Book Reviews

From its title, Losing My Cool sounds like it might be about by a guy with a short temper. But that’s not the case. In fact, it’s quite the opposite, since Thomas Chatterton Williams is a rather erudite and introspective academic with a degree in philosophy from Georgetown University. What Losing My Cool actually refers to is the maturation process he went through while in college which enabled him to shed the anti-intellectual veneer he had embraced growing up in Northern New Jersey as a card-carrying member of the Hip-Hop Generation.

“Since the dawn of the hip-hop era in the 1970s, black people have become increasingly freer and freer as individuals, with a wider range of possibilities spread out before us now than at any time in our past. Yet the circumstances of our collective life have degenerated in direct contrast to this fact, with a more impoverished vision of what it means to be black today than ever before. If these exciting new circumstances we now find ourselves in, of which our president is the apotheosis, are to mean anything of lasting value, the zeitgeist… is going to have to change, too—permanently…

Will we, at long last, allow ourselves to abandon the instinct to self-sabotage and the narcissistic glorification of our own failure? Will the fact of daily exposure to a black president in turn expose once and for all the lie that is and always has been keeping it real?

Williams, whose mother is white and father is black, credits his dad’s emphasis on education with ultimately enabling him to appreciate the value of a college degree as a ticket out of the hood, as opposed to music, sports or illegal activities. This would prove to be no mean feat, however, for as a teenager the author found the materialist trappings and anti-social attitudes of the thug lifestyle ever so seductive. Thus, he cared little about grades and attending classes, while considering the conspicuous consumption and general degeneracy celebrated in gangsta’ rap videos worthy of emulation.

This very gifted writer recounts his perilous route from rebellion to redemption in Losing My Cool: How a Father’s Love and 15,000 Books Beat Hip-Hop Culture, a thought-provoking memoir which suggests we redefine exactly what it means to be black. What ought to make the iconoclastic ideas shared in this engaging autobiography of value to impressionable young minds is that the words are coming not out of the mouth of an older person who always hated rap music, but from a former diehard fan who has seen the error of his ways.

After all, it takes an admirable maturity for one to admit that a self-defeating, ghetto fabulous culture had “exerted a seriously negative influence on my black peers and me, and it did so in a way that we tended to approach hip-hop seriously and earnestly, striving to ‘keep it real’ and viewing a lifestyle governed by hip-hop values as some kind of prerequisite to an authentically black existence.”

A sobering deconstruction of the harmful hip-hop mindset by a brother who very easily could’ve ended up a casualty of that dead-end path instead of a role model.

“This is the story of two boys living in Baltimore with similar histories and an identical name: Wes Moore. One of us is free and has experienced things that he never knew to dream about as a kid. The other will spend every day until his death behind bars for an armed robbery that left a police officer and father of five dead.

The chilling truth is that his story could have been mine. The tragedy is that my story could have been his. Our stories are obviously specific to our two lives, but I hope they will illuminate the crucial inflection points in every life, the sudden moments of decision where our paths diverge and our fates are sealed...

It is my sincere hope that this book does not come across as self-congratulatory or self-exculpatory… Rather, this book will use our lives as a way of thinking about choices and accountability, not just for each of us as individuals, but for all of us as a society.

This book is meant to show how, for those of us who live in the most precarious places in this country, our destinies can be determined by a single stumble down the wrong path, or a tentative step down the right one. This is our story.”

In December of 2000, Wes Moore saw his name in the newspaper when the Baltimore Sun ran a blurb about how he’d just been awarded a prestigious Rhodes scholarship to do post graduate work at Oxford. But overshadowing that brief mention of him as a “local product done good” was a sensational, front-page story about a brother with the identical name who had been arrested for shooting a police officer to death during the aftermath of a botched armed robbery of a jewelry store.

Wes Moore, the college grad, was struck by the coincidence and wondered exactly what set of circumstances might have led his namesake to commit such a heinous act for the sake of some bling. After all, he knew at the very least that they were both young African-American males from the City of Baltimore. He continued to be nagged by that curiosity to the point that when he returned from England a couple of years later, he decided to contact Wes the lesser, now a convicted murderer serving a life sentence without the possibility of parole.

