But Sarah Palin’s story is also peculiarly modern and culturally apt in another, more unsettling way. As the vice-presidential candidate, she showed, despite her postgame spin, little real knowledge of matters non-Alaskan, and at least for the span of the campaign, she didn’t seem bent on acquiring much more. Her current desire for visibility, the motives for which remain unclear, suits our age of reality television, this moment in American life when fame for fame’s sake is the ultimate goal. One might argue that Palin’s ambition, which some have branded simple narcissism, allowed her to forget her own unreadiness for the presidency and accept the nomination in the first place.

Yet in her interviews the past two days with Oprah and Barbara Walters, Palin seemed wiser and more seasoned than she was just one year ago. It wasn’t only that she looked older, the creases around her mouth having deepened, it was also that, no longer under the shadow of McCain and his handlers, she came off as natural, confident, good-humored and even, at times, articulate. Though her tendency to ramble persisted, she wasn’t as awkward and garbled as in the past. She was also disarmingly honest. “It was easy to understand why a woman would feel that it's easier to just do away with some less-than-ideal circumstances, to do away with the problem,” she told Oprah, about the soul-searching she underwent on learning that Trig would be born with Down syndrome. And about that fateful interview with Katie Couric, she noted, "Of course, I’m thinking, 'If you thought that was a good interview, I don’t know what a bad interview was.’” Watching her — though I may be nearly alone here — it was almost possible to buy the narrative that McCain’s advisors, in their contempt for her, genuinely threw her off her game and then, by silencing her, conveyed the sense she shouldn’t have tried to play at all. Or at least it was possible to understand why many Palin supporters believe this. It even seemed plausible that her risible cocktail of big words and folk sayings was an attempt to ape political rhetoric that she wasn’t trained in and found intimidating. Maybe, in an earnest, rushed attempt to jam together a highfalutin idiom, to sound like the politicians on TV rather than the one she happened to be, she scrambled her own persona.

After all, as the populist governor of a state whose voters respond to plainspoken directness, she suddenly found herself a national figure addressing big-media sophisticates. She was given about seven seconds to learn her role and then, after eight seconds, patronized and mocked. The reasons she performed so poorly are the very reasons her fan base loves her. If, over the next three years, her performance improves as much as it appears to have in just the last year, the conventional rap about her rustic idiocy may come off as mean-spirited and archaic. Her foes might be wise to contemplate the notion that someone of Palin’s background and sensibilities has a right, regardless of her views, to participate in the national debate merely because she speaks (though often unclearly) for many like her. If this possibility can’t be countenanced, then government for the people by the people is an abstract idea we’ve grown too cynical to practice. Sarah Palin endures not because she’s brilliant, smooth or philosophically correct, but because hope in democracy endures, too.

If I am giving Palin's book a thumbs up, it is qualified by the fact that, let's face it, the genre of the female political autobiography is itself in its infancy. It's like some 53rd state, housing at this moment in time only a handful of crude, wooden, lean-to outposts. These are times when former Secretary of State Madeleine Albright can do a book tour based on her pins and brooches, about which "Morning Edition's" Susan Stamberg will huskily midwife a most empathic and unironic discussion. These are times when Nancy Pelosi comes out with a memoir slender as a Hallmark card, a memoir no living person but me has apparently read, vaguely titled "Know Your Power: A Message to America's Daughters," which her publishers carefully deemed ("How shall we describe this?") a "keepsake." Then again, one understands why female political books tend toward focus group-approved mottos and tasteful brooches -- women have not been in politics for very long and, even more than the men in this rabid age, if they dare utter an opinion or take a stand, they and, weirdly, also their children get media-raped and shredded. (One curious triangulation in Palin's book is irritation with Obama's and Biden's relatively easy media rides coupled with unexpected sympathy for media-slogfested Hillary Clinton. Our bodies, ourselves! "Clinton-Palin in 2012!" Can you imagine? Neither can I.)

