Bests & Worsts Reviews from Amazon

In America, convicted criminals are not legally allowed to profit from their crimes. I see no compelling reason why a serial liar like Jayson Blair should somehow be an exception to this rule. Folks, this country has a terrific network of public libraries that would be happy to lend you this book free of charge or, if it is checked out, reserve it in your name. In the meantime, you can read something more rewarding like "Fast Food Nation" or "The Da Vinci Code." But I digress. Let me tell you why reading this book should be a low priority. Jayson Blair simply is not a credible author. He weaves a few too many fantastic tales here as well as more than a few self-serving ones. The clearest and most credible information presented in the book merely serves to indict him further for being deeply ungrateful. He never seems to realize that he was presented with a once-in-a-lifetime chance by the New York Times - one which plenty of journalists I know would have given their arm for - one which he blew to high heaven. As to why he blew this so badly, he presents a multiplicity of uncompelling reasons. He attempts to claim that his behavior was far from atypical at the Times but only manages to cite the case of Rick Bragg, whose failure to credit a stringer came out a few weeks after Blair's own pattern was reported. Jayson Blair may be incapable of realizing this - and he certainly does not in his book - but few newspapers would have allowed him a future after Metro Editor Jon Landman's famous memo (to the effect that Blair needed to stop "writing for the Times. Right now.") For whatever reason - and Blair doesn't shed any real light on it - the Times was determined to see no evil where he was concerned. Not only did it fail to act, but in the crucial subsequent year it gave him choice reporting roles in the Washington sniper case and domestic reporting on the Iraq War. This seems a lot less like the racism that Blair purports to have seen than a very ill-starred favoritism. Blair - again - can't recognize this. Where editor Gerald Boyd is concerned, and Boyd was most responsible for tabling Landman's memo and keeping Blair around the paper for that last crucial year, Blair can only manage to be scornful. Like Stephen Glass' own attempt at writing, Burning Down My Master's House is an embarrassing and sloppy mess of attempts at self-justification (including, as the book's title would indicate, a deeply confused effort to play the race card), half-baked vendettas against old colleagues, and claims that - in light of Blair's known career of deceit - simply aren't credible. If you must read it - if you derive some pleasure from Blair's pathetic tale of self-pity - I guarantee you this: you won't want to read it twice. Make it a library book - you won't regret it.