Brown University - A hope in the unseen: an American odyssey from the inner city to the Ivy League

Inspiring . An absorbing and moving portrait of [a] young mans passage from the turmoil of high school through his first year at Brown University.

People magazine

A tremendous empathetic leap a story of sheer human grit that should be read by others as example and inspiration.

Washington Post Book World

A great read worthy of Tom Wolfe . A searing expose of racial injustice [that] couldnt be less didactic . A moving and meticulous narration of two years in the life of Cedric Jennings.

San Francisco Chronicle Book Review, front page review

An extraordinary, formula-shattering book.

New York Times Book Review

What distinguishes it from the poverty-lit pack is the emotional richness of Cedrics struggle and the extraordinary depth of Suskinds telling of it exquisite.

Chicago Tribune, front page review

A sweeping book, so powerful it can move a relatively jaded reviewer to tears. It is inspiring enough to justify hope.

New York Newsday

Absolutely gripping. A sort of suspense novel of the human psyche its beyond good, its really extraordinary.

Walter Kirn, National Public Radio

An important, honest, and moving look at an extraordinary passage: a young black mans rise from the ghetto to the Ivy League.

Providence Journal

A classic simply the best thing Ive ever read about the confusing thicket of questions surrounding the preferential treatment of disadvantaged blacks . Before you utter another word about affirmative actionfavorable or notplease subject yourself to the pleasurable and edifying experience of reading this superb book.

Washington Monthly

An absorbing, painstakingly reported book it should be required reading in college education and sociology courses.

Boston Globe

Jenningss story is one of triumph within both cultures, black and white . It is a privilege and an inspiration for readers to accompany Cedric on part of his long, difficult journey to maturity.

School Library Journal

A true story that grew out of a series of articles Suskind wrote for the Wall Street Journal in 1994. The series won a Pulitzer Prize for feature reporting. Its a gripping read, but the book is even better.

San Diego Union-Tribune

Every person in America should read this book.

Whole Life Times

[An] inspirational story a remarkably intimate work . Like the celebrated [Pulitzer Prizewinning] series that is its foundation, Hope is based on extensive interviews, astounding access, and acute reporting. The minutiae of Cedrics personal history come alive in carefully observed scenes.

Philadelphia Inquirer

A dramatic, heartrending story bound to enrapture reviewers, grab educated readers, and provoke much discussion . The reader cant help being moved by Suskinds novelistic account of the tension between Cedrics two worlds.

Biography magazine

The story is true, although it reads like a gripping novel.

Newsday

An enormously hopeful book, a book that cries out to be heard.

Houston Chronicle

Suskind uses his reporters skills brilliantly, portraying Cedrics outer and inner life and making an eloquent though unstated plea for affirmative action. Essential reading that provides some small hope for our social ills.

Library Journal

This book is both engrossing and illuminating. The narrative reads a lot like fiction. But its not.

San Mateo County Times

TO CORNELIA,

FOR HER FAITH IN POSSIBILITY

I am a part of all that I have met.
Yet all experience is an arch where-thro
Gleams that untravelld world, whose margin fades
Forever and forever when I move.

FROM ULYSSES, ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

A hip-hop tune bursts forth from the six-foot-high amplifiers, prompting the shoulder-snug slopes of black teenagers to sway and pivot in their bleacher seats. It takes only a second or two for some eight hundred students to lock onto the backbeat, and the gymnasium starts to thump with a jaunty enthusiasm.

Principal Richard Washington, an aggressive little gamecock of a man, struts across the free throw line to a stand-up microphone at the top of the key as the tune (just a check for the speaker system) cuts off. He dramatically clears his throat and sweeps his gaze across the students who happen to be present todaya chilly February morning in 1994at Frank W. Ballou Senior High, the most troubled and violent school in the blighted southeast corner of Washington, D.C. Usually, he uses assemblies as a forum to admonish students for their stupidity or disrespect. Today, though, he smiles brightly.

Ballou students, he says after a moment, lets give a warm welcome to Mayor Marion Barry.

The mayor steps forward from a too-small cafeteria chair in his dark suit, an intricately embroidered kufi covering his bald spot. He grabs the throat of the mike stand. Yes, he says, his voice full of pride, I like what I see, a comment that draws a roar of appreciation. The mayors criminal pasthis much publicized conviction for cocaine possession and subsequent time servedbinds him to this audience, where almost everyone can claim a friend, relative, or parent who is currently in the system.

The mayor delivers his standard speech about self-esteem, about being all you believe you can be and please, everyone, stay in school. As he speaks, Barry surveys an all-black world: a fully formed, parallel universe to white America. Providing todays music are disc jockeys from WPGC, a hip-hop station from just across the D.C. line in Marylands black suburbs. A nationally famous black rhythm and blues singerTevin Campbellup next, stands under a glass basketball backboard. Watercolors of George Washington Carver and Frederick Douglass glare from display cases. All the administrators are black, as are the ten members of the muscular security force and the two full-time, uniformed cops, one of whom momentarily leaves his hallway beat to duck in and hear the mayor.

Along the top rows of both sets of bleachers, leaning against the white-painted cinder blocks, are male crews from nearby housing projects and neighborhoods in expensive Fila or Hilfiger or Nautica garments and $100-plus shoes, mostly Nikes. Down a few rows from the crews on both sides of the gym is a ridge of wanna-bes, both boys and girls, who feel a rush of excitement sitting so close to their grander neighbors. All during the assembly, they crane their necks to glimpse the crews, to gauge proximity. Next in the hierarchy are the athletes. Local heroes at most high schools but paler characters at Ballou, they are clustered here and there, often identifiable by extreme height or girth. They are relatively few in number, since the school districts mandatory 2.0 grade point average for athletic participation is too high a bar for many kids here to cross.

The silent majority at Ballouspreading along the middle and lower seats of the bleachersare duck-and-run adolescents: baggy-panted boys and delicately coifed girls in the best outfits they can manage on a shoestring budget. They mug and smile shyly, play cards in class, tend to avoid eye contact, and whisper gossip about all the most interesting stuff going on at school. Hot topics of late include a boy shot recently during lunch period, another hacked with an ax, the girl gang member wounded in a knife fight with a female rival, the weekly fires set in lockers and bathrooms, and that unidentified body dumped a few weeks ago behind the parking lot. Their daily lesson: distinctiveness can be dangerous, so its best to develop an aptitude for not being noticed. This, more than any other, is the catechism taught at Ballou and countless other high schools like it across the country.