Clarence Thomas

Yesterday, David gave me the gift of a luxury almost unimaginable these days -- a few hours by myself to read Clarence Thomas's new book, My Grandfather's Son. Actually, he gave me the weekend so that I could catch up on some work that desperately needs catching up on, but I was at the top of the list for this book at the Penfield library and so I took some time for myself and read. (Can't think when I've done that recently, other than in snatches here and there of David Hackett Fischer's Washington's Crossing, through which I am slowly making my way in between all of the important stuff in life.)

I was disappointed with the book.

I thought perhaps Thomas was going to give us some insight into his intellectual journey from early-70s-angry-young-socialism to originalist jurisprudence. Nope. It was a personal journey from birth to Anita Hill, which some people might find inspiring in the sense that it does a pretty good job at laying out how badly white liberal guilt has served blacks, and how noninterference by government is far better than interference. Other than that, it was pretty much strict-upbringing-by-grandfather-blah-blah-blah-Anita-Hill-blah-blah-blah-God.

The book wasn't badly written, but it was not in the least interestingly written. I had hoped that Thomas's laying out of his life story might be wrapped up in penetrating commentary and perspective from his current position in life. Nope. Just pretty much a bare-bones laying out of the facts. And lots of God's will thrown in for kicks.

Ho-hum.