false 3 1 false false Sun Mar 22 00:00:00 -0700 2009 Sun Mar 22 12:02:53 -0700 2009 Sun Mar 22 12:20:04 -0700 2009
Somehow this book had that weirdly clueless quality that I associate with the Bushes. I feel a little bad about saying that; it's a sweet little book, and clearly the protagonists (Denver, 61 and black and homeless, and Ron, 55 and rich and white) tried to be as honest as they could in telling their stories. But this is a memoir, and what makes memoirs resonate is complete honesty: telling the bad as well as the good. Ron and Denver try to tell the bad and the good about themselves, but they just can't bring themselves to say anything bad about Ron's wife Deborah, whom they both view as a perfect saint. Maybe she was all they say she was; but humanity, not divinity, is what makes saints interesting. If you leave out their warts, they become two-dimensional, and that's how Deborah comes off; and that made the whole story kind of...precious. And I don't mean that nicely.]]>