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Born A Crime - Honest Review!Sophia Doyle

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Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood Kindle Edition

by Trevor Noah (Author) Format: Kindle Edition

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#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • More than one million copies sold! A “brilliant” (Lupita Nyong’o, Time), “poignant” (Entertainment Weekly), “soul-nourishing” (USA Today) memoir about coming of age during the twilight of apartheid

“Noah’s childhood stories are told with all the hilarity and intellect that characterizes his comedy, while illuminating a dark and brutal period in South Africa’s history that must never be forgotten.”—Esquire

Winner of the Thurber Prize for American Humor and an NAACP Image Award • Named one of the best books of the year by The New York Time, USA Today, San Francisco Chronicle, NPR, Esquire, Newsday, and Booklist

Trevor Noah’s unlikely path from apartheid South Africa to the desk of The Daily Show began with a criminal act: his birth. Trevor was born to a white Swiss father and a black Xhosa mother at a time when such a union was punishable by five years in prison. Living proof of his parents’ indiscretion, Trevor was kept mostly indoors for the earliest years of his life, bound by the extreme and often absurd measures his mother took to hide him from a government that could, at any moment, steal him away. Finally liberated by the end of South Africa’s tyrannical white rule, Trevor and his mother set forth on a grand adventure, living openly and freely and embracing the opportunities won by a centuries-long struggle.

Born a Crime is the story of a mischievous young boy who grows into a restless young man as he struggles to find himself in a world where he was never supposed to exist. It is also the story of that young man’s relationship with his fearless, rebellious, and fervently religious mother—his teammate, a woman determined to save her son from the cycle of poverty, violence, and abuse that would ultimately threaten her own life.

The stories collected here are by turns hilarious, dramatic, and deeply affecting. Whether subsisting on caterpillars for dinner during hard times, being thrown from a moving car during an attempted kidnapping, or just trying to survive the life-and-death pitfalls of dating in high school, Trevor illuminates his curious world with an incisive wit and unflinching honesty. His stories weave together to form a moving and searingly funny portrait of a boy making his way through a damaged world in a dangerous time, armed only with a keen sense of humor and a mother’s unconventional, unconditional love.

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Born a crim;trevor noah;memoir;celebrity memoir;autobiography;gifts for dad;humor book;essays


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About the Author

Trevor Noah is a comedian from South Africa.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

1

Run

Sometimes in big Hollywood movies they’ll have these crazy chase scenes where somebody jumps or gets thrown from a moving car. The person hits the ground and rolls for a bit. Then they come to a stop and pop up and dust themselves off, like it was no big deal. Whenever I see that I think, That’s rubbish. Getting thrown out of a moving car hurts way worse than that.

I was nine years old when my mother threw me out of a moving car. It happened on a Sunday. I know it was on a Sunday because we were coming home from church, and every Sunday in my childhood meant church. We never missed church. My mother was—and still is— a deeply religious woman. Very Christian. Like indigenous peoples around the world, black South Africans adopted the religion of our colonizers. By “adopt” I mean it was forced on us. The white man was quite stern with the native. “You need to pray to Jesus,” he said. “Jesus will save you.” To which the native replied, “Well, we do need to be saved—saved from you, but that’s beside the point. So let’s give this Jesus thing a shot.”

My whole family is religious, but where my mother was Team Jesus all the way, my grandmother balanced her Christian faith with the traditional Xhosa beliefs she’d grown up with, communicating with the spirits of our ancestors. For a long time I didn’t understand why so many black people had abandoned their indigenous faith for Christianity. But the more we went to church and the longer I sat in those pews the more I learned about how Christianity works: If you’re Native American and you pray to the wolves, you’re a savage. If you’re African and you pray to your ancestors, you’re a primitive. But when white people pray to a guy who turns water into wine, well, that’s just common sense.

My childhood involved church, or some form of church, at least four nights a week. Tuesday night was the prayer meeting. Wednesday night was Bible study. Thursday night was Youth church. Friday and Saturday we had off. (Time to sin!) Then on Sunday we went to church. Three churches, to be precise. The reason we went to three churches was because my mom said each church gave her something different. The first church offered jubilant praise of the Lord. The second church offered deep analysis of the scripture, which my mom loved. The third church offered passion and catharsis; it was a place where you truly felt the presence of the Holy Spirit inside you. Completely by coincidence, as we moved back and forth among these churches, I noticed that each one had its own distinct racial makeup: Jubilant church was mixed church. Analytical church was white church. And passionate, cathartic church, that was black church.

