I t’s a profoundly curious experience to get to the end of a 256-page memoir and feel like you know even less about the subject than before you started reading. But in this respect, Melania – written, apparently, by Melania Trump – delivers in a way that defies the very laws of literature. The former first lady and wife of Donald Trump has held a unique fascination ever since her husband announced his bid for the presidency in 2015 before being elected the following year.
Who was this poised, stiff, silent woman, 24 years his junior? What did she think or feel or want behind the perfect, blank-faced mask? Did the Slovenian former model disagree with her spouse’s inflammatory rhetoric? Did she secretly roll her eyes at his unhinged Twitter rants in ALL CAPS? Did she, as speculated in the calls to #FreeMelania , feel trapped in a loveless marriage of convenience – swatting away Donald’s hand during public engagements because she couldn’t bear to physically touch him? On these last three counts, the answer is a resounding “no” if her new autobiography is to be believed. On almost all other points, however, the answer is a resounding question mark. Trying to glean much more about the mystery figure who has stood by one of the most divisive men on the planet for nearly 20 years is like trying to nail mist to the wall.
“As a private person who has often been the subject of public scrutiny and misrepresentation, I feel a responsibility to set the record straight .
