Barack Obama is as fine a writer as they come. It is not merely that this book avoids being ponderous, as might be expected, even forgiven, of a hefty memoir, but that it is nearly always pleasurable to read, sentence by sentence, the prose gorgeous in places, the detail granular and Aalysis.
From Southeast Asia to a forgotten school in South Carolina, he evokes the sense of place with a light but sure hand. This is the Analysis Of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie s Ted of two volumes, and it starts early in his life, charting his initial political campaigns, and ends with a meeting in Kentucky where he is introduced to the SEAL team involved in the Abbottabad raid that killed Osama bin Laden. His focus is more political than personal, but when he does write about his family it is with a beauty close to nostalgia.
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Wriggling Malia into her first ballet tights. His mother sucking ice cubes, her glands destroyed by cancer. In Oslo, Adicihe looks outside to see a crowd of people holding candles, the flames flickering in the dark night, and one senses that this moves him more than the Nobel Peace Prize ceremony itself. And what of that Nobel?
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He is incredulous when he hears he has been awarded the prize. It makes him wary of the gap between expectation and reality. He considers his public image overinflated; he pushes pins into his own hype balloons. And what savage self-questioning. He considers whether his first wanting to run for office was not so much about serving as about his ego or his self-indulgence click his envy of those more successful.
He wonders if he perhaps has a w laziness.
He acknowledges his shortcomings as a husband, he mourns his mistakes and broods still on his choice of words during the first Democratic primaries. It is fair to say this: not for Barack Obama the unexamined life.
But how much of this is a defensive crouch, a bid to put himself down before others can? A sensitivity to rejection or looking stupid. His reluctance to glory in any of his achievements has a particular texture, the modesty Analjsis the Brilliant American Liberal, which is not so much false as it is familiar, like a much-practiced pose. His self-assessment is harsh even about his first stirring of social awareness in his teenage years. He passes an adult judgment on his navel-gazing politics, labeling it self-righteous and earnest and humorless. But of course it was; it always is at that age.
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This tendency, darker than self-awareness but not as dark as self-loathing, seems to have fed in him something charitable, a wholesome humanity, a deep generosity; it is as though he is both freed and ennobled by having dealt himself the severest hand. And so he is lavish with forgiveness and with praise, giving the benefit of the doubt even to those barely deserving. His affection for his first-term inner circle — Valerie Jarrett, David Axelrod, David Https://amazonia.fiocruz.br/scdp/blog/purpose-of-case-study-in-psychology/slavery-and-freedom-in-william-shakespeares-the.php, Robert Gibbs, Rahm Emanuel — is moving, as is the work culture he creates, of not looking for scapegoats when things go wrong.
He makes a point of regularly reading the letters of ordinary Americans not just to keep abreast of the concerns of the electorate but to lift his own spirits and suppress his own doubts. On George W. A lovely human response.
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But this being Barack Tedd, self-indicter extraordinaire, he is quick to add that there is surely an element of self-interest in his position since he is now about to become president. And yet for all his ruthless self-assessment, there is very little of what the best memoirs bring: true self-revelation. So much is still at a polished remove. It is as if, because he is leery of exaggerated emotion, emotion itself is tamped down. He writes exhaustively about the nuts and bolts of passing his landmark Affordable Care Act, but with an absence of any interiority.]
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