So what's refreshing is that Palin seems unafraid to express herself, warts and all -- informal campaign motto: "Heels on! Gloves off!" -- and the book just goes where it goes. Much has already been made of her freewheeling critiques, not just of Democrats but also of Republican Party insiders and McCain 2008 campaign managers, particularly in the gloomy waning days of the run. ("Schmidt leveled his eyes at me. 'We don't have the money Obama does and the numbers don't look good. We've got to change things up.' I AGREE. I was eager to hear a new strategy. 'So,' he continued, 'headquarters is flying in a nutritionist.'" Ba-dump-bump!) She is forthcoming enough about her personal failings. Belying her shellacked outer shell, more reminiscent to me of Anita Bryant than Tina Fey, Palin confesses a not-ready-for-prime-time horror at Trig's Down syndrome diagnosis and relates at least one fairly satisfying campaign trail fight with husband Todd. As opposed to Bush's post-Yale reinvention of himself as a Texas cowboy, Palin doesn't seem to be making this folksy stuff up. And really, who would want to? While courting Palin as a teen, Todd gave her "gold nugget earrings"; with only one phone line in the house, she and Todd yapped at night on their back porches on fishing boat radios, until they realized every commercial trucker trundling through town could hear them; the wedding rings were each $35, the post-nuptial dinner was at Wendy's. All this in the town of Wasilla, which, due to stratospheric sales of this particular product, Wal-Mart has deemed "the Duct Tape capital of the world."

In Palin's "Little House on the Tundra" (her own coinage), the very state of Alaska seems to have its own sound, its own language, its own quaint patois. There are so many more colorful sayings than that "pit bull with lipstick" quip! Things grow "faster than fireweed in July"; bench warming during sports games is known as "riding the pine." Alaskan history itself seems to be rich, so very rich in ... the letter K. "The year before Jack London arrived, Skookum Jim Mason and Dawson Charlie met up in the Yukon Territory east of the Alaska border with a gold miner who had been panning near the Klondike River," reads one particularly chunky sentence. Decades later, that same territory might be crossed by a winning Iditarod dog team, whose members had endearing names like Hobo, Lippy and Fudge! There is the truly startling tale of their neighbor Doc. A private bush pilot, he was electrocuted and fell off a ladder while hand-draping fluorescent flagging over power lines so he could more safely land his Citabria at home. Never one to give up, after the accident Doc "retrained himself to be a left-handed, one-armed dentist"! Writes Palin of her huntin' dad (who is known for palming balmy, just-removed moose eyeballs and warming fish eggs in his mouth), "So a lot of what Alaskans ate, we raised or hunted: moose, caribou, ptarmigan, and ducks. Dad and his friends became their own small-game taxidermists. Even today, my parents' living room looks like a natural history museum. And when an earthquake hits, Dad can tell the magnitude by how fast the tail wags on the stuffed cougar." As Frontier literature, I believe "Going Rogue" compares favorably to the Natty Bumpo stories of James Fenimore Cooper. And who wants to argue with me?

Indeed, by the end of this book, I thought, Never mind the hundreds of thousands of reasons the fiery Republican femme fatale is hated in, for instance, my oh-so-blue state of California. Honestly, a fair amount of what makes Sarah Palin weird is the very same stuff that makes Alaska weird. Covering one-fifth of continental North America (as Palin points out), Alaska is baffling. Alaska is ungraspable. Recall Jon Krakauer's descriptions of Alaska in "Into the Wild." On the one hand, a Palin quip about her favorite natural "organic protein" seems calculated to inflame PETA: "I love meat. I eat pork chops, thick bacon burgers, and the seared fatty edges of a medium-well-done steak. But I especially love moose and caribou. I always remind people from outside our state that there's plenty of room for all Alaska's animals -- right next to the mashed potatoes."

On the other hand, in Alaska it appears people really do eat what they hunt. They hunt in Alaska, they do: Wind chill drops to minus 60, there's no main thruway to Juneau, wolves are predators, they kill moose and caribou, so hunters shoot them, half are Native Americans, people get their heads lopped off in snowmobile accidents, oil spills destroy fisheries, thousands of jobs depend on natural pipelines, stuffed cougar tails shake in giant earthquakes, there are halibut tacos, God knows.

So when Palin writes: "The spirit of Alaska is unique, combining awe for the untamed majesty of nature, a rugged individualism, and strong traditions of mutual aid," what can you do but shrug and grudgingly concur? Sarah Palin is Alaska. She is Alaskan. (I almost bouncily want to write "AlasCan!") As for the next chapter, look for new brooches, at least in 2012. 

"I already shot a small buck, but this'll be a bigger trophy," said Bellhorn, who was laid off last year from his job at a plastics firm that supplies the auto industry, and has spent some of his free time attending tea party rallies. "I think when Reagan was in office, he saved us from ourselves, and I think she's got the character and the morals to do the same thing." 

