There is, unfortunately, no camp value in Michael Eisner’s Camp. The Disney CEO’s drippy paean to pine trees, swimmin’ holes, and ”planned freedom” in the Vermont woods is about as redeeming as John Kerry donning that fatal flannel shirt. The slim volume plods through the history of Keewaydin, where three generations of Eisners have learned far more than how to pitch a tent. (”Summer camp is where the tools to fend off the hard times are acquired,” reads one typical bromide. Pass the s’mores!) Followers of Disney’s corporate intrigue may appreciate the book’s jarringly unorthodox response to what Eisner terms ”Hollywood antics or boardroom politics,” and there are fleeting glimpses of the man behind the Mouse. Merit badges aside, however, Eisner has unrolled one big sleeping bag of prose.