he aims to please a disgruntled public with a mixture of self-exposure, conspicuous contrition, tepid dish and newly realized wisdoms about homosexuality or ethics.
He fails on all these counts. "The Confession" is peppered with short quotes and allusions to Spinoza, Stravinsky, Maya Angelou, Armistead Maupin, Allen Ginsberg, Kant, Dostoevski, Seneca and Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl to whose ordeal McGreevey outrageously compares his own. Each is meant to augment some sort of introspective observation turned object lesson. "If any good comes from sharing my story, I hope I can inspire others to open their doors and reveal whatever is hidden there so that their own true beauty shines through," McGreevey writes with false modesty. The premise that one would take instruction or inspiration from a man who rose to the top of the crookedest state in the union and then gave his lover a $110,000 a year job advising on matters of homeland security, for which he was clearly unqualified, is an insult to the reader.
