Blair's book cuts him down to size

If nothing else, the publication of "Burning Down My Masters' House" is testimony to Jayson Blair's uncanny ability to tie the journalism business in knots.

In recent days, there's been an orgy of hand-wringing as outlets wrestled with how to cover the autobiographical tome written by the disgraced ex-New York Times reporter whose fabrication and plagiarism damaged the credibility of America's most prestigious newspaper and led to the resignations of its top two editors.

The Times's new executive editor, Bill Keller, issued a memo last month saying Blair's book "ends up spewing imaginary blame in all directions" and adding that "we don't intend to respond to Jayson or his book." A battle erupted on Jim Romenesko's media-centric website between journalists who argued that the book had to be covered because it was "newsworthy" and others who, in the words of one reporter, had doubts about giving "currency to a proven liar and intellectual thief." Editors debated whether to review the work of someone who has become a journalistic pariah.

When Blair's publicist recently told reporters he would appear on PBS host Tavis Smiley's show, Smiley issued a sharp denial that stated, "I wouldn't give even 60 seconds for Blair to attempt to justify how he did what he did." In a conversation with CNN host Larry King last week, NBC's Katie Couric -- who interviewed Blair for last Friday's edition of "Dateline NBC" -- found herself trying to justify why she would grant air time to him. Of course, King will be sitting down for a chat with Blair tonight.

But with "Burning Down My Masters' House" and Blair's attempt to reenter the media universe via his television appearances, it becomes obvious that the source of all this controversy, all these ethical conundrums, is just an accidental footnote to some important history.

Put simply, Blair is Mrs. O'Leary's cow, the supposed cause of the 1871 Chicago fire. He is Steve Bartman, the hapless Chicago Cubs fan whose grasping for a foul ball in the 2003 playoffs may have foiled the Cubs' desperate quest for a World Series win. He is Janet Jackson, the breast-flashing has-been who ruined the Super Bowl for American families. While circumstances may have made Blair the catalyst for a disaster (in this case, the painful trauma that beset the Times and the entire journalism profession), he is an inherently inconsequential character, unworthy of serious attention.

Nowhere is that point more clearly made than in his book, a numbing -- and barely coherent -- blow-by-blow account of the drinks he took, the cocaine he snorted, and the sexual encounters he experienced as a young reporter in America's most exciting city. The book offers little to those hoping to understand how Blair could have committed such horrific journalistic felonies, other than a recurring mantra: I was too messed up to know what I was doing.

Many of the first reviews have been devastating. "Many times it seems as if Blair forgets that his is not, in fact, a hero's story," The Christian Science Monitor's reviewer wrote. The Dallas Morning News called it a "self-pitying, self-deluding rant." The Los Angeles Times characterized it as a "vile book, as distasteful a thing as you're likely to handle without gloves." The Plain Dealer of Cleveland concluded that Blair is "pathologically immature and morally absent." The New York Times review won't come out until Sunday, but Editor & Publisher magazine obtained an advance copy of it, and it slams the book as "sloppy, padded and dishonest work." (The Boston Globe does not plan to review the book. "After reading through it, it seems too thin to merit a review," said books editor Jim Concannon.)

Yesterday morning's "Today" interview was a sorry spectacle as a prosecutorial Matt Lauer grilled Blair about his misdeeds. "I'm done lyin'," he vowed at one point. "I take full responsibility for my actions," he added. "I am sorry," he offered quietly. Defensive and nearly defenseless, Blair came off as a little boy who'd been caught skipping school.

For some reason, we like to think that people capable of pulling off major scams, cons, and crimes have special talents, even if they use them for wrongdoing. Sitting there with Lauer, the young man who turned the mighty Times upside down seemed so much smaller than life.