S Poddar
Melania Trump’s memoir creates a strange and nearly claustrophobic view of the life lived within its pages, to mind characters like Marie Antoinette. This, however, is a comparison drawn not from scandalous reputations in themselves but from Sofia Coppola’s 2006 film, wherein Antoinette transcended caricatured status as the frivolous monarch. The movie depicted Antoinette as multi-dimensional; she wasn’t just the one who supposedly waved the people in line saying “let them eat cake,” but someone who liked simply things such as shoes and pastries. Similar to the revival of Antoinette by Coppola, there have been great efforts to look for hidden depths in Melania Trump’s pristine robe.
From her attire to her body language next to her husband, Donald Trump, she has been in the eye of every observer and critic. This depth scrutiny brought multitudes of interpretations into the affairs of her holding office on this issue and that. For instance, when she puts on white, the interpreters may point out in silence at her husband’s more restrictive immigration policies. But this trend often misses shooting straight. Now that Melania published her memoir, it might seem that the discussion around it would only heat up. The book promises to give a view into the past life of the former and even soon-to-be First Lady.
However, one could feel the presence of a gut feeling that many of the words might not be genuinely coming from her voice. One cannot but feel that a naive editor or a team of advisors was deliberately penning her history, ensuring that idioms like Donald’s “unwavering commitment to making America great again” found their way into the book. At one time she writes about the interaction she has had with immigration procedures, stating, “My personal experience dealing with the trials of the immigration process opened my eyes to the difficulties faced by all who wish to become U.S. citizens.” The same passion is heard as she recalls selling jewelry on a shopping network as she discusses designs and ideas she wants to share with everyone. For anyone who would hope for this memoir to be honest and revealing about the lives of the Trumps, this will likely leave readers disappointed. It has an eerie quality to it, almost as though Melania is observing her family from afar, having been unable to connect with them. Her descriptions of her family members feel almost disembodied, implying that she doesn’t really know them inside out.
In contrast to that of a commander in chief, who hails in the public stage with the loud mouth of Donald Trump, Melania presents him as a very typical politician and businessman. She only remembers him saying just one thing: “Nice to meet you.” As she introduces her sister Ines as “a guiding light who illuminated my path and inspired me to reach for the stars,” it more reads like a high school yearbook entry than a poignant message. It is at this point that the story turns into a fairly monotone stream as Melania steps into Donald’s world and encounters his children and aides. Of those surrounding Trump, Steve Bannon is not in her account at all, while Jared Kushner barely has a place in it in the form of Ivanka Trump introducing her at an official ceremony. Absence to connect with those around her is one of the possible questions to validate or invalidate the claim that this book, in fact, can or does as a diary share information about Melania’s life experiences. Even her memories of the early modeling years in late twentieth century are flat. Any conflict or depth of those years is rubbed off with an erasable eraser, just as blemishes can be erased by applying makeup.
Melanias says, strutted confidently in my high heels ,” revealing little of the real thing.
About her growing up in Eastern Europe, she just barely says: “Growing up in Eastern Europe, I never felt isolated or limited in my experiences.” Finally, she is completely overlooking the dramatic backdrop of totalitarianism and civil war. Melania’s memoir carries finally with it a deeply sorrowful undertone. It is like she is watching her life out of a penthouse from a distance; she can’t connect herself with the people who are living down below. Although she makes a very noticeable statement when it comes to defending abortion rights, that is a recognition not developed or explored further. She is failing as a writer in giving any meaningful insights or humanity to the narrative.
It seems, perhaps, that here lies a failure in the author’s way of portrayal. Her life has been reduced to just outer observations, as if there is no real connection. Perhaps the tendency to seek depth in women, and even more so in public figures like Melania, is an attempt to humanize the scapegoat in a misogynistic world. Many would like to think that this all vocal vapidness is some protective device against an unforgiving world. But sometimes, truth is that simple. Just like how Antoinette’s pastries could probably have been just empty bags with nothing inside, so can be Melania’s memoir the pretty bunch of shallow trappings without anything under it.
