As someone who will, upon hearing the name of the 40th US president spoken aloud, spit on the ground and ward against the evil eye, I knew this book was not written with me in mind. But like all good liberals who haven’t figured out the door only swings one way, I went in with an open mind, hoping for some historical analysis with at least a semblance of impartiality. Reading these pages, we meet a version of The Gipper replete with masculine charisma and strength who is also soft-spoken and demure (but in a manly sort of way). His every word is well timed and the platonic ideal of poetic brevity and power. He has no flaws unless one considers being too successful in every endeavor a flaw. The Great Communicator is magnanimous and kind as he insults The Russians, cracks the occasional cosmological zinger over the head of his heathen son and treats a wayward negro boy to charity as proof of his racial egalitarianism. There is no speculation or analysis on what Reagan might have done better or worse or anything he might have missed for the mere speculation that his every heartbeat wasn’t perfection personified is never raised. I was hoping for history and would have settled for lopsided journalism. By the time we got around to comparing the godlike Reagan to Trump, I realized all Baier had to offer for us was propaganda.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to listen to all my Dead Kennedys albums on repeat to try to wash this trickle down nonsense off me.