Intended as a letter to the author's 15-year-old son, the book reads more like a tangential and somewhat disjointed essay--covering Coate's personal background and the conclusions he's come to about both life and race relations within the United States of America. This familial and epistolary approach lends a certain intimacy that, I suspect, is as much a part of its appeal as the subject matter itself. 
 I've wrestled long with how to review this. I could more safely rate (or refuse to rate it) and not attempt to express my impressions, but it would be the coward's way out in my particular case. 
 I do understand I am not the "intended audience" for this material--being neither Coates' son, nor a father, nor of African-American descent. I picked up the book for the same reason I pick up most books, especially those considered non-fiction--to learn. In this case not only about a subject I'm trying to better grasp, but about a person who's life experience and perspective is different from my own. In all honesty, I'm not sure how well I accomplished either. All I can offer is my own impressions of someone else's impressions--which feels a bit like being caught in a psychological turnstile. 
 "Our triumphs can never redeem this. Perhaps our triumphs are not even the point. Perhaps struggle is all we have." 
 On a somewhat objective note, I can at least say I appreciated the prose itself far more than the structure. I love the way that Coates writes--both languid and vibrant at the same time, and brimming with poetic cadence. He offers a number of pause-worthy quotes--especially at the beginning. But as beautiful as his choice of language is, the underlying tone is largely hopeless, fearful, and embittered--with no cure (or suggestion for cure) in sight. The atheistic worldview underpinnings were some of the largest elements I struggled to relate to. It is rare that I deliberately try to experience justifiable anger in conjunction with a lack of belief in forgiveness. 
 The author grew up in impoverished West Baltimore within an intellectually-focused household, where he gained a deep admiration for Malcom X (who he quotes frequently throughout this book.) He also admits to having been so isolated as to not have gotten to know anyone who wasn't African-American until after entering college. There's one shining point where he seems to realize how narrow and limited his experience with the diverse whole of humanity has been... but then he seems to inexplicably retreat from that realization. 
 Coates credits Toni Morrison as an influence, and I'm glad for it. Morrison I could connect with on an emotional level where I apparently can't with Coates--which may honestly have as much to do with her being female as it does my preference for her compassionate writing style and broader perspective tone. 
 I'll admit, this book was nearly a DNF for me at one point. The callousness that Coates expresses toward the first-responder deaths during 9/11 was a particular bit of revulsion I couldn't quite get past. Even when I went on reading, my mind kept wandering off of the current passage and back to that. 
 As a life rule I try not to throw the baby out with the bath water, but that was some horrifically noxious bath water. 
 Favorite Quotes: 
 * "You are growing into consciousness, and my wish for you is that you feel no need to constrict yourself to make other people comfortable." 
 * "I would not have you descend into your own dream. I would have you be a conscious citizen of this terrible and beautiful world." 
 * "Black people love their children with a kind of obsession. You are all we have, and you come to us endangered."