An exchange of correspondence led to a series of face-to-face visits, and the two forged an enduring friendship, since they had a lot in common, their contrasting fates notwithstanding. As it turned out, they had both been raised by a single-mom in a rough neighborhood where they had frequent run-ins with the police. Both had also dropped out of school to hang out on the street corners with a fast crowd. But where one Wes would benefit from an intervention that would send him to military school for a serious attitude readjustment, the other, in the absence of a mentor, was simply allowed to slip between the cracks.

Their parallel and ultimately sharply diverging paths in life are recounted in fascinating fashion in The Other Wes Moore, as engaging, illuminating and touching a memoir as one could hope to encounter. Studiously avoiding the temptation to put on any “holier than thou” airs, the author instead altruistically embraces a “There but for fortune” tone, suggesting that he and his jailed alter ego’s lots could just as easily have been reversed.

Wes even goes out of his way to pay tribute to the slain police officer who left behind a widow and kids. “Let me be clear,” he states, emphasizing the point that any empathy for the other Wes Moore “is not meant in any way to provide excuses… The only victims that day were Sergeant Bruce Prothero and his family.”

This imperceptibly-interwoven double-biography is a brilliant primer on the discouraging odds of making it out of the average, inner city ghetto nowadays. For those unforgiving environs remain likely to prune the potential of any misguided, unprotected or impressionable youngster unfortunate enough to take even one false step en route to adulthood.

“Five years ago… I knew nothing about my natural hair. It was that mess that grew out of my head… which was only relieved by using scalp-burning chemicals and hair-singeing heat. It was that unprofessional, bad, embarrassing stuff that, if I were to wear in public, would doom me to everlasting singledom and job failure because, surely, no employer would employ me nor would a suitable life partner love me with ‘Hair like THAT!’

Well, here I am, a lifetime later, full of NAPPtural hair and pride. I wear my hair in the state it was intended to be worn, and I have never felt freer. These feelings of joy and sky-high self-esteem that go along with the wearing of your hair NAPPturally is something born-again naturals feel the need to share.

Books like this one serve a wonderful purpose. They tell us we are not alone – that this soul-freeing experience is one also felt by other black women who had oppressed their hair and their minds into believing they were created less than perfect.

We, and our daughters, will only benefit from the healthy knowledge we pass on [that] their skin, their features and their hair are all beautiful in their own right. Black women need to celebrate their beauty, and this book is a great place to start.”

I suppose I should thank my lucky stars that I came of age back in the day when James Brown sang “I’m Black and I’m Proud” and afros were in vogue. Even though my peasy hair might have triggered its share of teasing and double-takes after styles had changed, I’ve never seriously considered wearing it any other way than how it grows out of my head. So excuse me if I look like I spend less time in front of the mirror than Don King, but I’ve always felt okay walking around with my locks looking exactly as the good Lord intended.

I understand that the situation is a little different for sisters, nonetheless, it looks like a movement might be afoot to challenge the conventional standard of beauty which pressure African-American females to resort to straightening their hair and other complicated measures. A couple of documentaries have played a role in this regard.

First, there was Black Hair, an enlightening expose’ which highlighted how Koreans control and reap huge profits from the billion-dollar, hair care industry in most African-American communities. More recently, we had Good Hair, which questioned our commonly-accepted definition of what constitutes good vs. bad hair while offering a sobering peek at all the chemicals, expense and daily rituals involved in arriving at a relaxed head of hair.

Apparently, some folks have been cut off for so long from their nappy roots that they might need help in reverting to a natural state. If that is the case, an excellent primer on the subject, complete with instructions, pep talks and helpful illustrations of a variety of healthy, beautiful ‘dos is Going Natural: How to Fall in Love with Nappy Hair.

The book was written by cutely-coiffed Mireille Liong-A-Kong who was born in Suriname but now makes her home in Brooklyn by way of The Netherlands. In fact, this tome was originally published in Dutch in Holland where the first edition sold out in a couple of months.

“The women in this book have come a long way to meet you. Some of them write under a new name to protect their families. Others speak in their own name to save their lives...

As you read these stories, be comforted if you are afflicted. Be clothed with the robe of many colors, the garment of praise. Walk with us on a journey past hurt, past shame, past rejection.

It was perhaps a watershed moment for the black community, when Mo’Nique, during her tearful acceptance speech at the Golden Globes, said she was sharing her Award with all the Preciouses and with anyone “who’s ever been touched,” ostensibly meaning molested as a child. “It’s now time to tell, and it’s okay,” she assured, being an incest survivor who’d come out of the closet herself. With so many sisters still silently suffering as victims of abuse, it is hoped that the movie might inspire some to seek help.

