I am on my second reading of Trevor Noah's Born a Crime short memoir for two reasons: first, it's a very quick, enjoyable read with moments of humor, terror and disgust in it; second, because I want to understand how a person can come across so genuine but have moments that make you doubt their soul at a fundamental level. 
 Born a Crime is Noah's story of birth and survival under South African apartheid rule, the chaos after that rule fell and how his light skin (but not too light), dark skin (but not too dark), luck and nerve served and failed him. Each chapter, you read about how he engages in misfortune and adventure only to see one of his friends or family members be claimed by the oppressive governmental forces or the specter those forces cast, and just when you think it's going to be Noah himself, the finger of fate touches someone close to him. 
 The entire book is a loving tribute to his mother, who if even half the things were true, sounds like a model for all mothers and an outspoken work for reforming how we approach domestic abuse. He gives an unflinching eye on how far can you support someone who's willing to live in a bad relationship. 
 There's also enough visceral details on what poor and starving people use for food to last a reader a very long while. 
 What's definitely noticeable are the tales left behind in the margins: what happened to Teddy who went to jail for eating chocolates, how Trevor helped raise his two brothers after a harrowing event, and the challenges of becoming a comedian in South Africa and eventually the big question: how did he get out of South Africa? which is a recurring theme but unsatisfactorily never answered. The sad effect of these omissions is that it makes the book seem narcissistic at times which he readily cops to in the book, so that may be the truth. 
 Overall, while I feel enriched for his story and I'm happy he's made it out of that place, I like him a little less as a person.