There is no need to introduce the author of this book. This is not really the second part of her memoir so much as a self help advice book based on her own experience in coping with stresses, disappointments, and uncertainties. By the end of reading the introduction, I was disappointed as it seemed she was about to dish out almost 300 pages of trite aphorisms and fuzzy psychobabble a la Dale Carnegie, Mehmet Oz, or Oprah, comparisons I am sure she would not appreciate. But as I read on, I realized that even if it is read and interpreted as a self help book, it is by far the best one I had ever read or heard of, infused as it is with the unique brilliant insights of a remarkable woman. In places she plays the roles of parenting and marriage counsellor, but does it better than Dr. Spock or Ann Landers; she relates that she and Barrack, the public image of an ideal loving couple, have used the services of a marriage counsellor. And it would be very inappropriate and arrogant of me to dismiss her advice, having never experienced any of the discrimination, fears, and outright hate that has lead to her self-doubt, introspection, and sense of not belonging, shared by millions of others.
There is little of the political commentary and insights I was hoping for; nothing about her predecessors or successors as FLOTUS, not one word about her take on the Clintons, and far too much introspection and self analysis for my liking. She writes about living with a separate being called her fearful self and arguing with her. The abundant metaphors become a bit obscure.
“Rage can be a dirty windshield. Hurt is like a broken steering wheel. Disappointment will only ride sulking and unhelpful, in th back seat. If you don’t do something constructive with them, they”ll take you straight into a ditch.”
I can relate to the discussion of her parents, particularly her mother, but in the opposite way- I cannot recall my parents ever showing any public displays of affection nor praising any of our various accomplishments, although there is no doubt that they loved us. And although she does not name it as such, much of her adult self doubt seems to relate to the “imposter syndrome”, the conviction that, from her background, she is not deserving of her remarkable accomplishments, a feeling I have also experienced.
Much as I admire this remarkable woman, by far the most influential First Lady in living memory, I was a bit disappointed with this book. For me, it is not nearly as good as her earlier Becoming.
⭐️⭐️⭐️
Thanks, Alana.
The Passionate Reader 