By Kit Moke
Depending on who you ask, the legacy of Rupert Murdoch represents many different things. To some, he’s a corporate Napoleon, responsible for taking an Adelaide newspaper and transforming it into a world-spanning empire. To others, he’s a nepo child—his success a mixture of blind luck and knowing the right people. However, Murdoch’s longevity and widespread influence suggest something far more potent. Rupert Murdoch is the man who broke democracy.
Regardless of their political leanings, most summaries of Murdoch’s legacy tend to share the same acknowledgement: his news empire changed how we perceive the word. This paradigm shift is explored by author Gabriel Sherman in his latest work, Bonfire of the Murdochs. A chronological account of the mogul’s life—stretching back to his father Sir Keith Murdoch—Sherman attempts to understand Murdoch’s rapid ascent to global dominance and the factors that lead to his chokehold on media.
The prologue details an aging Rupert and his eldest son Lachlan travelling to a Nevada state courthouse. His opponents in the upcoming legal clash are his son, James, and daughter, Elisabeth, who feel slighted by their father’s attempt to change the family will. If successful, the majority stake of NewsCorp would be given to Lachlan, violating Rupert’s decades-long agreement to split his empire equally. The fallout that ensues serves as the backdrop of Sherman’s book, with his exploration of the Murdoch dynasty unearthing far deeper implications about the world around us.
Beneath the surface, Bonfire of the Murdochs is more than a biography. Rupert is undeniably the centrepiece, but his life and legacy are overshadowed by another presence: the influence of power. Sherman is both clinical and unflinching in his portrayal. Murdoch’s life – as depicted by Sherman – is a series of handouts, close calls, and downright flukes. Through this lens, the effects of his empire aren’t just an indictment of Rupert, they’re a condemnation of a broken system.
However, despite the nuance of this approach, it arguably strips a large amount of Murdoch’s agency. Bonfire of the Murdochs doesn’t shy away from Rupert’s history of betrayal, vindictiveness, or opportunism, though it can serve to excuse some of his actions as the natural results of systemic failure. This assessment isn’t without merit—Murdoch’s role in organised misinformation, union busting, and lobbying is by no means small. Sherman is far from a Murdoch sympathiser, but his hesitation to bluntly call out the mogul’s unique responsibility can be frustrating.
Thankfully, Murdoch doesn’t escape the narrative unscathed. By attempting to control everything around him, he is often left with nothing. The seeds of familial conflict aren’t reaped until the book’s second half, but once they are, they become a natural catharsis to decades of malpractice. Above all, Sherman captures the emptiness at the heart of extreme wealth. Bonfire of the Murdochs doesn’t just expose the cost of empire, its asks whether this cost is even worth it.
