Winning the presidency in 2008 ensures that
Barack Obama will be better remembered for his time in the Oval Office than for his authorship. That is a shame. For though Dreams From my Father may have been an appeal for notoriety, its rawness, its unflinching forwardness, smells of authenticity. I'm sure some events in Mr. Obama's past have been massaged -- I imagine others have been completely left out --, but these flaws are nothing unique to him. In confessing his drug use, in confessing his sense of dislocation from the world around him, Mr. Obama has, here, opened himself up in a sincere way that most memoirists cower from. From his admiration for his
grandmother, to his complicated feelings for his
mother, to the black hole that is his
missing father, Mr. Obama walks us down his unusual path from disaffected youth in Hawaii all the way to the mean streets of Chicago where he made a name for himself as a
community organizer. The openness alone would make this read worthwhile, but Mr. Obama's trip to see his father's family in Kenya is a gripping and humbling example of seeing just how the other half lives. (4/5 Stars)
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