Sturgeon's vain memoir leaves much unanswered

‘Frankly’ doesn’t lack for revelations. But when it comes to SNP scandals and Covid care home deaths, this book feels like an exercise in self-preservation, writes Andrew Nicoll

- By Andrew Nicoll

In the preface to her book, Frankly, former Scottish first minister Nicola Sturgeon says she has tried to avoid “the vanity and self-justification that so often characterise political memoirs”. I know exactly what she had in mind. Ten years ago, I had to read and review Alex Salmond's book, The Dream Shall In the preface to her book, Frankly, former Scottish first minister Nicola Sturgeon says she has tried to avoid “the vanity and self-justification that so often characterise political memoirs”. I know exactly what she had in mind. Ten years ago, I had to read and review Alex Salmond's book, The Dream Shall Never Die. It’s probably the worst political memoir ever written: shallow, self-serving, exculpatory mush. Sturgeon’s Frankly is a lot better, but falls well short of her high ideals - and for those of us who followed her 30-year political career, it leaves an awful lot of questions unanswered.

First, it’s important to say that Sturgeon undoubtedly authored this book without the assistance of ghostwriters. Having known and worked with Sturgeon since 1992, I recognise her voice, and the editors have not bothered to correct her signature grammatical errors.

The book contains the perfect mix of bombshell revelations, astonishing, unprovable smears and tearful personal reminiscences required for any publisher hoping to make their colossal £300,000 advance back. For example, Sturgeon reveals that she was so broken by the Covid crisis and the subsequent public inquiry that she ended up in therapy, unable to control crying fits that would suddenly overwhelm her.

After breaking down in the witness stand, Sturgeon said: “The inquiry became the straw that almost broke the camel’s back. I could barely function. I cried, on and off, for days.”