Obama always acknowledged that “Dreams From My Father” featured composite characters and situations, but Maraniss reveals that two dramatic moments that he said led to his breaking up with his white, New York girlfriend – which was Cook — didn’t quite happen the way he described them. In one scene, Obama wrote of seeing a play by a black playwright with his “New York girlfriend”:

It was a very angry play, but very funny. Typical black American humor. The audience was mostly black, and everybody was laughing and clapping and hollering like they were in church. After the play was over, my friend started talking about why black people were so angry all the time. I said it was a matter of remembering—nobody asks why Jews remember the Holocaust, I think I said—and she said that’s different, and I said it wasn’t, and she said that anger was just a dead end. We had a big fight, right in front of the theater. When we got back to the car she started crying. She couldn’t be black, she said. She would if she could, but she couldn’t. She could only be herself, and wasn’t that enough.

“That was not her,” Obama admitted to Maraniss. “That was an example of compression. I was very sensitive in my book not to write about my girlfriends, partly out of respect for them. So that was a consideration. I thought that [the anecdote involving the reaction of a white girlfriend to the angry black play] was a useful theme to make about sort of the interactions that I had in the relationships with white girlfriends. And so, that occupies, what, two paragraphs in the book? My attitude was it would be dishonest for me not to touch on that at all … so that was an example of sort of editorially how do I figure that out?”

Attributing a clueless racial reaction – “why are black people so angry all the time!?” — to someone who otherwise sounds sensitive and sympathetic is a little dodgy, but Cook herself expresses no anger at the “compression.” She does chafe at the incident Obama uses to describe their ultimate parting. In “Dreams,” Obama says the final straw was visiting her wealthy family at their vacation home in Connecticut:

The parents were there, and they were very nice, very gracious. It was autumn, beautiful, with woods all around us, and we paddled a canoe across this round, icy lake full of small gold leaves that collected along the shore. The family knew every inch of the land. They knew how the hills had formed, how the glacial drifts had created the lake, the names of the earliest white settlers—their ancestors—and before that, the names of the Indians who’d once hunted the land. The house was very old, her grandfather’s house. He had inherited it from his grandfather. The library was filled with old books and pictures of the grandfather with famous people he had known—presidents, diplomats, industrialists. There was this tremendous gravity to the room. Standing in that room, I realized that our two worlds, my friend’s and mine, were as distant from each other as Kenya is from Germany. And I knew that if we stayed together I’d eventually live in hers. After all, I’d been doing it most of my life. Between the two of us, I was the one who knew how to live as an outsider.

Cook tells Maraniss she was surprised to read Obama’s depiction of the weekend in his memoir, because “she felt as estranged from that milieu as he did, and he knew it.” It was her stepfather’s home; she hadn’t grown up in that setting. According to Maraniss, Cook “thought of herself as an observer, as he did, and brooded about her identity, as he did, and had an energetic, independent, and at times exasperating mother, as he did, and burned with an idealism to right the wrongs of the world, as he did.”

“That wasn’t my world,” she said of her mother and stepfather’s social stratosphere. “I was through and through infused with the sense of being an outsider, like Barack was.” And only one of them went on to the world of  ”presidents, diplomats, industrialists,” she notes. “The ironic thing is he moved through the corridors of power in a far more comfortable way than I ever would have.”

Yet from the ’80s through today, Cook sympathizes with the rockier time Obama had as an “outsider.” Their relationship seems to have foundered on his distance and reserve. “I feel that you carefully filter everything in your mind and heart — legitimate, admirable, really — a strength, a necessity in terms of some kind of integrity,” she writes to him in a 1984 letter. “But there’s something also there of smoothed veneer, of guardedness … but I’m still left with this feeling of … a bit of a wall—the veil.” When she tells him “I love you,” he says, “Thank you.” Cook depicts him on a Sunday morning, drinking coffee and doing the New York Times crossword puzzle wearing a blue-and-white sarong (the birthers will love that!). She describes their conversations about being outsiders, and her gradual realization that “in his own quest to resolve his ambivalence about black and white, it became very, very clear to me that he needed to go black.”

Eerily, in one journal entry Cook envisioned a perfect mate for her diffident boyfriend: “I can’t help thinking that what he would really want, be powerfully drawn to, was a woman, very strong, very upright, a fighter, a laugher, well- experienced—a black woman I keep seeing her as.” And after they broke up in 1985, she wrote in her journal:

I’m left wondering if Barack’s reserve, etc. is not just the time in his life, but, after all, emotional scarring that will make it difficult for him to get involved even after he’s sorted his life through with age and experience.

Hard to say, as obviously I was not the person that brought infatuation. (That lithe, bubbly, strong black lady is waiting somewhere!)

It’s as if Cook had known about Michelle Robinson, whom the future president wouldn’t meet for several years. She’s the person who let Obama begin to lose his outsider status. Grounded in her two-parent working-class black Chicago family, Robinson was an insider in a world Obama wanted to join. But while critics have suggested Obama had political motives for joining that world, Cook’s portrait, via Maraniss, makes something else clear: He wasn’t looking for upward mobility, but inward.

Drudge is currently hyping Obama’s “admission” that the play incident he described in his memoir didn’t happen with Cook; I assume the right will find other nuggets: the Pakistanis! The sarong! The “reverse racism” in “choosing” to be black, as though he had the choice to be white. The New York Times crossword puzzle! Ignore the frothing; read the piece. It’s an intimate portrait of a future president at a perilous psychological time.