“American Canto”: A Blurred Line Between Reporting and Performance
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A new book by journalist Elaina Plott Nuzzi, “American Canto,” deliberately sidesteps the realms of political exposé and tell-all memoir, instead presenting itself as an exploration of American life, reality, and character—and, fundamentally, love of country. However, this ambitious scope is complicated by a narrative that frequently veers into the self-aware and the performative, raising questions about the author’s objectivity and the very nature of her storytelling.
Nuzzi establishes this intention in an author’s note, stating the book isn’t about former President Trump or politics, but rather “about life in America as I have lived and observed it, and about the nature of our reality, and about character.” She even acknowledges a literary influence, noting she’s been reading Dante. Yet, the execution often feels disjointed, oscillating between insightful observation and what one observer described as banal or even “ridiculous” statements, such as the claim that “JonBenét Ramsey said that if you are beautiful you may get killed in service to your country.”
A History of Roles
This tension between observation and performance appears rooted in Nuzzi’s own history. “American Canto” briefly touches on her childhood acting aspirations in New Jersey, recalling how September 11, 2001, interrupted a planned audition. She remembers consciously “dressing up as a regular child, playing the child,” a foreshadowing of a life seemingly lived with an awareness of presentation. This inclination continued into her teenage years with the persona of “Livvy,” a self-described “multi-media character” and aspiring pop star.
A 2010 press release for Livvy’s debut single, “Jailbait,” revealed a provocative concept: the song was “about the role of the underaged, hyper-sexualized girl in society,” exploring “pornographic ideals infiltrating our collective consciousness.” The lyrics, including the line “I’ll give you just enough, and leave you wanting more,” encapsulate a spirit of calculated ambiguity. This echoes criticisms leveled at Nuzzi’s earlier reporting on the Trump administration, where she was seen as a writer who “cater[ed] to tawdry appetites” while maintaining a detached, knowing air.
Nuzzi frames her highly publicized involvement with Kennedy as a narrative imposed upon her, a “story in which I was cast against my will.” She resists the image of a “leopard-clad star reporter,” despite acknowledging the existence of a red-carpet photo. This defensiveness extends to a reported “tabloid-style news story” she herself authored, describing herself as a “blonde beauty” and “one of the most famous political reporters in America.”
The book, in many instances, reads as a form of self-authored fan fiction, exemplified by a passage describing a private moment with Kennedy: “He threw himself onto the bed, his pink shirt unbuttoned, revealing my favorite parts of his chest.” Despite publicly expressing discomfort with media attention—stating that becoming “Good Copy” is a “horror”—Nuzzi demonstrates a clear understanding of the mechanics of news and publicity. She readily explains concepts like “opposition research” and “getting ahead of a story,” even sharing how she dismissed Kennedy rumors as “such bullshit”—but only off the record, for inclusion in a “world-class news article.”
Ultimately, “American Canto” presents a complex and often contradictory portrait of its author. It’s a book that simultaneously seeks to dissect American culture and actively participate in its spectacle, leaving readers to grapple with the question of where observation ends and performance begins.