Mixed church was Rhema Bible Church. Rhema was one of those huge, supermodern, suburban megachurches. The pastor, Ray McCauley, was an ex-bodybuilder with a big smile and the personality of a cheerleader. Pastor Ray had competed in the 1974 Mr. Universe competition. He placed third. The winner that year was Arnold Schwarzenegger. Every week, Ray would be up onstage working really hard to make Jesus cool. There was arena-style seating and a rock band jamming out with the latest Christian contemporary pop. Everyone sang along, and if you didn’t know the words that was okay because they were all right up there on the Jumbotron for you. It was Christian karaoke, basically. I always had a blast at mixed church.

White church was Rosebank Union in Sandton, a very white and wealthy part of Johannesburg. I loved white church because I didn’t actually have to go to the main service. My mom would go to that, and I would go to the youth side, to Sunday school. In Sunday school we got to read cool stories. Noah and the flood was obviously a favorite; I had a personal stake there. But I also loved the stories about Moses parting the Red Sea, David slaying Goliath, Jesus whipping the money changers in the temple.

I grew up in a home with very little exposure to popular culture. Boyz II Men were not allowed in my mother’s house. Songs about some guy grinding on a girl all night long? No, no, no. That was forbidden. I’d hear the other kids at school singing “End of the Road,” and I’d have no clue what was going on. I knew of these Boyz II Men, but I didn’t really know who they were. The only music I knew was from church: soaring, uplifting songs praising Jesus. It was the same with movies. My mom didn’t want my mind polluted by movies with sex and violence. So the Bible was my action movie. Samson was my superhero. He was my He-Man. A guy beating a thousand people to death with the jawbone of a donkey? That’s pretty badass. Eventually you get to Paul writing letters to the Ephesians and it loses the plot, but the Old Testament and the Gospels? I could quote you anything from those pages, chapter and verse. There were Bible games and quizzes every week at white church, and I kicked everyone’s ass.

Then there was black church. There was always some kind of black church service going on somewhere, and we tried them all. In the township, that typically meant an outdoor, tent-revival-style church. We usually went to my grandmother’s church, an old-school Methodist congregation, five hundred African grannies in blue-and-white blouses, clutching their Bibles and patiently burning in the hot African sun. Black church was rough, I won’t lie. No air-conditioning. No lyrics up on Jumbotrons. And it lasted forever, three or four hours at least, which confused me because white church was only like an hour—in and out, thanks for coming. But at black church I would sit there for what felt like an eternity, trying to figure out why time moved so slowly. Is it possible for time to actually stop? If so, why does it stop at black church and not at white church? I eventually decided black people needed more time with Jesus because we suffered more. “I’m here to fill up on my blessings for the week,” my mother used to say. The more time we spent at church, she reckoned, the more blessings we accrued, like a Starbucks Rewards Card.

Black church had one saving grace. If I could make it to the third or fourth hour I’d get to watch the pastor cast demons out of people. People possessed by demons would start running up and down the aisles like madmen, screaming in tongues. The ushers would tackle them, like bouncers at a club, and hold them down for the pastor. The pastor would grab their heads and violently shake them back and forth, shouting, “I cast out this spirit in the name of Jesus!” Some pastors were more violent than others, but what they all shared in common was that they wouldn’t stop until the demon was gone and the congregant had gone limp and collapsed on the stage. The person had to fall. Because if he didn’t fall that meant the demon was powerful and the pastor needed to come at him even harder. You could be a linebacker in the NFL. Didn’t matter. That pastor was taking you down. Good Lord, that was fun.

Christian karaoke, badass action stories, and violent faith healers—man, I loved church. The thing I didn’t love was the lengths we had to go to in order to get to church. It was an epic slog. We lived in Eden Park, a tiny suburb way outside Johannesburg. It took us an hour to get to white church, another forty-five minutes to get to mixed church, and another forty-five minutes to drive out to Soweto for black church. Then, if that weren’t bad enough, some Sundays we’d double back to white church for a special evening service. By the time we finally got home at night, I’d collapse into bed.

