One thing more trying than being famous, I imagine, is reading about people being famous, and their desperation in trying to remain so. I reached the breaking point two-thirds into this grubby, clunky, overlong book. But not due to the gag-inducing materialistic values that abound and the overwhelmingly obvious vacuity of the subjects (although it played a part, too).
Instead it was because this “explosive new book”, by “Britain’s leading investigative biographer” as Bower presents himself, has the feeling of a soggy sponge of old news; squeezed with such one-sided teeth-gritting vindictiveness and leaving such a froth on the writer that by the end you almost feel sympathy for Posh & Becks. Almost.
At this point in the book, Bower regurgitates England’s failed World Cup bid in 2010 involving Beckham to host the 2018 competition (which in the end was awarded to Russia; with Qatar also selected for the 2022 tournament). As we now know, thanks particularly to BBC’s Panorama, Fifa’s selection process was corrupt.
Bower writes: “If ever there was a moment for Beckham to stand on principle, it was the exposure of Fifa’s corruption. Had the world’s most prominent footballer denounced [Sepp] Blatter and his cronies, Beckham would have been known as more than a glamorous icon. Instead, Beckham quickly withdrew from the controversy. Football was his meal ticket. He could not afford to jeopardise his future income by alienating Fifa. Nor could he risk future sponsorship deals.”
Lifestyle empress Martha Stewart: Grown-up since birth and ageless ever after
Irish Theatre in the Twenty-First Century: Development and diversity – Deserving of a wide readership
Author Martin Waddell: ‘When I got blown up, I was no longer fit to write. I lost several years’
Poem of the week: Saoirse Ronan’s Hands
Isn’t this stating the obvious while also asking a bit much of Beckham? Why would Bower even press such a charge, especially considering he has spent the previous 200 pages – much of it reheated tabloid news, long in the public domain – presenting the Beckhams as obtuse narcissistic airheads, whose only concerns in life are money, fame, sex and self-preservation. This one example reveals the modus operandi throughout the book; a litany of accusations and snide remarks thrown at the couple for 300-plus pages. It wears you down.
It would have been interesting to have gleaned some genuine insight into the dynamic between two people who are, as they have admitted themselves, supposedly a bit thick, yet have an estimated fortune of £250 million; some going for a footballer who retired more than a decade ago, and someone who could not even lip-sync live, yet sold 85 million records. Instead Bower has given us little more than a deep dive into old waters of tabloid tattle on two shallow people (his endnotes are mostly newspaper clippings), vague speculations, and accounts filings found via Companies House.
What does it all add up to? Nothing the Beckhams have not seen before; and stories I hope never have to read (yet) again. Bower’s ultimate contention is that the Beckham marriage is nothing more than a business arrangement – isn’t that part of many marriages? – and if there is a Faustian element to their lives, then he hasn’t found it.
