The Daily Beast checks in with legendary novelist Martin Amis at the Republican National Convention.
His thoughts on the crowd:
Madamic good ole girls in scarlet ensembles, peanut-faced glozers in ambassadorial suits and ties, puns, rhymes, tinkertoy wordplay (“Give me liberty—not gimme, gimme, gimme”), alliteration, iteration, my mom said to me, started a small business, almighty God is the truth of all we have, inherit our hopes and dreams, my daddy said to me, started a small business—and all of this seconded by the brain-dead, couch-potato tweets that looped the hall in illuminated script: “I’m so proud to be a Republican,” “The Bush family is so awesome,” “Look at all the Olympians on stage for Romney. SO COOL!” And the Party was partying, all bounce and yelp and whoop. By the second day I felt as sour as Bill Murray, mingling for the thousandth time with the capering revelers (“Pick out your partner and join in the fun”) on Gobbler’s Knob.
On the future of the GOP:
It has to be admitted, meanwhile, that Uncle Sam is highly distinctive, even exotic, in his superstitious reverence for money. In every other country on earth, the Republicans’ one idea so far this century would never be mentioned, let alone tabled, passed, and given a second term. Tax cuts … for the rich? And this plainly indecent policy is already an established failure. According to the Pew Research Center, only 8 percent of ordinary Americans—and only 10 percent of the “upper class”—think the rich are taxed too much. The GOP, moreover, is doomed by demographics. It is simply running out of the white people who form its electoral base; as one of Romney’s strategists conceded, “This is the last time anyone will try to do this.” We know that Republicans refuse to compromise with Democrats. For how long will they refuse to compromise with reality?