The Johnson & Johnson dynasty: Pass the painkillers Crazy Rich: Power, Scandal and Tragedy Inside the Johnson & Johnson Dynasty. By Jerry Oppenheimer. St Martin's Press; 496 pages; $27.99 and £18.99. "CRAZY RICH" ought to be good. It has a bestselling author, Jerry Oppenheimer. It has a fascinating subject, the family that founded Johnson & Johnson, the company that invented Band-Aids and now peddles everything from painkillers to antipsychotics. The Johnson scions include drug addicts, a sculptor and the owner of the New York Jets football team. Yet somehow this book is unreadable. The problem is hardly the raw material. Robert Wood Johnson, the son of a poor Pennsylvania farmer, founded Johnson & Johnson with his brothers in 1886. After his death in 1910, his brother James led the company's expansion during the first world war, creating the plasters and gauze used by soldiers at the front. Robert Wood Johnson's son, named after his father, may have been the company's most forceful leader. He steered it through the Depression and oversaw its initial public offering in 1944. He served in the army for a few months during the second world war and called himself "General Johnson" for the rest of his life. His son Bobby (Robert Wood Johnson III), was the firm's president for just four years before the General helped oust him in 1965. They were the last Johnsons to be in the family business. The book's many other characters include Evangeline, the General's sister. She had three husbands and, if Mr Oppenheimer is to be believed, a lesbian lover. There is the strange case of J. Seward Johnson junior, whose wife shot an investigator hired to track her. There is Keith Johnson, who parked his BMW on a beach, dropped acid and then watched the tide carry away his car. The most delectable titbits involve Robert Wood "Woody" Johnson IV, who owns the Jets and was a leading supporter of Mitt Romney, the Republican presidential candidate last year. His public persona has been rather staid. Mr Oppenheimer paints him as a dolt. He earned poor marks at the University of Arizona, hardly a bastion of academic rigour. When drunk once, he fell off a bridge and severely injured his back. As a young man in Florida, he courted a business partner by supposedly saying, "My dad told me that I have to learn business from somebody who made their own money without inheriting it, and preferably he should be a Jew." All this should make for juicy reading. But "Crazy Rich" is all guilt and no pleasure. The sources for this "unauthorised biography" are patchy. Mr Oppenheimer's long sentences are packed with clichés. The narration ranges from sloppy to preposterous. Must he compare the Johnsons to a Greek tragedy twice in two pages, or to the Kennedys even more frequently? When Woody Johnson's daughter criticised a family member in a tabloid, Mr Oppenheimer opines that she "was now considered a tabloid terrorist, and her act of vengeance their own personal 9/11." The Johnsons have had many sad stories, including drug overdoses and fatal accidents, not to mention ugly fights over inheritance. One might think this would inspire sympathy, or at least greater interest in its subjects. Yet "Crazy Rich" arouses few feelings other than the desire for it to end. Best then not to start it in the first place.