The ache of reading about Trump after an enriching time-out: Neil Macdonald

Bedridden, post-surgery, I've done almost nothing but read for the past couple of weeks, digesting at least a book a day. Mentally, anyway, it's been like a ramble in Chianti: insulated from the nasty crackle of reality, with nothing to concentrate on but nourishment.

I recommend all these:

The most recent Le Carre, Legacy of Spies, as always a story of moral ambiguity, told in that impossibly offhanded Oxbridge tone of his, as always about a wise and competent man beset on all sides by weaklings and arse-covering fools.

George Saunders's Lincoln in the Bardo, written in an experimental style only someone of Saunders's creative candlepower could pull off. The Force, by Don Winslow, the Raymond Chandler of our time. J.M. Coetzee's Waiting For the Barbarians, its ghastly relevance more powerful now than ever. Erskine Childers's century-old espionage masterpiece The Riddle of the Sands.

There was even time to re-read, decades later, the hallucinatory stories of Cordwainer Smith, and some of Edward St. Aubyn's self-loathing Patrick Melrose series.

Such a pleasure.

Returning to news

Anyway, healing happens, and I began re-entry, and returned to my newspaper and magazine subscriptions. You sense they'd probably rather devote more time to serious matters that affect us all say, this but the tiresome boor in the Oval must be covered thoroughly. His rank, and the conventions of journalism, require at least pretending he's a normal adult, rather than, as Le Carre puts it, a "childish Caligula." In any event, if Le Carre is right, and who can seriously argue with that description, it's even more serious, isn't it?

But reading about Donald Trump, especially after an enriching time-out, is like what I imaginedrinking used deep-fryer oil must be: you're bloated, then nauseated, then reaching for some sort of colonic.

In just the past little while, the president of the United States who is by his own word a sexual assaulter himself has embraced a political candidate who is pretty clearly a child molester, has declared that he is single-handedly rescuing Christmas and has effectively called a woman elected to the United States Senate a whore.

He didn't actually use the word "whore," of course, He resorted to that oily innuendo of his, asserting that Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand was constantly bothering important him for campaign donations when he was still a businessman and that "she would do anything for them."

That language, you see, leaves no doubt in the minds of his fans about his meaning, but contains just enough ambiguity for Sarah Huckabee Sanders, Trump's ostentatiously Christian-values spokeswoman, to later claim a "misunderstanding." Just as, you know, he didn't mean the obvious when he said then-Fox News anchor Megyn Kelly was "bleeding from her whatever."

It's ugly, mean, stupid, cornpone misogyny. But because he's president, he must be taken seriously.

The War on Christmas business probably says more about the gullibility of Trump's base. When, at the official White House Christmas tree lighting, Trump wished everyone Merry Christmas, he went on to tell the crowd "We're saying Merry Christmas again."

Evangelicals, who generally adore Trump, love this. They're convinced the secular left has conspired in recent years to replace "Merry Christmas" with "Happy Holidays," and Trump has repeatedly promised to fight back against this anti-Jesus plot.

Well. MSNBC quickly put together and aired a video of that foreign-born Muslim who, to the disgust of Trump Nation, presided over the official lighting last year in his last days as president.

Turns out Barack Obama said Merry Christmas quite a bit; couldn't stop saying it, actually. So Trump was talking nonsense, but because Trump is president now, he must be taken seriously.

Trump for Moore

The Roy Moore episode was the most sickening. The multiple accounts of the Alabama judge's taste for teenage girls were strongly corroborated. He was repudiated by a slew of disgusted fellow Republicans. Several came right out and said they believed the women.

But Trump just couldn't turn his back on another credibly accused sexual predator. The president of the United States actually embraced this scripture-quoting louse, on the grounds that Moore, after all, denied the allegations. Every single one of his accusers, said Moore, is a liar.

If Moore's defence struck a chord with Donald Trump, it's because that's Trump's defence, too. Every single one of the 19 women who have accused him of sexual misconduct is a liar. Trump being Trump, he's gone on to hint that some of them were just sexually frustrated, angry they were unable to get him into bed.

"Believe me," he's told crowds at his rallies about one of his accusers, "She would not be my first choice, that I can tell you."

Because when you're an Adonis like Trump, desired by beautiful women the world over, you can be pretty darned choosy about whom you decide to assault.

Trump's accusers call for investigation

7 years ago

Duration 3:54

U.S. President Donald Trump's accusers are calling for an investigation into his alleged sexual misconduct revisiting allegations, first made during the campaign, in light of the more recent wave of similar allegations against other politicians and celebrities

The evidence against Trump, never mind his vicious replies, would be enough to punish or even exile most men these days, no matter how rich, talented or popular. Including Roy Moore, who, to the credit of Alabamans, lost last week's election.

Not Trump, though. He's special. Just so special. Above the law, above rules of civility, above punishment, egged on by his lumpen, adoring mob. (Although some are finding themselves dirtied by the association).

America loves to believe it sets an example to the world. Well, it's certainly doing that.

Just to keep history fresh, let's contemplate again the quote that should be inscribed over his presidential library. (Imagine? A Trump library?):

"You know, I'm automatically attracted to beautiful I just start kissing them. It's like a magnet. Just kiss. I don't even wait. And when you're a star, they let you do it. You can do anything. Grab 'em by the pussy. You can do anything."

Anyway, Happy Christmas and other holidays. I'm going back to books. There'll be no end of rancid cooking grease to consume come the new year.

This column is part ofCBC'sOpinion section.For more information about this section, please read thiseditor'sblogandourFAQ.