Biographies, and especially autobiographies, of great men hold a fascination that is hard to match. This is particularly true of those in which the impossible becomes a fait accompli, convincing us that it happens and can happen. That is why it takes a great deal of effort for them to become tedious. More often than not, they convey that perfect and fundamental notion that there is meaning in the whole, something that, if not grasped, is what brands a biography as mediocre. Fortunately, such biographies do not make for good stories, and we rarely have to endure them. On other occasions, we find ourselves facing pages we cannot bear to put down.