Barack Obama: Dreams From My Father

Autobiography of A Young Man

Unlike some of my fellow book club members, I was looking forward to this month's pick. Dreams From My Father by Barack Obama is the first work that I have read by the Big O, and a logical starting point.

This autobiography focuses on Obama's first 25 years, prior to his political aspirations. The novel is structured into 3 parts: Origins, Chicago and Kenya. It tells of Obama's ancestry and upbringing. We see some influences and experiences that shape him into the man he becomes later in his life.

His Grandparents who Raised Him as a Teen

Obama is born in Hawaii, and after his father leaves his mother to pursue his education at Harvard, she divorces (although this term is never really used), and she remarries an Indonesian man. The family relocated to Indonesia for some time, but this relationship also ends, and Obama returns and begins living with his grandparents in Hawaii. While there, his biological father comes to visit him only once when he is approximately 10 years old. What a story this old family photo tells of his excitement to finally meet his father.

Barack's Biological Father

Obama's Mother

This novel really avoids any discussion of his mother. No fond memories, no funny anecdotes that demonstrate a warm relationship of sorts.  There is so little information about her, that this glaring omission left me wondering if there exists a rift in that relationship. Also, the total absence of information about Maya, his half sister by his mother and Indonesian step father, was curious. It's hard to believe that he wouldn't share any  stories of little childhood adventures with his sister at all?

There is a common challenge about the autobiographies of politicians: How to tell a story without compromising one's future, or offending the electorate. As such, the seedier, funnier and more painful bits are often left out, and the minutia of political wrangling is included to make up the bulk of a text. Name dropping is uses as a crutch and distracts from the intimate details that are omitted.

Obama's step dad, mom and sister

Refer back to Ken Dryen's autobiography The Game, and this is a critical fault of that work also. (Now if you want to read a gritty, tell all autobiography, try Life by Keith Richards!!! WOW!)

That being said, I was struck that Obama admitted to drug use (Yes, Bill Clinton, Barack inhaled and had the courage to admit it!!!) and I commend his honesty on this one. He also admits to drinking alcohol to excess and smoking cigarettes. These activities, while totally innocuous to most, are a major issue to the bible thumping, conservative southern states and I was impressed by his candour.

However, a glaring omission is his total lack of mention of any love interests, religious affiliations and the avoidance of admitting that his father had many wives, and innumerable children. I was tempted to start a family tree flow chart, but didn't know where to start!!!

Thanks to Wikipedia, here's the answer:

This is the Kenyan family portrait that
Obama refers to in his novel

"Barack Obama has six half-siblings. One half-sister from his mother, one half-sister from his father, and four half-brothers from his father. Abo and Bernard Obama are also alleged to be his half-brothers but it is stated in his book Dreams of My Father that the Obama family doubts that they are the biological children of Barack Obama, Sr." 

To be honest, I was really wanting the novel to talk about his time at Harvard, his more recent political aspirations, and his family life with Michelle and daughters. I guess I will have to read a different book for those stories.

I'd recommend it, but you can get by with skimming the political bits. A tough editor could have widdled the narrative down by at least 80 pages. 

Cozy, Comfy Read: The Friday Night Knitting Club

Late October in Southern Ontario is usually underpinned by blustery winds, frosty morning lawns, and grey evening skies. The leaves fall fast and steady for a couple of weeks, and then you know that the warm summer is over and 6 months of cold winter is on its way.

This is the time of year I enjoy pulling out the wooly sweaters and picking up a good, easy read to help me through the change of seasons. This year, that book was The Friday Night Knitting Club by Kate Jacobs.

This novel is not new; its been out since 2007, and has been touted as a New York Times bestseller. (what book isn't...seems like everything published is a NYT hit?!?)  Its the story of several women living in NYC, and it explores their connection to each other through the their weekly knitting club meeting.

There are many well drawn characters with their own quirks and foibles. Certainly Kate Jacobs does a great job fleshing them out. Maybe a little less convincing is the way the relationship of two old lovers comes together again (...maybe a bit to Hollywood.) Anyway, it's an easy read...we're not talking literary work and nothing too taxing. Enjoyable and I would recommend it if you've just come off a heavy read or you are under lots of stress at work!

Now, as a total aside from this novel:

Most women I know today have lost interest in knitting. It seems we are so busy rushing around that there is no time for creating woollens.  Rather than reach for the knitting bag, we reach for our laptops, iPhones or remote controls. A woman knitting is so uncommon.  Almost as uncommon, is the notion of a group of women getting together on a weekly basis to chat and share their lives with each other.

Here's why I loved this story. I believe in creating woollens...it's a traditional pass time and a tangible way to spend hours relaxing at home. I also believe in maintaining friendships with women throughout my life. My Wednesday mornings always involve a cup of coffee with my friends from the local mom's group in the village. Despite rain, shine, snow (and even political unrest) this group has been meeting up every Wednesday morning for 40 years, and by the looks of things, (and a little luck) it will run for another 40 years.

Now, I'm going to start convincing the girls to pull out the knitting needles (and crochet hooks cuz that's the new and cool thing to do!) Instead of comparing Apps on our iPhones at the hockey arena, we can compare crochet hooks and granny squares. BTW, there's NO APP FOR THAT!!! It might be a while before the girls come around to it. I'll let you know how it goes!

In the meantime, you can read this book and enjoy the warmth of female friendship. It was comforting.

I Hate Your Rotten Guts: The Guts

Twenty years ago, Roddy Doyle made me laugh and cry with Paddy Clark Ha Ha Ha. It was entertaining, and heartfelt. It was fresh and moving. His most recent work, The Guts, basically just made me cry...with frustration.

How can I describe my frustration? This novel was like picking up a beautiful looking peach. You know the kind that you can almost taste from it's sheer beauty...you just know you are going to love it. But then you bite into the luscious fruit, only to find you have a pithy mouthful of bland, dry pulp? Disappointing eh? Yeah well, that pretty much sums it up for me.

Page upon page of one line dialogues, between god know's which characters. It was absolutely frustrating to follow the conversations. I had to trace back over the one liners to figure out who was grunting what. The language is clearly local Irish slang, and that in itself left me asking if all families tell each other to "fuck off" regularly. Perhaps this novel works better if read as a script. Maybe Doyle wrote it with the hope of it being picked up as a screenplay. Maybe Doyle figured he'd make it easier on an editor and just make it a pseudo novel/screenplay mess.

Not sure. In the beloved words of Doyle: "It was shite from start to finish."

Turn the fan on first if you plan on reading this pile of crrrrapppp!