Sarah Palin seemed to have an affinity with Greater Grand Rapids that she may not find anywhere else on her 31-city tour. West Michigan fits both sides of the Palin persona -- the antiabortion creationist and the moose-skinning hockey mom. It's a northern exclave of the Bible Belt, with one of the highest churchgoing rates in the nation. But unlike the rest of the Bible Belt, it's a place of deep snowfalls, ice rinks and bars with more Ski-Doos than pickups parked outside on a January night. 

(In "Going Rogue," Palin thanks a Grand Rapids family for hosting her son Track during a hockey tournament.) 

"There's a bond of northern women," said Jacquelyn Krug, a mother of five from Battle Creek. "She knows how to hack a winter." 

Krug was waiting outside the store when the Going Rogue Express -- an enormous blue bus with a photo of Palin standing in front of a mountain landscape -- began circling the parking lot, to chants of "Sarah! Sarah!" 

Palin stepped out, holding her infant son, Trig. She stepped onto a stage surrounded by red velvet ropes, then handed the baby off to an aide. 

"Thank you so much for showin' up!" she crooned. "First stop on the tour. There's just somethin' about Michigan. I couldn't wait to get back to Michigan. Alaska and Michigan have so much in common, with the huntin' and the fishin' and the hockey moms and just the hardworking patriotic Americans who are here. This is the heart of industry in our country, and I would like to see for this heart of industry for you all to just see a revitalization of your economy, and to be able to see really some remarkable things happen in this part of our land, and I anticipate that good things are going to happen here." 

"Palin power! 2012!" someone shouted. 

"Tell the truth, Andrea Mitchell!" someone else cried -- a challenge to the NBC reporter who was broadcasting from the store. 

After Palin went inside, people took turns posing for photos next to the bus, as though it were Mount Rushmore on wheels. Tomas Ojeda, a former Marine from Grand Rapids, held an American flag and a copy of "Going Rogue." He opened the cover of his book to show off a pencil sketch of a pit bull, drawn by his daughter. 

"I yelled, ‘Get your pit bull on' when I saw her," he explained. 

In her short speech, Palin had promised that buyers of "Going Rogue" could "read my own words -- unfiltered." If there were two common sentiments in the thousand-person line inside the mall, they were: resentment of the news media for its unfair treatment of Palin, and eagerness to use the news media to air that resentment. 

Doug Till of Kalamazoo was wearing a T-shirt that identified him as a member of the Southwest Michigan Tea Party Patriots. I told him I was from Salon. 

"The enemy!" he said jovially. Then he talked to me for 10 minutes, breaking off only to run to the other side of the rope line and engage a reporter for an Alaska newspaper. 

"We're here because we want to show support for Sarah Palin, because we want to show her words," Till said. "She's Middle America. She's our values. When they're attacking her, they're attacking us. If they would have interrogated Barack Obama and Joe Biden as much as they did Palin, the election would have been a lot closer." 

Till was glad to see Palin in Michigan, a state that had been "abandoned" by the Republican establishment. And he was glad the national cable channels had followed her here. 

"I wonder if MSNBC and CNN will listen to us now," he said. 

Palin sat in front of a blue screen on the second floor, scrawling "Sarah" in book after book, while country music blasted from a speaker. (The "Going Rogue" soundtrack: "Independence Day," by Martina McBride; "These Are My People," by Rodney Atkins; "How Do You Like Me Now?" by Toby Keith; and, natch, "Shuttin' Detroit Down," by John Rich.) 

Jacquelyn Krug's daughter, Annalisa, got into line without a wristband, because she was wearing her Air Force ROTC uniform. 

"I can't wait for you to commission me in the Air Force when you're president," Annalisa Krug told Palin. "You inspired me to join the Air Force." 

"It's such an honor to hear you say that, and that you've committed to serving our country," Palin replied, sounding both pleased and taken aback. 

Randy Cotton of Kentwood walked down the escalator carrying two copies of "Going Rogue." The night before, he had attended a Mike Huckabee book signing at a store just down 28th Street. It was nothing like the Palinageddon that hit Barnes & Noble on Tuesday. 

"This crowd was definitely by far bigger in size," Cotton said. "I spoke to people yesterday who didn't know Huckabee was going to be there until they came in to buy the book." 