This particular Sunday, the Sunday I was hurled from a moving car, started out like any other Sunday. My mother woke me up, made me porridge for breakfast. I took my bath while she dressed my baby brother Andrew, who was nine months old. Then we went out to the driveway, but once we were finally all strapped in and ready to go, the car wouldn’t start. My mom had this ancient, broken-down, bright-tangerine Volkswagen Beetle that she picked up for next to nothing. The reason she got it for next to nothing was because it was always breaking down. To this day I hate secondhand cars. Almost everything that’s ever gone wrong in my life I can trace back to a secondhand car. Secondhand cars made me get detention for being late for school. Secondhand cars left us hitchhiking on the side of the freeway. A secondhand car was also the reason my mom got married. If it hadn’t been for the Volkswagen that didn’t work, we never would have looked for the mechanic who became the husband who became the stepfather who became the man who tortured us for years and put a bullet in the back of my mother’s head—I’ll take the new car with the warranty every time.

As much as I loved church, the idea of a nine-hour slog, from mixed church to white church to black church then doubling back to white church again, was just too much to contemplate. It was bad enough in a car, but taking public transport would be twice as long and twice as hard. When the Volkswagen refused to start, inside my head I was praying, Please say we’ll just stay home. Please say we’ll just stay home. Then I glanced over to see the determined look on my mother’s face, her jaw set, and I knew I had a long day ahead of me.

“Come,” she said. “We’re going to catch minibuses.”

My mother is as stubborn as she is religious. Once her mind’s made up, that’s it. Indeed, obstacles that would normally lead a person to change their plans, like a car breaking down, only made her more determined to forge ahead.

“It’s the Devil,” she said about the stalled car. “The Devil doesn’t want us to go to church. That’s why we’ve got to catch minibuses.”

Whenever I found myself up against my mother’s faith-based obstinacy, I would try, as respectfully as possible, to counter with an opposing point of view.

“Or,” I said, “the Lord knows that today we shouldn’t go to church, which is why he made sure the car wouldn’t start, so that we stay at home as a family and take a day of rest, because even the Lord rested.”

“Ah, that’s the Devil talking, Trevor.”

“No, because Jesus is in control, and if Jesus is in control and we pray to Jesus, he would let the car start, but he hasn’t, therefore—”

“No, Trevor! Sometimes Jesus puts obstacles in your way to see if you overcome them. Like Job. This could be a test.”

“Ah! Yes, Mom. But the test could be to see if we’re willing to accept what has happened and stay at home and praise Jesus for his wisdom.”

“No. That’s the Devil talking. Now go change your clothes.”

“But Mom!”

“Trevor! Sun’qhela!”

Sun’qhela is a phrase with many shades of meaning. It says “don’t undermine me,” “don’t underestimate me,” and “just try me.” It’s a command and a threat, all at once. It’s a common thing for Xhosa parents to say to their kids. Any time I heard it I knew it meant the conversation was over, and if I uttered another word I was in for a hiding—what we call a spanking.

At the time I attended a private Catholic school known as Maryvale College. I was the champion of the Maryvale sports day every single year, and my mother won the moms’ trophy every single year. Why? Because she was always chasing me to kick my ass, and I was always running not to get my ass kicked. Nobody ran like me and my mom. She wasn’t one of those “Come over here and get your hiding” type moms. She’d deliver it to you free of charge. She was a thrower, too. Whatever was next to her was coming at you. If it was something breakable, I had to catch it and put it down. If it broke, that would be my fault, too, and the ass-kicking would be that much worse. If she threw a vase at me, I’d have to catch it, put it down, and then run. In a split second, I’d have to think, Is it valuable? Yes. Is it breakable? Yes. Catch it, put it down, now run.

