Well, it’s quite the title, isn’t it? It tends to invite comparisons. The first one that occurred to me, though, was that the original Promised Land guy managed to get all the important stuff down on two stone tablets. His would-be successor doesn’t have quite that gift for compression. As he semi-apologises in the opening pages (he feels bad about it, but not bad enough to do a ruthless edit), this memoir was originally envisioned as a 500-pager. A Promised Land is just north of 700 pages, and there’s another volume to come.
That speaks of a certain self-regard. Then again, Barack Obama has a good bit to be self-regarding about. He overcame a modest background, a Muslim-sounding middle name and the melanin thing to win the presidency, in large part thanks to an unsurpassed gift for oratory. He helped avert a global depression after the 2008 crash. He passed the Affordable Care Act in the teeth of a ferociously obstructionist GOP. He kept a lid on the Iranian nuclear programme, just about negotiated the Arab spring with honour intact, saw off Colonel Gaddafi — and it was on his watch that they got Osama Bin Laden, a thrilling account of which closes the book. He managed to win the Nobel Peace Prize (‘what for?’ he was self-aware enough to wonder) even as he sent tens of thousands more troops to Afghanistan and waged unceasing drone war in the sovereign territories of other nations. What’s more he has a good singing voice, a nifty jump shot and a smart, smoking hot wife — he notes, approvingly, the ‘cult of Michelle’s arms’ taking hold of the media.
Whether or not you rate his achievements as highly as he does, to keep company with his elegant prose, complex conscience and unmistakable intelligence is a cool drink of water after four years of the other guy.

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