but occasionally, their once immediately recognizable faces reappear, as if by means of some magical force, from oblivion. They make their brief appearances on the internet news feeds, the TV screens, or for those who still subscribe, the back pages of the international section of the newspaper.
They are the ones we vaguely remember electing long ago, the ones Andrew Marr so brilliantly reminds us are now living on the backside of the political lifecycle, one that looks something like this:
“First, you know nothing – but they like you. Then, second, you know stuff, but by then they hate your guts.”
They are the ones who once fumbled through the political minefields themselves, years ago when they too groped in the darkness to find the levers of power, then when learning to operate the levers, the ones needed to steer the political machine in the direction of their goals and desires, it’s then that another unfortunate development is already taking shape…
Usually, its by this time, just when those in power have learned how to pull the levers, just as they have recovered from earlier mistakes, their gaffes having sufficiently faded in the distance…its right about then that these politicians have irrevocably fallen out of favor with the people they govern. They are already shunned by the very same people who looked favorably at them when they were the “know nothing” fresh faces. Shortly after this reality takes hold, the calendar of democracy notes the time of their passing, as well as the grand entrance of the new set of bright new faces. The next wave of new hopes once again embodied by those who are new and know nothing.
And it is once this cycle is complete, and the politician, either the formerly high-ranking cabinet minister, the senior ambassador, or even the prime minister, find themselves in the surreal “Limbo Land of Politics,” it is then Marr paints a picture of, “Air-conditioned offices, first-class flights, and even the occasional television studio throw in, but it’s a limbo nevertheless.”
And as I read the early pages of Andrew Marr’s story, I remembered that those who find themselves in political limbo are often, rather tragically, right in the prime of their personal and professional lives, their hearts still beat to the drum of public service, the very one that brought them into politics in the first place. But now they find themselves on the outside looking in, even though they are probably the most able, most experienced, and probably the most capable people to run the country.
And that’s where “Children of the Master” really takes off. The scene being that of a post-state funeral that is the occasion for a gathering of a former prime minister and his cabinet. All now long banished into political limbo, most of which are already drinking good whiskey…and hating an ambitious plan.
What if they amassed the total of their remaining “backroom power” in order to come to the aid of a few bright and upcoming potential new leaders? Help them, “climb the ladder” so to speak. They would be the shadowy patrons of these undiscovered, unknown, unnoticed young, but ambitious rookies of politics.
These young apprentices, the limbo land politicians’ reason, would be most grateful for the benevolent hand up offered by these seasoned “once greats.” The elder group would help these young and inexperienced minor players find the levers of power and teach them how to use them, long before possessing the power to actually use them.
They would give these beginners the start that they themselves would’ve only dreamed of back when they were the rookies themselves.
But what would motivate these once great politicians to do such a thing?
Why might they be willing to help others, and as a result, taking less time for their own pet projects and comfortable semi-retired life?
The answer, it turns out, is quite simple.
They desire to be “powerful by proxy.”
The plan is for this group of political ghosts to come to the aid of a small group of fresh-faced public servants of potential. The end game being to insert a leader of their own choosing into Number 10 Downing Street.
One day, the limbo land politicians dreamed, one of these apprentices of power, one of the very students under their secret tutelage, would be elected to the highest office in the land. If all went according to plan, a future prime minister of their choosing could enjoy the first flushes of popularity, while at the very same time, know what to do with it. The old guard, now in a state of being completely forgotten would be in an even better position to influence the new prime minister…and as a result, in all practical senses, would no longer be on the outside of power.
Eventually, this field of potential prime ministers is narrowed down to two candidates. The description of these two was part of the intrigue that caused me to be glued to this book in the first place:
“David Petrie, a handsome, self-made Scot with a troubled personal history.”
And…
“Caroline Phillips, a high-flying Londoner whose unconventional private life could make or break her.”
The premise of Andrew Marr’s tale of political manipulation grabbed me from the very start and held me in the grasp of its storytelling brilliance to the very end. And as with any book I’ve enjoyed, there were a number of highlights along the way including:
A pack of truly frightening girl’s school dormitory witches, a friend of kings and presidents spending the night in the tiny extra room of one’s house, “Granny Stalin,” a powerhouse in local Scottish politics, “Melody Farm” and its “Democracy of the Damaged” style of organizing its community of patients, a professional anorexic, a skiing accident that paves the way for the fall of a national government, a government coalition frayed by criticism of a man’s bow tie and an “elbow filing” method of processing constituency paperwork.
Also, I hadn’t anticipated the lasso I’d have to throw over the wild herd of words previously unknown to me, including:
“Kirk,” a Scottish word to describe a church.
“Hirple,” to limp, Scottish style, apparently.
“Smarmy,” excessive flattering, (this one, by definition, doesn’t exactly sound like a Scottish word.)
“Dreich,” dreariness.
“Prang,” to bump into.
“Tatty,” cheap or tawdry.
“Crepuscular,” a dim kind of twilight.
All in all, a fascinating 391 pages of political storytelling.