We had a very Tom and Jerry relationship, me and my mom. She was the strict disciplinarian; I was naughty as shit. She would send me out to buy groceries, and I wouldn’t come right home because I’d be using the change from the milk and bread to play arcade games at the supermarket. I loved videogames. I was a master at Street Fighter. I could go forever on a single play. I’d drop a coin in, time would fly, and the next thing I knew there’d be a woman behind me with a belt. It was a race. I’d take off out the door and through the dusty streets of Eden Park, clambering over walls, ducking through backyards. It was a normal thing in our neighborhood. Everybody knew: that Trevor child would come through like a bat out of hell, and his mom would be right there behind him. She could go at a full sprint in high heels, but if she really wanted to come after me she had this thing where she’d kick her shoes off while still going at top speed. She’d do this weird move with her ankles and the heels would go flying and she wouldn’t even miss a step. That’s when I knew, Okay, she’s in turbo mode now.

When I was little she always caught me, but as I got older I got faster, and when speed failed her she’d use her wits. If I was about to get away she’d yell, “Stop! Thief!” She’d do this to her own child. In South Africa, nobody gets involved in other people’s business—unless it’s mob justice, and then everybody wants in. So she’d yell “Thief!” knowing it would bring the whole neighborhood out against me, and then I’d have strangers trying to grab me and tackle me, and I’d have to duck and dive and dodge them as well, all the while screaming, “I’m not a thief! I’m her son!”

The last thing I wanted to do that Sunday morning was climb into some crowded minibus, but the second I heard my mom say sun’qhela I knew my fate was sealed. She gathered up Andrew and we climbed out of the Volkswagen and went out to try to catch a ride.

Product details

ASIN ‏ : ‎ B01DHWACVY
Publisher ‏ : ‎ One World (November 15, 2016)
Publication date ‏ : ‎ November 15, 2016
Language ‏ : ‎ English
File size ‏ : ‎ 3123 KB
Text-to-Speech ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Screen Reader ‏ : ‎ Supported
Enhanced typesetting ‏ : ‎ Enabled
X-Ray ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Word Wise ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Sticky notes ‏ : ‎ On Kindle Scribe
Print length ‏ : ‎ 264 pages

Best Sellers Rank: #20,223 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #7 in Humor Essays (Kindle Store)
- #10 in Comedy (Kindle Store)
- #14 in Comedy (Books)

Customer Reviews:
4.7 105,952 ratings

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Trevor Noah

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Trevor Noah is the most successful comedian in Africa and is the host of the Emmy® and Peabody® Award-winning “The Daily Show” on Comedy Central. Under Trevor, “The Daily Show with Trevor Noah” has broken free from the restraints of a 30-minute linear show, producing engaging social content, award-winning digital series, podcasts and more for its global audience. In 2020, “The Daily Show with Trevor Noah” received eight Emmy nominations, including Outstanding Variety Talk Series and Outstanding Writing for A Variety Series. Trevor also received NAACP Image Award nominations for Outstanding Writing in a Comedy Series and Outstanding Host in a Talk or News/Information (Series or Special). “The Daily Show with Trevor Noah” also received Webby Awards for Best in Comedy and Best Web Personality/Host, as well as a NAACP Image Award nomination for Outstanding Talk Series. Trevor originally joined “The Daily Show with Jon Stewart” in 2014 as a contributor.

In 2019, “The Daily Show with Trevor Noah” received two Primetime Emmy nominations, including Outstanding Variety Talk Series and Outstanding Interactive Program. Additionally, Trevor received the 2019 NAACP Image Award for Outstanding Writing in a Comedy Series, as well as nominations for Outstanding Talk Series, Outstanding Variety Show, Outstanding host in a Talk or News/Information. In 2018, “The Daily Show” won a GLAAD Media Award for Outstanding Talk Episode and received nominations for a Writers Guild Award (Comedy/Variety Series) as well as two NAACP Image Awards, for Outstanding Talk Series and Outstanding Host in a Talk or News/Information Show. Trevor also won Best Host at the 2017 MTV Movie & TV Awards, as well as a 2017 Creative Arts Emmy Award for Outstanding Short Form Variety Series for his hosting role on “The Daily Show – Between The Scenes.”

Born in South Africa to a black South African mother and a white European father, Noah has hosted numerous television shows including South Africa’s music, television and film awards, and two seasons of his own late-night talk show, “Tonight with Trevor Noah.”

