“Dreams From My Father. A Story of Race and Inheritance”  by Barack Obama.
Published in 2007 by Canongate Books, 442 pages

This year can be labeled as the year that I read the least since being able to read (I do not count literature about babies and supplementary food).

I finally finally finished Obama’s biography – I had started it in February and it was in my purse the day I suddenly was told to go to the hospital immediately to have The New Cohabitant. When I picked it up again it felt so foreign to me, like a keepsake from the past – and coincidentally I had stopped  around chapter 19 – where Granny starts telling Barack the life story of is father.

It is an interesting read indeed, and I enjoyed the book.

Not from the preface and not from the introduction but chapter one, the first three sentences:

“A few months after my twenty-first birthday, a stranger called to give me the news. I was living in New York at the time, on Ninety-fourth between Second and First, part of that unnamed, shifting border between East Harlem and the rest of Manhattan. It was an uninviting block, treeless and barren, lined with soot-colored walk-ups that cast heavy shadows for most of the day.”

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