The last time Grand Rapids saw a line this long, it was for another Republican, though not one Palin has to worry about facing in 2012. When Gerald Ford's casket was brought home, Grand Rapidians waited five hours in the cold to pay their respects. (Ford is buried at his museum, a pretty colorful memorial to a pretty colorless guy, with a Pet Rock, a glitter ball, and other mementos from the disco era that defined his presidency.) Ford belonged to a different Republican epoch: He was pro-choice, pro-ERA, and named Nelson Rockefeller his vice-president. He was the last representative of the moderate, Midwestern Republicanism that was upended by Ronald Reagan, in whose footsteps Palin is trying to follow. 

Grand Rapids proper still enjoys the middle of the road. The city narrowly voted for Obama last year. But the surrounding region may be Palin country. West Michigan is, by far, the most conservative part of the state. It was settled by Dutch Calvinists, members of one of the country's most Republican ethnic groups. (Amsterdam may be so libertine because all the religious folks moved to Michigan.) A Republican has to do well in West Michigan to carry the state. But a Republican too closely identified with the area usually loses. Detroiters think West Michigan is sanctimonious. As a result, it has never produced a governor. 

That, in a nutshell, is the problem Palin faces with America. On the back of the Going Rogue Express is a list of her book tour stops. Like Grand Rapids, most are medium-size cities in what Palin considers the "real America." She'll be signing books in Sioux Falls, S.D., Roanoke, Va., and Birmingham, Ala. She won't be signing books in New York, Chicago -- or Detroit. Those are capitals of the fake America. But the fake America elected Obama. The fake America has more votes than the real America, and it's turned off by candidates who cloak themselves in small-town values, while insisting those values are superior to big-city ways. 

Palin puts on a terrific political show. Her book signings are worth the $28.99. Only Barack Obama inspires as much fervor among his followers. Except for a few nuts like a Yankee Bubba in the "Jesus Beat the Devil With an Ugly Stick" T-shirt, Palin's disciples are earnest and patriotic. But she'll likely stay a genre superstar, like the country musicians she plays at her rallies. She can sell libraries full of books that way, and she can even start a political movement, but she probably can't cross over to the White House.

Palin fan Doug Till hopes media doubters are wrong about that. He had two objectives for his encounter with Palin: He wanted to ask her to attend a fundraiser for his tea party organization. And he wanted to show her a framed photo of his 8-year-old granddaughter sitting astride a bear she had shot in the Upper Peninsula. 

Spotting Till's tea party shirt, Palin said, "You're doing a great job. Keep it up." And though he wasn't allowed to bring the photo to the signing table, Palin had been told the story of Kailey's bear hunt. 

"Oh, you're my hero," Palin said, shaking the girl's hand. 

"You rock," Kailey responded. "I want to be just like you." 

Both of the GOP candidates who won gubernatorial elections this month, Bob McDonnell in Virginia and Chris Christie in New Jersey, had avoided Palin during their campaigns. And yet the crowd she drew for a book event in Grand Rapids, Mich., made it clear that Republicans can't really afford to alienate her supporters. So McDonnell and Christie offered some wan excuses for why they hadn't embraced Wasilla High School's most famous alumna as they sought office.

"The people I asked to come in to campaign for me were either someone like Mayor [Rudy] Giuliani, who I had known for the better part of a decade, or two governors who had faced the same kind of things and could talk about those issues in an intelligent way to show how Republican ideas had fixed those fiscal problems in their states," Christie said. Those two governors were Mitt Romney, the ex-governor of Massachusetts, and Minnesota's Tim Pawlenty. Presumably, Christie didn't mean to imply that Palin wouldn't have been able to talk about issues in an intelligent way.

McDonnell said it was just a matter of the schedule. "She was in such incredible demand, frankly, for the longest time we were just not able to work out anything for her to come in," he said. "And then, after she decided to leave office [in July], we had pretty much already arranged all of the folks that we had for the home stretch for fundraisers -- including several current and former governors -- so we pretty much had our strategy set at that point." Because, you know, campaigns tend to plan everything out months in advance and not make any last-minute additions to the schedule once it's set.

The RGA, though, isn't above using Palin to raise money, even if its newest members were a little wary of how the independent voters they were trying to appeal to would respond to her. Mississippi Gov. Haley Barbour, the group's chairman, told reporters Tuesday that the RGA was happy to accept Palin's offer to sell them a number of copies of her new book, "Going Rogue," at a discounted price -- the better to auction them off to donors with.

But the Palin assault keeps getting more surreal, and more intriguing. Wednesday night came the news that Palin wouldn't rule out the idea of Fox News host (and professional paranoid) Glenn Beck as a possible 2012 running mate.