Trevor has written, produced, and starred in 11 comedy specials, including his most recent, “Trevor Noah: Son of Patricia,” which launched in November 2018 on Netflix. The special touches upon racism, immigration, camping and more. “Trevor Noah: Son Of Patricia” received a NAACP Image Award for Outstanding Variety Show, as well as a Grammy Award nomination for Best Comedy Album. Other recent stand-up specials in “Trevor Noah: Afraid of the Dark” (2017) on Netflix and “Trevor Noah: Lost in Translation” (2016) on Comedy Central. Noah was the subject of David Paul Meyer's award-winning documentary film “You Laugh But It's True” which tells the story of his remarkable career in post-apartheid South Africa. His Showtime comedy special, “Trevor Noah: African American” premiered in 2013. He was nominated for "Personality of the Year" at the 2014 and 2015 MTV Africa Music Awards and won the award in 2015.

Trevor's success has also spanned to sold out shows over 5 continents. Trevor crossed North America on his first ever arena outing with the “Loud & Clear Tour 2019.” Due to popular demand, Trevor expanded his Loud & Clear Tour to 2020. With over 75 sold-out North American shows to date, including his sold-out show at Madison Square Garden, Trevor is bringing his wildly successful tour to new cities, across the U.S. and Europe.

In 2019, Trevor launched a new podcast series “The Trevor Noah Podcast” exclusively on Luminary. In his podcast, Trevor challenges himself – and all of his listeners – to explore unfamiliar angles, embrace differing viewpoints, and celebrate the contradictions that make the modern world both bewildering and exciting. In 2020, “The Trevor Noah Podcast” won the Webby Award and Webby People’s Voice Award for News & Politics (Podcasts).

Trevor Noah is the author of the #1 New York Times bestseller “Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood” and its young readers adaptation “It’s Trevor Noah: Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood,” which also debuted as a New York Times bestseller. The book received the Thurber Prize for American Humor and two NAACP Image Awards, one for Outstanding Literary Work by a Debut Author and another for Outstanding Literary Work in the Biography/Auto-Biography category.

“Born A Crime” is a collection of personal stories about growing up in South Africa during the last gasps of apartheid and the tumultuous days of freedom that came with its demise. Already known for his incisive social and political commentary, here Noah turns his focus inward, giving readers an intimate look at the world that shaped him. These are true stories,sometimes dark, occasionally bizarre, frequently tender, and always hilarious. Whether subsisting on caterpillars during months of extreme poverty or making comically hapless attempts at teenage romance, from the time he was thrown in jail to the time he was thrown from a speeding car driven by murderous gangsters, the experiences covered in this book will shock and amaze, even as they leave you rolling on the floor with laughter.

The Audible edition of “Born a Crime,” performed by Trevor, was produced by Audible and remains one of the top-selling, highest-rated, and most-commented-on Audible performances of all time. “Born a Crime” won the Audie Award for “Best Male Narrator,” and was also nominated in the “Autobiography/Memoir,” “Best Narration by the Author” and “Audiobook of the Year” categories. To date, “Born a Crime” has sold over 1 million copies across all formats. The paperback version of “Born a Crime” came out in February 2019. In April 2019, Trevor released “It’s Trevor Noah: Born a Crime,” adapted for young readers. The book not only provides a fascinating and honest perspective on South Africa’s racial history, but it will inspire young readers looking to improve their own lives.

Trevor’s production company, Day Zero Productions, recently partnered with Viacom and already has several projects in development, including the feature film adaptation of Born a Crime starring Academy Award winner Lupita Nyong’o, which is set up at Paramount Players. Additionally, Trevor is set to produce an upcoming film built around the Adewumi family, specifically 8-year-old Tani who won the 2019 New York chess championship and whose family became an inspiration to many.

In April 2018, Noah launched The Trevor Noah Foundation, a youth development initiative that enhances youth preparedness for higher education or entry into the workforce. Noah’s vision is a South Africa that advances because each generation builds and must grow beyond its predecessor. Through a partnership with Microsoft, the foundation is able to provide under-resourced schools with the opportunity to use technology as a tool to enhance the learning experience, as well as increase digital literacy beyond the classroom.

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Jheanell H.

Glorious

Reviewed in the United States on January 19, 2017

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This book is absolutely glorious. I’m so in love right now, I can barely function. This memoir is unquestionable one of the most engaging books I’ve ever read, filled with such greatly vivid and riveting anecdotes, made more profound and unforgettable by the fact that they’re true.

