![]() ![]() “It belonged to a 27-year-old, cultured guy with a moustache. If Assange would only control his need to storm from every room, leaving the most appalling static behind him, we might eventually get the account that WikiLeaks deserves.īut this isn’t bad at all, as far as it goes, and the most fascinating part is what Assange objects to: the personal stuff.Īssange was the product of a relationship between his country girl mother, Christine, and a man with a gentle voice who spoke to her at an anti-Vietnam war rally in Sydney. And it reminds us of the huge amount Julian Assange and WikiLeaks have contributed to this epochal time and how important is the principle of free publication.Ī note from his publisher at the beginning explains that Assange found the book too personal and withdrew co-operation, performing the usual disservice to himself and to the novelist Andrew O’Hagan, whose writing he unjustly criticised. Despite being rushed, unfinished and disowned by its subject – making it perhaps the first ever unauthorised autobiography – this book is surprisingly revealing about one of the most infuriating and self-defeating awkward customers ever to have been born. ![]()
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