Newsmax reporter David Patten says Palin "chuckled" when he broached the idea, but then gave Beck his props:

"I can envision a couple of different combinations, if ever I were to be in a position to really even seriously consider running for anything in the future, and I'm not there yet," Palin told Newsmax. "But Glenn Beck I have great respect for. He's a hoot. He gets his message across in such a clever way. And he's so bold — I have to respect that. He calls it like he sees it, and he's very, very, very effective."

Once again, I agree with Palin: Beck is indeed a "hoot" and he's very, very, very effective, at lying about President Obama and whipping his paranoid base into a deluded frenzy. So what is she doing: trying to sell books to that same base -- a nice potential book market but a sliver of the electorate -- or genuinely charting her 2012 course?

Judging by Palin's erratic behavior on this book tour, and her erratic handle on the truth within the book, it's honestly hard to tell. I think, as I said Monday, she is first and foremost about Sarah Palin Inc., becoming rich and powerful, but that may well be a path to Sarah Palin 2012. I will say it again: She will never be our president. But I can't rule out her being the 2012 Republican nominee.

When you look at the charisma-free roster of likely GOP candidates -- from 2008 has-beens Mitt Romney, Mike Huckabee and "I was for trying terrorists in NYC before I was against it" Rudy Giuliani, to that hunka-hunka burning boredom Tim "T-Paw" Pawlenty -- it's easy to see Palin creaming them. On the other hand, they might spend a lot on opposition research and/or get whatever Levi Johnston claims to have. Either way, the only person I see derailing Palin from the GOP nomination in 2012 is Palin herself.

And that's still quite possible. Whether you seriously care about policy or politics, she's a train wreck. I doubt she's silly enough to seriously consider someone as deranged as Glenn Beck as her running mate; I give her enough credit to assume that was just chicken-fried red meat for her base. But just look at her soliloquy on why her hateful and false claims about "death panels" are just like Ronald Reagan's rhetoric about the Soviet Union as an "evil empire." Here's what she told ABC's Barbara Walters, in all its syntactical, self-deluding glory. She admitted there are no death panels in Obama's plans, but goes on:

"It's kind of like what Reagan used to do, though, when he talked about, say, the ‘evil empire.' You're never going to find the evil empire on a map of the world ... And yet he talked about that, in terms that people could understand -- kind of rationing down, not complicating the issue. [Just a question, does she mean "ratcheting down?" My head hurts.]

"But he, with the issue of the evil empire at the time, used those two words to get people to shake up, wake up, find out what's going on here. Now, had he been criticized and, and mocked, and, and condemned for ever using a term that wasn't actually there on a map, or in documents, we probably would never have succeeded in, in crushing the evil empire, and winning that."

Dear Baby Jesus, where should I start? First of all, let me defend Ronald Reagan (despite global warming, hell keeps freezing over!): He did not mean the Soviet Union was literally an "evil empire" you could find on a map. It was his opinion, a turn of phrase, and well within the bounds of political rhetoric; there were many evil things about the way Soviet leaders treated dissidents, Jews, minorities, anyone who dared to differ from their dreary party line. So Palin's wrong in the way she depicts Reagan's "evil empire" argument.

Of course she's also wrong about the way the political world greeted that argument. Reagan was, in fact, widely "criticized" and "condemned" and probably even mocked for using the term; many people felt it wasn't the best way to keep peace with the Soviet Union and win them over to our side -- especially since there was a lot of evidence the Communist giant was crumbling even before Reagan's rhetorical assault (at least partly because of its Afghanistan folly; Palin's advisors might want to mention that to her!). Sunny Ronald Reagan shrugged off such criticism; Sarah Palin laps up the bile and turns into a victim and of course a self-described "pit bull," albeit with lovely lip gloss.

Whatever! Palin's book tour will be a political success; her book will sell and make her the money she brags she's never had. And Palin may well be the 2012 GOP nominee. But as she cozies up to Glenn Beck and mangles even her own party's history, it's increasingly clear she will never be our president. But trust me: She and her know-little followers will cause trouble for President Obama and the Democrats for the foreseeable future.

Here's a great video of MSNBC's Norah O'Donnell trying to ask Palin supporters in Grand Rapids, Mich., on Wednesday what she believes in. They get her position on TARP wrong (she supported it) and two of them just lapse into paranoid right-wing ranting about how she'll defend the Constitution. Nice to see O'Donnell asking real questions; scary to see how they're answered: