Starr's romance gives us no one to pull for.

by Charlie Toft

this article was originally published in The Other Paper, Columbus, Ohio, vol. 8, #49, September 17, 1998 and was HTMLed by Yours Truly. All mistakes are mine. -- JSK

Fans of romance novels are welcoming an unlikely new publisher to the field.

The Federal Government, to this point best known for such intellectual titles as Social Security Programs Throughout The World and Census Of Population And Housing, is discovering what commercial publishers have known for decades: sex sells.

Don't be fooled by the dry title. Referral Of The Office Of The Independent Counsel, the first book in the Government's new "Potomac Passion" series, is a classic, if flawed, bodice-ripper.

In spite of protests from the author that the book isn't about sex, the bulk of Referral is in fact comprised of insipid lovemaking, mechanically related. Not since the swimming pool scene in Showgirls has heterosexuality seemed so brain-dead and unappealing.

Male romance novelists usually adopt a female pseudonym for commercial purposes, but the author of Referral, Kenneth Starr, has bravely chosen to use his own name.

Unfortunately, it's too late to tell Starr not to give up his day job.

Referral does have redeeming qualities, including a fine sense of pace and a keen understanding of the way men and women can become undone by lust. But the critical sex scenes are clumsily written, and its two lead characters are impossibly stupid.

"I never expected to fall in love with the President. I was surprised that I did," Starr's heroine, Monica, sighs at the conclusion of this sad tale.

The nubile ingenue journeys to Washington after college, with nothing but a dream of landing a famous man - a senator, an anchorman, perhaps a lobbyist.

However, Monica soon finds that Washington is a city in which a nubile ingenue can get ahead quickly.

Blessed by the kind of remarkable good fortune you only find in the work of fledgeling writers, she acquires an entry-level job at The White House, where she finds herself in proximity to the dashing - and nominally married - President Bill.

Monica siezes her opportunity, and "intense flirting" ensues. Bill tries to interest her in Leaves Of Grass; Monica responds by flashing her underwear (an exchange Starr relates in the chapter, "November 15 Sexual Encounter").

Savvy readers will not be surprised by what comes next, as Bill and Monica are unable to resist their forbidden passion.

But there is a nifty inversion of stereotype, in which it's the older man who refuses to go all the way (the climax, so to speak, of the chapter, "March 31 Sexual Encounter").

Monica fights to be seen as more than just a pathetic mistress. Shaming Bill with the challenge, "Is this just about sex, or do you have some interest in trying to get to know me as a person?" Bill's response? Well, it isn't verbal.

[ though it was oral -- JSK ]

Soon Bill begins to tire of the by now ex-ingenue, banishing her to the Pentagon, across the river.

Starr's Monica relates her grief in the most horribly cliche'd prose: "I wanted to fell the warmth of you and the smell of you and the touch of you."

In another bitter letter to Bill, Monica unconvincingly claims, "I am not a moron," adding, "I need you right now not as President, but as a man." Oh, please.

Employing, among other things, an episode with a cigar that I won't give away here, the book begins to careen out of control. Eventually Bill and Monica find themselves enmeshed in the criminal justice system.

By this point, readers will be rooting for the demise of both.

Starr is not totally without promise. At times, he displays a delightful deadpan humor: "(Monica) also showed him an e-mail describing the effect of chewing Altoid mints before performing oral sex. (She) was chewing Altoids at the time, but the President replied that he did not have enough time for oral sex."

The book also has a few colorful supporting characters: Vernon, Bill's shifty best friend; Betty, the loyal-to-a-fault secretary; and Linda, Monica's treacherous mentor.

Oddly, the character of the First Lady is underdeveloped; in fact, at many key moments, she's not even in town.

The characters of Bill and Monica are Starr's great failures. The book is set in modern-day America, but the author asks us to believe that Monica thought the President would leave his wife for an excitable fool who doesn't do her laundry (if you had a nice blue dress from The Gap, wouldn't you keep it clean?).

And it's hard to get past the ridiculous but necessary premise that the American people would knowingly send an overgrown adolescent to the White House in the first place.

Referral is a romance with no one to pull for.

Bill last appears giving a laborious soliloquy: "I want to say one thing to the American people. I want you to listen to me. I'm going to say this again: I did not have sexual relations with that woman, Miss Lewinsky. I never told anybody to lie, not a single time. Never. These allegations are false."

Surely Starr can put better quotes than this in his protagonist's mouth. I'm sorry, but this speech just doesn't ring true.

Finally, Starr adds a long-winded and puzzling moral, which presents "substantial and credible information" that Bill and Monica should never have gotten together. Funny; these two seem to deserve each other.

As literature, Referral is downright impeachable.

See also Clinton Jokes, Clinton Quotes, Slick Willy's Best Excuses ...