An interesting read, although fascinating that a man who has spent his whole working life editing and directing other people’s writing writes without much flair. It is the subject matter that kept me going, not the prose. It is also not an autobiography, it offers almost no insight into the man, only his work. Maybe to be expected as he seems to have been completely consumed by it.
Chris Mitchell was no doubt very, very good at what he did. As editor of The Australian he would have had to be good to continue to please the Murdoch family and their henchmen, men like Ken Cowley and John Hartigan, hard and uncompromising task masters all. Disappointingly, it offers only limited insight into Rupert and Lachlan. Most instructive is an anecdote about a tennis match where Rupert insisted on being allowed more than two serves. As someone who has played tennis (poorly) against better tennis players all my life, I still find that an abhorrent notion. But then again I am neither ultra competitive, nor a billionaire.
Where this book excels is in describing the close symbiosis between the senior journalists and editors of the major newspapers and the various prime ministers encountered on Mitchell’s watch. Howard, Rudd, Gillard and Abbott each get a chapter. Not surprisingly Howard comes out notionally “best”, Gillard more surprisingly not at all unflattering, either. It is a testament to Mitchell that even though he has been a close mate of Kevin Rudd all his adult life, he does not hold back in revealing his, ahem, idiosyncrasies in great detail. Tony Abbott comes out smelling like the metaphorical perfume of Peta Credlin, and he is rather scathing of them both, to say the least.
Most revealing of this part of the book is how it depicts these senior politicians as having one dominant common characteristic, the need to be right rather than striving to do the right thing. Which, incidentally, is a trait clearly shared by Chris Mitchell himself. It goes without saying that he is a man of predominantly conservative leanings (otherwise he wouldn’t be working for Murdoch), but I still cannot help but being disappointed at how his own views of the world of media in general and journalism in particular completely dominates how he perceives the profession. The prevailing feeling after some 370 pages of a lot of self back-slapping is that pretty much anyone that doesn’t work for his paper, but for places like the ABC, Fairfax or the Guardian, are just not up to scratch.
And maybe that does say a lot about the man after all.