Katharine Graham would have been well served by an editor willing to cut 300+ pages from this wordy autobiography. It has a disconcertingly whiny tone throughout, from Graham's airing her deeply-held resentments toward her mother (at age 70!) to her husband's mistreatment of her, although she admits to have been something of a doormat during the marriage. Most disturbing, however, is Graham's gradual revelation of her lack of involvement in the Post's editorial or business success--all while wringing her hands over her lack of business savvy. And this won the Pulitzer Prize?