A timely-arriving aid in this regard is SistahFaith: Real Stories of Pain, Truth and Triumph. This intimate collection of tales of individuals overcoming adversity was compiled by Marilynn Griffith, who was sexually assaulted at 13 and became a mother at 14. The book is comprised of dozens of moving memoirs recounting nightmares involving everything from incest to rape to abortion to attempted suicide.

Although shame and humiliation seems to be a recurring theme in these women’s tragic lives, fortunately, so is redemption, especially with the help of God. Considerable solace is taken in the scriptural passages referring to the Biblical character Tamar (2 Samuel 13:2) who was raped by her own brother.

In sum, SistahFaith is a heartening, hopeful reminder that healing, compassion and support await those vulnerable souls ready to take the painful steps along the path to salvation and emotional, physical and spiritual recovery.

“What do black women want? The truth? They are looking for Denzel Washington. They have been so thoroughly brainwashed, that black women don’t know what a good black man even looks like… The brothers out there know exactly [what] I’m talking about.

Every time you turn around sisters say they just want a good black man, but being good is never enough. If it was, there would be no complaining, because there are good black men everywhere… We can’t all be in jail, on crack, trudging through natural disaster areas with plasma TVs strapped to our backs, raping newborns two at a time, sick with the DL, Jungle Fever, or otherwise afflicted.

This book is all about my life, sifting through unreasonable expectations from certain kinds of women… This is a personal journey I’m putting out there in hopes that women will read my experience and maybe it will help them find themselves, wake up, and find one of the good brothers who are far less the exception than the rule.”

Seems like black folks must be craving relationship advice, based on the number of self-appointed love gurus publishing how-to books aimed at the African-American community. This latest one, The Denzel Principle: Why Black Women Can’t Find Good Black Men, was written by a brother who seems like more of an embittered casualty of the battle-of-the-sexes suffering from post-traumatic street syndrome, than a leading authority in the field with legitimate credentials.

A Bachelor’s degree from Cleveland State and a Master’s in Fine Arts from Spalding University doesn’t sound like the appropriate background, but that hasn’t discouraged Jimi Izrael from passing himself off as a cultural critic. And he’s apparently met with considerable success, given his numerous TV appearances as a pundit around the dial on a variety of national cable news networks, at least when he isn’t busy lecturing as a lecturer at Case Western Reserve or other colleges in the Cleveland area.

That fair warning out of the way, you might be surprised to hear me say that I found Professor Izrael’s expletive-laced tome, thoroughly entertaining, if not exactly politically-correct or ready for prime time. For this twice-divorced father is obviously still angry at his two exes (“Both of them were crazy [b-words]!” and he sees them as responsible for the failure of their marriages.

At first, I thought this book was just Jimi’s way of getting even, and settling a score in a very public fashion with ex-wives Frances and Leslie. But no, he sees their discontent and behavior as par for the course, since in his eyes black females in general set their standards too high and exchange vows with unrealistic expectations of brothers. So, it is no surprise that he would also blame the fact that two-thirds of all African-American marriages end in divorce “less on black men and more on black women and their inability to make good choices.”

I doubt that this is the definitive primer on how to find a good black man, unless you’re inclined to take advice from a guy who, for instance, would discourage you from falling for an ex-con by simply saying “That’s [bleep]-ing stupid! Holy [bleep]!” However, as the colorful, comical and relentlessly-raw reflections of a miserable two-time loser with some serious unresolved anger issues, this memoir rates an A+. But when it comes to dating do’s and don’ts, you might want to get a second opinion.

“Are you someone seeking to start your own business and frustrated with the lack of straightforward answers to your countless questions? Or are you a business owner whose time is too consumed with researching how to spark growth instead of actually performing the right actions that will and success? Or is there an entrepreneur inside of you that isn’t [doesn’t] know where to start?

…The Entrepreneur Guide will walk you through the entire journey of building your own business from the ground up… This guide breaks down the most difficult tasks and possible future obstacles so that producing success from scratch becomes simply simple.

Now don’t get us wrong, there will be blood sweat and tears involved—more tears than anything else. Bu now you have the best tools and the right answers at your fingertips.”

