The story of Donald Trump’s last days in the White House will never be written. Those in possession of the necessary facts, and those to whom they are likely to be disclosed, will not rise to the duty of literature. The best we are entitled to hope for is that the raw material — scraps of conversation, private correspondence, the great Rolls Series of his Twitter feed — out of which a future Gibbon might construct his masterpiece will be preserved. Until then a sketch must suffice.
The great theme of Trump’s final month in office will be exhaustion.