The title is for those of you who remember the line from H. G. Wells' War of the Worlds. I couldn't resist.I bought and read Hillary Clinton’s book, which I found rather tedious, repetitive, and lacking in some of the same crucial insights missing during her 2016 campaign. I bought and read Ivanka Trump’s book of hints ad cheerleading for working women, which I thought was an amazing and banal pastiche of clichés and platitudes from someone largely clueless about real working women. I bought and read Sean Spicer’s book about his short-lived career as press secretary and thought it was a valid, albeit overly apologetic and whitewashed, window into how he functioned in a milieu like no other. I can’t be bothered with Omarosa and others like her who peddle gossip and sleaze like a political “Upstairs Downstairs.” Honesty, verisimilitude, and even a smidgin of gravitas are as absent from those tell-alls as they are from the Oval Office.Bob Woodward is another story altogether. I was in my late twenties during the Watergate saga, and watched it all, from the June 1972 break-in to the final, sordid act of August 9, 1974. Since then, just to provide a sort of check and balance for what I remembered, I’d read a stack of books about Watergate, including Woodward’s and Bernstein’s seminal and spare recounting of “how they did it.” And what I learned from these experiences was that Woodward delivered the truth as he found it, documented it, multi-sourced it, taped it, and explained it. He presented the truth in few words—adjectives and adverbs, like the hyperbole so beloved of some journalists and op-ed writers, are not Woodward’s friends. Instead, we get page after page of “Just the facts, ma’am” story-telling, and in this rather stark literary environment, the fear is real and believable. So are the admissions of what has, by design and necessity, been going on in the West Wing, with some admissions more outspoken than others,I’ve lived through the 1962 Cuban missile crisis, the 1963 Kennedy assassination, the cataclysms of 1968, and every amazing national upheaval through 1975, and survived all of it. I’m no delicate snowflake, but I will admit that what I read here, in one interview after another, one incident of subterfuge and deceit after another, endless attempts to thwart and manipulate what goes on in the Oval Office and outside it, and of allegedly trying to protect the country from its president to be more fear-inducing than Khrushchev’s missiles parked 90 miles from the US coast.Don’t expect a book that reads like an expanded National Enquirer or Daily Mail. Don’t expect a laundry list of bombshell revelations never before seen or heard. Don’t read this book to be amazed, titillated, or appalled. If that’s what you prefer, go cuddle up with Omarosa.However, if you want your worst fears confirmed in the most straightforward and unadorned manner, the bits and pieces you’ve been hearing from assorted cable news bobbleheads repeated but this time from a position of credibility, and what we might expect in the near future, this is your book. Readers already disposed to accept, with or without a certain degree of credulity, will be agreeing with every page. Readers who adamantly oppose the very idea of criticism large or small of this president might want to take a look at Woodward’s book, just in case.This book is not entitled “Fear” without good cause.