There’s been a bumper crop of books published lately by black authors offering all sorts of relationship advice. But in order to be able to afford to do all that dating, you might want to make a little money first. And for folks so inclined, The Entrepreneur Guide arrives like a refreshing and worthwhile change of pace.

The book is the brainchild of Owen O. Daniels, who recently returned to the States after serving his second tour of duty over in Iraq. Besides rising to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel in the Army, the author has also earned a Bachelor’s degree in Public Administration from John Jay College in New York, and a Master’s in Computer Science with a minor in Business Administration from Webster College in St. Louis.

This unique combination of skills obviously came in very handy in enabling Daniels to craft a sensible step-by-step resource designed to address any question which might arise in the mind of a budding entrepreneur en route to making that first million. Succinctly written in layman’s terms the average educated person can understand, the user-friendly text virtually takes you by the hand and walks you through the typical start-up process in sequential fashion.

Thus, it starts by having you assess your basic business idea before coming up with a plan and then picking and registering a name, if warranted. It subsequently helps you decide whether you might need to incorporate or protect any intellectual property via patent trademark or copyright.

From there, the guide moves on to a variety of marketing concerns, and pertinent issues involving insurance, taxes and employees. Detailed-oriented Daniels even devotes attention to such minutiae as internet access, domain names, office furniture and barcodes for your products. As an attorney/MBA and small businessman myself, I was quite impressed overall, and can guarantee that The Entrepreneur Guide arrives stocked with some solid advice.

That being said, however, as the author states in his intro, your success ultimately will still be contingent on your work ethic and willingness to spill some blood, sweat and tears.

Do you remember the stunning red and black dress designed by Narciso Rodriguez that Michelle Obama wore in Grant Park on Election Night? Or the tasteful Jason Wu gown she donned to danced with her husband at the Inaugural Balls? Or how about the bright-colored J.Crew coats which kept daughters Sasha and Malia warm while watching mommy hold the Bible while their father took the oath of office?

Of course you do! Photos of those three iconic events are just a few of the dozens of historic moments preserved for posterity in Mrs. O: The Face of Fashion Democracy. As the title suggests, the book is far more than a collection of snapshots from the campaign, for it focuses on the new First Lady and her family from a fashion point-of-view. Not only does this delightful coffee table tome present Michelle in all of her sartorial splendor, but it also devotes space to interviews with the designers of many of her outfits and accessories.

For example, author Mary Tomer interviews Thakoon Panichgul, the Thai-born creator of Mrs. O’s rose-printed reverse kimono from the final night of the Democratic National Convention. When asked whether Michelle is now America’s style icon, it is not surprising that he answers in the affirmative. Anybody looking for controversy ought to look elsewhere, as this opus, at heart, is a gushy lovefest.

Among the luminaries weighing-in is Andre’ Leon Talley, Vogue Magazine’s Editor-at-Large, who rolls out a string of superlatives stating that Michelle “has redefined what it means to be a First Lady… She has changed and shifted the paradigm of what elegance and beauty are… I like what she stands for: you can be a woman, a good wife, and a modern mother. She has her own identity… She is the most capable woman in the world.”

And an inspiration and graceful role model who is likely to have a profound effect on impressionable young minds for generations to come.

It’s not a good sign when the author of a book is already making apologies in the preface for what you’re about to read. That’s what we have in the case of Barack Like Me by David Alan Grier, a disjointed rise of Obama memoir which might have sounded like a good idea a year ago, but which amounts to little more than the unfocused ramblings by a guy who probably didn’t have any reason to sound so giddy about Barack Obama or even about his own life.

This ill-conceived tome’s problems start with the front cover photo, on which we find the author posed giving an “OK” hand signal while wearing a powdered wig and a patriot’s uniform from the Revolutionary War Era. Based on the title’s play on words, I supposed the picture is supposed to suggest that he’s as patriotic as our new president.

Regardless, the content inside makes it clear that Grier had every intention of riding the wave of Obamania until it broke, given his gushing on page one about how “We won!” and how the first thing he does everyday (after kissing his wife) is to pinch himself to prove that it isn’t just a dream that a black man won the historic election. In chapter two, he’s still making an “hourly reality check” asking, “Barack Obama is still president, right?”

Despite the fact that Mr. Grier has an impressive pedigree including a degree from Yale and a Tony Award nomination, the sophomoric level of the political analysis here gets no deeper than, “Barack is president. Black is in. Black is cool. Everybody wants to be black now. But Obama black. Tiger Woods black. Halle Berry black. Not Samuel L. Jackson black. Or OJ black. Or Mike Tyson black.” Yet, in the very next chapter, he talks abut attending the inauguration and how Samuel L. Jackson was invited to the White House for breakfast.

