It is a strange byproduct of Donald Trump’s terrible weekend that the constitution of the United States of America has become a bestseller.
Days after Khizr Khan, father of a slain American soldier, appeared at the Democratic convention, asked whether Trump had ever read the document and then brandished his own personal copy, the constitution is currently ranked number two in books on Amazon, just behind Harry Potter and the Cursed Child.
In fact it’s also ranked at number four in a different, more expensive edition. Other versions are ranked 110, 177 and 377. In addition to sales, the US constitution has earned an impressive number of customer reviews, not all of them glowing. What sort of American buys an actual copy of the constitution, and then slags it off?
The bestselling edition – a pocket one – has so far garnered 68 one-star reviews, mostly from customers disappointed to discover that this annotated version is published by the National Center for Constitutional Studies, an organisation founded by W Cleon Skousen, “an end times Mormon conspiracy crank who merely inserts his personal delusions alongside”, according to one reviewer.
But there were a variety of objections: “This one is fake, ordered and completely different then the original, Do not buy”; “Kids won’t find it interesting enough to read. Thumbs down from my end.” One edition of the constitution gathered a bouquet of one-star reviews because it opens with an alarming disclaimer: “This book is a product of its time and does not reflect the same values as it would if it were written today.” Another criticism, Trumpian in its one-word dismissal, said simply, “worthless”.
A treasonous tangle
I have my own pocket constitution – free of annotation and just 30 pages long. I bought it at the gift shop next to Appomattox courthouse years ago, and while I may have referred to it once or twice since, I don’t remember ever reading it through. But I have now. Ask me anything. Actually, don’t. Even at 30 pages the constitution is a bit of a slog. Among the familiar procedural nuts and bolts, the cherished freedoms and the shameful expediencies (the valuation of a slave as three-fifths of a person for the purposes of apportioning representation, say) was language I didn’t recall, or even understand. Like this, from article 3: “No attainder of treason shall work corruption of blood, or forfeiture except during the life of the person attainted”. Pardon? It may be the law of the land, but you’re never going to convince me that comma’s in the right place.
But as any student of constitutional law knows, finding enlightenment these days is a mere matter of typing “corruption of blood wtf” into Google. I now understand that at the time in England, people guilty of treason could forfeit not just their lives, but their right to pass on property or title. I’m just glad it’s not my job to explain all this to Trump.
How to escape email
Two years ago I did a radio interview with the former Apprentice contestant Saira Khan. It was repeated last week, and a listener emailed and asked me to pass on how engaging and inspiring he found her. He forgot to mention how engaging I was, but never mind. I tracked down Saira’s address and forwarded the email.
I received an immediate reply that said, “Unfortunately I am away and have no access to my emails until 1 September 2016.” I thought: where can she possibly be that she can’t get emails for a month? Can I go there?
Four hours later I noticed that Saira was trending on Twitter, and turned on the TV in time to see her walk into the Big Brother house. I was thinking more along the lines of the moon.
