Clinton W. Gilbert's Behind the Mirrors opens with a defensive foreword recounting the success of his earlier The Mirrors of Washington, which sold nearly one hundred thousand copies. He frames political criticism as a healthy corrective to partisan newspaper coverage, arguing that a book's permanence provokes stronger reactions from politicians than daily journalism. This self-conscious positioning reveals the author's ambition to treat American politics with the same analytical rigor applied to British notables in works like The Mirrors of Downing Street.
The Psychology of Disintegration
The subtitle promises a psychological study of political decay, and Gilbert delivers a method that blends character analysis with institutional critique. He contrasts two types of mind: the 'common sense' of Warren G. Harding, which he defines via critic A.R. Orage as 'the community of the senses,' and the purely intellectual approach of Secretary of State Charles Evans Hughes. Harding, Gilbert argues, senses reality; Hughes only reasons about it. This dichotomy structures the excerpt's central argument: that Hughes's statesmanship is an 'intellectual exercise' that produces elegant but ineffective notes, while true leadership requires faculties beyond logic.
Gilbert's evidence is specific. He dissects Hughes's handling of Mexican relations, reducing the Secretary's method to a formula: 'a + b = c,' where a is Carranza's decree, b is international law, and c is a diplomatic note. The author then lists countervailing facts—Mexico's restraint, its supreme court ruling, the Obregon government's stability—that Hughes ignored. This concrete example grounds the psychological claim in policy failure.
Beyond the Catalog Subjects
The catalog lists Warren G. Harding and U.S. politics 1921–1923 as subjects, but the excerpts reveal a work more interested in method than events. Gilbert does not narrate Harding's presidency chronologically; instead, he uses Harding as a foil for a broader argument about political intelligence. The foreword's emphasis on the book's own publishing history—its predecessor's success, the editor's skepticism—suggests a meta-commentary on the genre of political portraiture.
Gilbert's prose is combative and aphoristic. He writes that Hughes 'lives in a region of facts, principles, and logical deductions' and 'does not sense anything.' The author's own voice is that of a diagnostician, not a reporter. He invokes the Greek philosopher's 'Eureka' to mock Hughes's self-satisfaction. This rhetorical strategy aligns with the subtitle's promise of 'psychology' but also distances the book from straightforward political history.
The Limits of the Excerpts
The available text covers only the foreword and a portion of one chapter on Hughes. The full book likely profiles other figures—the catalog suggests Harding is a subject—but the excerpts do not reveal how Gilbert treats the president beyond the contrast with Hughes. The foreword's reference to 'the Mirrors of Washington' as a series implies a collective portrait, but the surviving sample focuses on a single comparison.
Readers should note that Gilbert's method is deductive: he asserts a psychological framework and then selects evidence to fit it. The Hughes analysis, while detailed, may not represent the book's overall structure. The author's claim that Harding's 'common sense' is superior to Hughes's intellect is provocative but unsupported by further examples in the excerpts. The full text likely develops this thesis across multiple cabinet members.
Gilbert's work rewards readers interested in the rhetoric of political criticism more than those seeking a narrative of the Harding administration. His psychological categories—common sense versus intellectualism—offer a lens for evaluating leadership, but the excerpts leave open whether the full book sustains this framework. Approach Behind the Mirrors as a period piece in the history of American political commentary, not as a comprehensive history of its era.
Reading about Harding’s placid common sense dissolving under Washington’s mirrored pressures, I recalled my grandfather’s worn copy of The Struggle between President Johnson and Congress over Reconstruction — A Reader’s Guide, its margins filled with his quiet pencil notes. Both books feel like watching two men hold their breath underwater—the surface calm never quite hiding the strain beneath.