First of all, it's an important book. It must be read today by serious students of American society and democracy at the end of the second millennium. It will be read, among many other documents, by scholars in 100 years and beyond.

Second of all, it is deeply flawed, often trivial, primarily but not entirely because of its almost adoring representation of President Clinton and its glowingly celebratory portrayal of Monica Lewinsky.

Together, author Andrew Morton presents them as a classical romantic match, magically appropriate, but thwarted from destiny by the demon that denies fulfillment of love -- the "If Only But" intruder that guarantees an opera a tragic ending.

And then, unlike lovers in proper 19th century operas, they are punished not by death, but by ceaseless, Dante-esque torments by an archdemon: Kenneth Starr.

These failings of perspective are inevitable. Though Morton, a professional British journalist, wrote "Monica's Story" (St. Martin's, 288 pages, $24.95), it is primarily the book of Monica Lewinsky, written because of her notoriety and impact, and is driven by her vantage point.

She loves the big guy -- "Handsome," is her pet name. Still, despite hurts and doubts.

To his credit, Morton has worked hard, talked to almost everybody involved in Lewinsky's personal life. He convincingly portrays a young woman who age 6 had a "stated ambition ... to become President of the United States" and began struggling with weight when she was 9.

That and the increasing social pressures of snobbish, superficial Beverly Hills permeated her youth, all abraded by her parents' strained marriage and divorce.

She remained virgin until 19 despite heavy flirtations. Her first lover was an grossly exploitative, married high school drama teacher. An unobtainable man. And, Morton insists, "by the end she had become arguably the most humiliated woman in history."

Insatiably needful, unrelentingly self-doubting.

There can be little question that although Lewinsky made herself very accessible and was indeed flirtatious, if any of this book is to be believed, far more than half of the energy came from Clinton.

Every aspect of their relationship -- from beginning to end -- was entirely under his control. She made herself available, but he made the decisions in each case and took most initiatives.

The result was certainly more than a passing sexual fling. There were 20 or so meetings over more than two years, often long, almost always intense. They were sustained by countless late-night phone calls -- some longer than two hours -- initiated by Clinton.

But isn't the whole thing just prettied-up salacious gossip? Shouldn't the whole matter have remained properly secret? And isn't it all the fault of Starr's out-of-control zeal and excess of authority -- fed by the perfidy of Linda Tripp and the manipulations of Lucianne Goldberg?

Shouldn't decent, right-thinking Americans scorn this young woman, her life and involvement with Clinton, and everything that represents? Isn't any further interest simply prurient?

The answers, though unpleasant to many of us, are no.

After all, it was this relationship that precipitated the first impeachment trial of an elected president in American history.

At the most obvious level, the nature and consequence of the Clinton presidency is forever definingly affected. Beyond that are currents of profound significance to the nature of the society, to the dynamics of popular democracy in America.

How has Clinton continued to grow in poll-tested popularity as the details of his lying, of his misbehavior, even of his sexual obsessiveness, become more clear?

Does that betoken a fundamental shift in American values, both political and social -- a national leap beyond the conventional prudences of all preceding American history?

Or does it represent the "wisdom" of the American popular sentiment in being able to separate performance from personality -- the sort of political cynicism so celebrated in, say, France?

Or does it mean the vast bulk of Americans have come to accept virtually everybody in government as so opportunistic, so self-serving and cynical -- so corrupt of heart -- as to have the entire scandal offer no surprise, to be of no consequence?

Those questions are not going away. They're long going to be studied, debated and explored.

Not because Monica Lewinsky is important. Not because Bill Clinton the man -- or is it child? -- is all that important. But because the very essence of America and America's political dynamics somehow now have been writ in these terms.

Equally important, Monica's story raises fundamental questions about how American society views men and women at the end of the century in which women gained the vote and moved into the workplace in mass.

Morton does not, of course, have the ultimate answers. But very near the end of the book, he draws his own conclusion: "The Monica Lewinsky saga has spotlighted the underlying misogyny that still permeates American life, and particularly the media. Clinton the adulterer and liar is a forgiven man; Monica Lewinsky the temptress is a scorned woman, derided by feminists and conservatives alike. Her loyalty, her honesty and her silence are qualities deemed to be without merit. As far as moral America is concerned, for her to be female, young, confident, well-groomed, at ease with her sexuality -- and loved -- constitutes some sort of crime. What is far worse, however, she had committed the greatest sin of all: she is overweight."

Make you angry? I hope so. It does me.

Think about that.

Pub Date: 03/07/99