‘The Obamas’ surprisingly lacks surprise

The Obamas
By Jodi Kantor
(Little, Brown) 

With all the headlines about Jodi Kantor’s book on Barack and Michelle Obama, the biggest surprise about it is this: There aren’t any surprises.

I learned little about the Obamas or the presidency that I didn’t know or imagine, and I’m not even a passionate follower of events in Washington. Well, one thing shocked me. Can you believe the White House residence has a spotty Internet connection and only one extension of the landline?

Though the book is admiring of its subjects and seemingly inoffensive, it is not an authorized work. The Obamas, having granted Kantor a 40-minute interview when she was working on an article about them for The New York Times magazine in 2009, never spoke to her again. The White House press office and Michelle Obama have said the private moments and emotions reported in the book are made up, and that Kantor’s characterization of tensions between East and West Wings is exaggerated.

No one can say that Kantor, a Times reporter and former Slate editor, didn’t report the living daylights out of the story ― interviewing 200 people, including all the top West Wing staff, and covering pretty much every minute of the Obama presidency. But without firsthand insight from the subjects, the emotional moments seem forced. In fact, the two most moving elements are the text of a speech by the president, and a photograph in the pictorial insert.

The speech is at the memorial for the victims of the Gabrielle Giffords shooting last January. Obama had just come from Giffords’ bedside and seen the congresswoman open her eyes for the first time. Even just reading the words “Gabby opened her eyes” repeated several times, as Obama did that day, brought tears to my eyes. Kantor writes: “With Obama’s repetition and refrains, he was speaking the language of the church. ... He quoted Job, his command of Scripture rebuking those who said he was not a Christian. That told-you-so look flickered in his eyes ― I will mention Jesus on my own terms, you jerks.”

Kantor’s analysis starts on solid ground with the comparison to spiritual oratory, but goes off the deep end with the invented internal dialogue ― attributing to the president mean, buzz-killing thoughts at that. And her attempt to penetrate Michelle’s mind at that moment is no more uplifting: “The expression on Michelle’s face was one of deep satisfaction. He had given the kind of speeches he knew he could give. The look on her face said: This is the kind of president I wanted you to be.”

Kantor explains, as others have before her, that Michelle Obama is beautiful and self-possessed, that she is a traditional South Side Chicago girl, that she is critical yet intensely supportive and ferociously protective of her husband. Somehow these themes are most movingly expressed by the Damon Winter photograph at the center of the photo section. Barack is in profile in one half of the picture ― out of focus, somewhere between person and icon. Michelle watches him from behind, high-def down to the arch of her eyebrows and the swoop of her bangs. The alert, solemn, worried expression on her face is worth a thousand words.

The Obamas are boring do-gooders with a solid marriage: they dine with their kids five nights a week, have made no new friends in Washington, don’t have anyone over except two couples they’ve been besties with since Chicago. They don’t party or go to parties. (MCT)



Rebuilding a life amid a stunning landscape

The Rope
By Nevada Barr
(Minotaur) 

Since 1993, Nevada Barr has given readers solid, intriguing tours of America’s national parks from Texas to Michigan to the Florida Keys, including an urban national park in New Orleans, via her series heroine, park ranger Anna Pigeon. In this series, readers have been swept up by the vistas, the breathtaking beauty of nature and by the ruthlessness of man. The petite Anna ― fearless, resilient, insightful ― has proven to be an exceptional guide.

Barr’s 17th novel goes back to Anna’s past for a gripping, suspenseful story about why she decided to become a park ranger and what lead to her complicated persona. “The Rope” is more than a trip down memory lane, it is a tightly coiled story about trust and rebuilding a life, set against a stunning landscape.

Anna is 35 when she arrives by bus from New York City to spend the summer working at Glen Canyon National Recreation Area, which encompasses more than 1.2 million acres from Lees Ferry in Arizona to the Orange Cliffs of southern Utah.

Older than the other “seasonal” workers, Anna keeps to herself, not joining the daily potlucks nor gossiping nightly on the porch, nor making friends, not even with her housemate, Jenny Gorman. What they don’t know is Anna is in a deep state of grief over the recent death of her husband. Working the parks can be grueling and isolating and many summer workers end up quitting with no notice. Which is what the other workers think happened to Anna when she doesn’t show up for work a couple of weeks into her job. Her bag and few clothes are gone so she must have hopped a bus back to New York City.

Instead, Anna went hiking by herself and languishes at the bottom of a solution hole, a dry, natural well caused by softening of limestone. But Anna didn’t just fall ― she was pushed. She’s down there naked, with water that has been drugged and a horrific discovery. There doesn’t seem to be any way out nor anyone around to hear her scream.

Barr keeps Anna’s claustrophobic time in the hole suspenseful, as Anna tries to remember what happened and attempts to free herself. Back at the workers’ residence, Jenny uncovers clues that Anna may not have left.

Barr’s affection for and knowledge of national parks continues to imbue her series with a strong sense of place. Anna’s maturation from a timid, grief-stricken widow to a strong, uncompromising woman with a new plan for her life adds to “The Rope’s” power. (MCT)