I don’t watch The Daily Show, other than a few occasional clips on social media, and I never followed this guy before, so I decided to read this book solely because of the title. I love it. Born a Crime—it just feels meaningful. And, it is meaningful. I’m walking away from this experience knowing now that I love Trevor Noah. I love his writing and I love his wit. He is a fantastic storyteller who told of his childhood, one that was layered heavily with sadness, but for the majority of the time while reading his journey, I felt joyous.

This memoir is a compilation of notable anecdotes, mixed in with short passages of African history for context against the very special circumstances of Trevor’s birth and childhood. Let me tell you, his childhood is better than any fiction and there are too many humorous and affecting moments to count. Some of my favorites include, the time when a criminal, young Trevor, who was being held prisoner in his Grandmother’s house (for his own good), crawled through a hole under a fence to get to freedom. Then, there’s the time when his first dog, Fufi, taught him his first lesson in love and betrayal. Or, the time when, after growing up on the kind of creative diet that only the very poor are weaned on, Trevor was left completely unimpressed with high cuisine meals such as bone marrow, which are no different or better than the dog bones he ate at home. For more funny and interesting stories, read this book!

Born a Crime begins before his birth, when his impetuous and wise mother convinced her kind, white neighbor to give her a baby, during a time when there were strictly enforced laws that prohibited intercourse between Natives and Europeans. The stories he describe span from that time to the end of Apartheid, and further to a time when blacks and coloreds were free to live the life they could wrangle from the system.

Trevor’s—I’m calling him Trevor because I feel like I know him now. His thoughts on race and power are spot on and made more impressive because of his ability to use humor to show the illogical and ridiculous nature of the whole enterprise. Trevor is very smart, and a very adept communicator. There isn’t a single part of this memoir that doesn’t pierce you, wound you with truths, yet it soothes you with humor. I laughed because it was impossible not to. I laughed so hard that I cried, and then I cried because I had to cry.

Trevor grew up on a divided country, and the numerous poignant moments show clearly a boy caught between the many cultures of South Africa, which he navigated by becoming a chameleon, fitting in everywhere and nowhere at the same time. He adapted to each new situation as many entertainers do, by being whoever the people want them to be. That’s not to say that Trevor is disingenuous in any way; no, he’s observant, and his musings on life and relationships make it apparent that he has a damn good understanding of the human condition.

What is most lovely about his coming-of-age story is how Trevor speaks about his mother. His mom features largely in his story, and his love and respect for her is obvious, not only in his words, but in the actions he describes. Their bond is a tangible thing, and the most moving pockets of this book are the ones filled with his mom.

Honestly, this memoir is so brilliantly insightful that there are many many pages I marked, so many gems and memories I’ve saved to revisit again and again. I don’t read a lot of biographies, preferring fiction to real life, but I’m insanely delighted that I strayed from my norm and read Born a Crime. I recommend this book to anyone and everyone, sincerely, because it is truly glorious.

Audiobook notes: Just perfect. Trevor Noah pulls you in with his animated voice and more than brings this story to life.

