As another terrifyingly significant presidential election nears, it’s hard not to fantasize about how different things could be. Imagine, for instance, having a president who put deeply held values above the pressures of their biggest donors. Imagine one who was able to truly listen and learn when faced with issues they didn’t understand rather than adhere to whatever stance happened to be the most politically convenient at the time. Imagine, even, a president who inspired you, who made you feel a glow of patriotism, skeptical as you might be of the concept. In short, imagine Josiah Edward “Jed” Bartlet, president of the United States as envisioned by Aaron Sorkin and brought to life by Martin Sheen across seven seasons of the award-winning and critically acclaimed NBC series “The West Wing.”

Two of the show’s cast members, Melissa Fitzgerald (who played Carol Fitzpatrick, assistant to the White House press secretary) and Mary McCormack (who played deputy national security advisor Kate Harper), certainly still believe in the show’s sticking power as well as its overall positive framing of politics. They have written a book about it that is plainly geared toward existing fans of the show: “What’s Next: A Backstage Pass to the West Wing, Its Cast and Crew, and Its Enduring Legacy of Service.”

Look, it’s true: Every so often, I make hot chocolate in my “Bartlet for America” mug and sip it wistfully, imagining a world in which we’d had a President Bartlet instead of a second President Bush, perhaps followed by a President Santos — the character played by Jimmy Smits who had sweeping, truly inspired education reform plans. It’s a lovely dream, a White House that’s more “West Wing” and less “Veep,” functional and nearly scandal-free, earnestly dedicated to bettering the lives of everyday Americans by doing the slow yet essential work of policy change.

Yes, I know this is extremely naive; yes, I’m aware that Bartlet was problematic in plenty of ways, as were his staffers; and yes, I know that “The West Wing” was, in many ways, a liberal fever dream that bought into American exceptionalism and the ideals of patriotism. But that’s just it: The show was a fantasy, one that gestured at an idea of how things could be, but that wasn’t trying to claim that this was how things really were. Sorkin himself insisted that “first and foremost, if not only, this is entertainment. ‘The West Wing’ isn’t meant to be good for you. … Our responsibility is to captivate you for however long we’ve asked for your attention.”

And entertain us it did, across more than 150 episodes, some more memorable than others, but all including at least one rousing monologue that made this viewer, at least, believe in the possibility of a government that really works, or that really tries to work, or that really wants to work. It helps that I first watched bits of it as a tween, long before I’d moved to the States, when my trips to California were strictly family visits during which I was loved and spoiled by my grandparents and aunts with as much frozen yogurt as I wanted, unrestricted TV time during which I enjoyed more channels than I knew what to do with and endlessly fascinating commercials for toys I would never get, and best of all, bookstores so large I could get lost in them. It felt like a more innocent time.

But, of course, it wasn’t. “The West Wing” was airing as George W. Bush took office following a close and contested election. It was on TV when 9/11 happened, as the Patriot Act was signed, and as the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq were launched. The show offered a rosy alternative, which appealed especially to a certain income bracket; its biggest chunk of viewers, according to a 2001 study, were earning more than $70,000 a year — or, in today’s money, more than $120,000. Largely sheltered from systemic injustices contributing to and caused by poverty, affluent people experienced fewer of our government’s shortcomings and probably found the show’s vision more plausible than it was.

As a (rather sheepish) devotee of the show, I bought into it too, especially the first couple of times I watched it front to back, in my late teens and early 20s. It managed to make the American political process — which I found deeply baffling, having never learned how it worked in school — exciting. Partially, I’m sure, it was the speed of the quippy dialogue, which Sorkin is famous for, as well as the way the show was shot, its long walk-and-talk scenes lending a sense of urgency to matters of dry policy. The humor was helpful too, and sometimes educational. I’ll never forget the Big Block of Cheese Day episode during which deputy communications director Sam Seaborn is required to meet with a ufologist — and Press Secretary C.J. Cregg and Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman learn (along with the rest of us) that the maps we’ve all grown up with are both imperialistic and frankly just wrong.

But as funny and inspiring (often at the same time, as in the brilliant two-parter “20 Hours in America”) as the show can be, there are glaring issues in it. When I rewatched it more recently, I was incredibly disturbed, for instance, by the dynamic between Lyman and his assistant, Donna Moss. What was framed as a cute “will they/won’t they” relationship between boss and devoted employee now read to me as not only extremely unprofessional but even downright abusive, with Donna bearing the brunt of Josh’s temper tantrums and putting up with being constantly belittled by him. But it’s more than the interpersonal dynamics; the show’s occasionally over-the-top optimism and sincere belief in the United States as the greatest nation on Earth — not to mention its very white casting and casual yet consistent sexism — has, speaking anecdotally, made it feel cringey to many leftists of my generation.

The old critiques about the show’s idealism still ring true. Cynicism about and frustration with the slow gears of government have likely always existed throughout the left-right spectrum. Now, with social media adding a second-by-second commentary on an already speedy 24-hour news cycle, these sentiments feel much louder and more visible.

The authors of “What’s Next” don’t address the ways the show has aged poorly. They’re instead relentless in pointing to its positives, and to be fair, when it was originally airing there was no other TV show depicting government functions, and so the policies that “The West Wing” explored were likely eye-opening to many of its viewers. An episode in the first season, for instance, includes a compelling argument for financial reparations for the descendants of enslaved Black people, a concept as old as abolition but which plenty of the show’s viewers might have never encountered before.

This particular example isn’t mentioned in the book, though, which focuses instead on the broad idea of service and lionizes the show’s cast members for their various social and political activism. Many have worked to support veterans and treatment courts, which emphasize rehabilitation for individuals with substance use disorders. “What’s Next” is a cheerleading text, a fun and breezy read that doesn’t delve into any cringe aspects or difficulties on set.

But “The West Wing” would, like almost any piece of enduring media, only suffer from an insistence that it’s perfect. The show is a messy piece of very entertaining — and occasionally educational — television, full of extremely talented actors giving incredible performances, but it’s not a road map for reality, nor should it be.

After President Biden’s debate debacle this summer, the show’s creator, Sorkin, penned a bizarre op-ed suggesting that the Democrats nominate Mitt Romney, a moderate Republican, for president, a strategy to poach enough conservative voters to keep former President Trump from regaining power. But when Biden stepped out of the race, Sorkin quickly took back the suggestion. His op-ed was, depending on whom you asked, a frustrating or entertaining thought experiment, but it should never have been seen as real advice for the real world. Like “The West Wing,” it was a break from reality.

Ilana Masad is a books and culture critic and author of “All My Mother’s Lovers.”