Granted, he’s ostensibly attempting to be funny, and who knows to what extent his ghostwriter Alan Eisenstock deserves the blame for this fiasco. Sorry, I simply can’t in good conscience recommend such stream of consciousness drivel especially when the author’s idyllic marriage has just fallen apart and the utopian Age of Obama he envisions hasn’t materialized.

A transparent take-the-money-and-run rip-off of no substance designed simply to cash-in on the new president’s popularity. The most out of touch offering since Shelby Steele’s pre-election opus explaining why Obama couldn’t win.

“I have admired and adored Michael Jackson from the first time I heard his name and listened to his music. I have never been more fascinated by an entertainer before or since…

As a huge Michael Jackson fan and as a writer, I wanted to do something and give back to the entertainer for all the good feelings he has given to me and so many fans across this country and others. My gift to Michael is this positive book about his life and his music career.

The thought to write this book came to me out of the blue when I was reading a [positive] article about him [which] left me with good feelings, compared to the sick feelings I get when I listen to the television and radio and hear all the negative press about him. So, I decided to [do] my small part by putting out some positive information about the Superstar!” n Excerpted from the Introduction

In the wake of Michael Jackson’s untimely passing, I’m sure his legions of devoted fans are looking for a way to keep his spirit alive. They would do well to consider picking up a copy of Michael Jackson: The King of Pop, a comprehensive anthology comprised of interviews, song lyrics, dozens of color and b&w photographs, and more.

The literary equivalent of a bound fanzine, the book offers an uncritical peek at Jackson both from his own, self-serving perspective and that of the admittedly-adoring author. Despite her gushing, syrupy sweet tone, the tome is still fairly fascinating primarily because Michael comes off as a very sympathetic figure who clearly became bizarre because he never had a normal childhood. It’s sort of like how a dog or a cat is worthless as a pet if it’s weaned from its mother at too young an age.

Consider Jackson’s response when asked by a reporter from USA Today in 2001 whether he’s “resentful that stardom stole his childhood. “Yeah, it’s not anger, it’s pain,” he admitted. “People see me at an amusement park or with other kids having fun, and they don’t stop and think, ‘He never had that chance when he was little.’ I never had the chance to do the fun things kids do: sleepovers, parties, trick-or-treat. There was no Christmas, no holiday celebrating. So now you try to compensate for some of that loss.”

In another article, Michael takes on the paparazzi, saying “The tabloid press are bastards, and you’ve got to have rhinoceros skin to deal with that ignorant mentality… They simply make it up… I’m nothing like the way the tabloids have painted me out to be, nothing… They’re the ones who are crazy.”

Barack Obama’s ascendance to the Presidency was undoubtedly moving to anyone old enough to have endured Jim Crow segregation during those shameful days before black folks were allowed basic human rights like access to restaurants, hotels or even the voting booth. Understandably, it might now be satisfying enough for elders who suffered such indignities simply to sit back and bask in the reflected glory of Obama’s historic achievement.

But that feat ought to have a very different meaning for children growing up today. For given Barack’s rise from some rather humble roots, his life story of beating the odds should serve as an inspiration to them and to impressionable young minds for generations to come that they can turn any dream into reality, however big, however improbable.

That’s precisely the message of I am Barack Obama, a priceless biography of our new President by Charisse Carney-Nunes, a mother of two who designed it for kids still in their formative years. In the preface, we learn that the author also happens to know her subject personally, having attended Harvard Law School at the same time as Obama. In fact, there’s even a picture of them together, taken in April of 1991.

The tome’s uplifting narration, written in a bouncy rhyme, is not so much strictly about Barack as about the incredible potential inside each and every one of us which is waiting to be unlocked. But the book’s beautiful illustrations by Ann Marie Williams do feature familiar tableaus of Obama at every stage of his development, from learning to ride a tricycle all the way to his finally standing at a podium in front of the President Seal.

Fitfully, I am Barack Obama closes with over a dozen testimonials by children representing a diversity of ethnic backgrounds. Each one essentially affirms, as 10 year-old Raequan eloquently puts it, “No matter where you come from, when you put your mind to it, you can do or be anything.“