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Duane Schneider

A Must-Read Book about Race and Poverty

Reviewed in the United States on July 19, 2020

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I didn't have many expectations going into "Born a Crime," which is maybe the right approach for a memoir. I knew only that Noah had become the host of "The Daily Show," and I was rooting for him as a relative unknown stepping into some big shoes. He seemed funny and charismatic, and I knew he was South African, but after reading "Born a Crime," I'm so much more impressed by its author. One expectation I had for the book was that it would be funny, which it is in many parts. Noah's writing style is not just conversational but natural; he is obviously a born storyteller. But he also structures the book in such a way that it builds and builds. Every story has a purpose, even the hilarious story of how, as a boy, Noah decided to poop in his kitchen. It's a story that ultimately depicts not only the poverty of his upbringing but also the superstitious nature of those around him. A refrain in "Born a Crime" is that when people have nothing, they must rely on faith. For Noah, that was always faith in his mother; for his mother, it was faith in God. It's truly a miracle that Noah has succeeded to the degree he has. I've read a lot of memoirs that left me wondering why the writer felt compelled to share his/her story, but there was none of that here. It begins with the title. Noah's birth, to a black mother and white father, was literally a criminal act in apartheid South Africa. His whole life growing up, Noah is an outcast. He doesn't seem to fit in with any group. And he grew up in abject poverty. Some of us think we have an idea what it might be like to be poor, but Noah lived it. At times his family ate goat eyeballs, worms, and scraps meant for dogs to survive. When he stayed with his grandmother, they shared a latrine with other families. I feel fortunate to have found this book but especially to have read it during a period of racial unrest in America. Noah experienced and witnessed severe racism in the era of apartheid and the period following its end. Each of his chapters begins with a brief discourse on race and its broader implications. Noah has gained such a nuanced understanding of the topic. One of his stories--about how a black dance group he helped form with a star dancer named Hitler went to dance at a white Jewish school--was almost unbelievable for the way it mixed history with racism and classism. But the real heart of "Born a Crime" is Noah's mother. She is a free spirit and independent thinker, and it's obvious that her determination is what drives Noah to break the cycle of poverty and racism, to avoid paying what he refers to as the "black tax." Noah gives examples from his own experience to show that poor black people need more than just some moral support. As he writes, if you give a man a fish, he will eat for a day. If you teach him to fish, he will eat for a lifetime. But it also helps to give him a fishing pole. That really stuck with me. In South Africa, blacks were graduating high school, but if they didn't look the right way or talk the right way, they still couldn't find work. In this book, we see the unfairness of the police state and the criminal justice system--most powerfully, as it applies to Noah's mother, who tries to have her husband arrested repeatedly for physical abuse, to no avail. This problem leads to a shocking conclusion to "Born a Crime." Again, all I can say is that I can't believe Noah survived the circumstances of his own upbringing, and I thank him for sharing his life in this powerful book. It's a story that needed to be told. My only complaint is not really a complaint, but the book runs from the author's birth to his early twenties, when he is still a rising comedian in South Africa. I'd love to see a sequel showing how Noah came the rest of the way from up-and-comer to host of "The Daily Show." I'm sure that's another journey well worth taking.

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Great Autobiography and an interesting read - I highly recommend

Reviewed in the United States on January 22, 2024

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This is 4 1/2 stars for me. An excellent book and very interesting read about a boy growing up in South Africa who is mixed race. He doesn't really fit anywhere as he's not black, he's not white and he's not part of the mulato group either. I loved hearing how that society functioned and everything he ran into. I didn't realize that South Africa is so tribal - even amongst the natives there are different tribes that have prejudices and attitudes towards each other. Overall a great read and an exciting book. It's very enjoyable and eye opening as Trevor Noah brings a nice perspective. I loved his mother - she is someone I'd love to meet as she is so interesting. Reminds me that people are like diamonds with many faucets to them.

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Sharon Vancouver, Canada

AMAZING read by Trevor Noah

Reviewed in Canada on January 25, 2024

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My daughter was reading this for her grade 12 English assignment. Then I bought the book & recommended it to several friends, one who submitted it as a read for her Book Club. It's a very well written, poignant story about Trevor's life in South Africa with moments of immense humor, as well. I absolutely LOVED it!!!

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Oaka

Broaden my Horizon

Reviewed in Germany on April 18, 2024

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With humor and grace, Trevor Noah describes what things can happen to you when the regime considers your existence a crime. Apardheit Sounds to someone who never delt with it, lik sadistic whites that are drunk on power. But its very complicated, because the natives were seperatet and given different priviliges to. The sheer will to survive and the training that growing up running is, let Trevor live to this das which we all are, or at least should be thankful for.

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correcto

Reviewed in Spain on January 31, 2024

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correcto

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Diaz

Fantastiskt bok, rörande berättelse berättas på ett komiskt sätt

Reviewed in Sweden on January 13, 2024

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jackey

Extraordinary book

Reviewed in Italy on December 19, 2023

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I just devoured this book. Funny, moving, interesting. An amusing biography, beautifully written, with a sense of humour typical of the comedian Trevor is. Also, I didn't know much of the reality before, during and after Apartheid and this book reveals a lot about it from the point of view of the oppressed. But it is also a story about what true education is, about the importance of freedom and Independence. It's a hymn to life and motherhood

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