#1 New York Times Bestseller, Time's Top 100 Nonfiction Books
British Book of the Year Award, Grammy Award for Best Reading Album
Obama's First Book: A President Who's Even More Respected After Leaving Office
The greatest memoir of all time, captivating both critics and readers.

Gallup poll results show that he has been ranked as the “most admired man in the world” for 12 consecutive years.
That's right, former US President Barack Obama.
Beyond his title as America's first Black president, he remains a powerful force even after leaving office in 2017, making him an undisputed superstar.
Competent yet charming, honest yet dignified, tough yet gentle.
Anyone who reads his words and writings, even if they have different political views, is captivated by his human charm.
If you are curious about the kind of upbringing Obama went through to become evaluated as an 'excellent politician' and 'a great human being' as he is now, pay attention to his first book, 'Dreams from my father'.

At the time of its publication, this book received favorable reviews from various media outlets, becoming the #1 New York Times bestseller and an Amazon.com bestseller, leading to a worldwide Obama craze.
It was first published in Korea in 2007 and was praised as “the most honest and touching record of the human Obama” and received support from many readers.

Born to a black father from Kenya and a white mother from the United States, he spent his childhood in Indonesia with his local stepfather and was forced to wander for a long time, living as an 'outsider' who could not fully belong anywhere.
Then, finally, in his father's hometown of Kenya, he realizes his race, class, and future, and regains his burning passion and faith in life.
This book depicts his journey to find his identity in a calm yet powerful way.

Not only is his life story itself dramatic and heartbreaking, but the writing skills that unfold the story are also top-notch.
The literary achievement of this book is also not insignificant, as Newsweek's rave review of Obama, calling him "the most brilliant writer to enter modern politics," is understandable.
This revised edition, published in 2021, has refined sentences to further enhance its value and a new cover to give it a more collectible feel.

My father was African.
He was born in a region called Alego, of Luo descent in Kenya.
(…) And the day before Kenya became independent, my father was selected by Kenyan leaders and American sponsors to study at a university in the United States.
He was selected as one of the first generation of Africans to be sent abroad on a large scale under a program to learn Western technology and contribute to the construction of a new, modern Africa.
In 1959, my father entered the University of Hawaii at the age of twenty-three.
He was the first African student in the history of the University of Hawaii.
My father majored in economics and poetry and graduated at the top of his class in three years.
My father had many friends and even organized the International Student Association, serving as its first president.
And while taking Russian classes, I met and fell in love with an awkward and shy eighteen-year-old American girl.
The girl's father initially objected, but was eventually persuaded by her father's charm and intelligence.
The young lovers got married and had a baby boy.
The father passed his name on to his son.
My father received another scholarship.
This time, it was to pursue a doctorate at Harvard University.
However, the scholarship did not include money to bring my family and live with them.
In this way, my father was separated from his family.
After receiving his degree from Harvard University, he returned to Africa to fulfill a promise he had made to the continent.
The mother and son remained in the United States.
But even though they were far apart, the string of love still remained.
---From "Part 1: Roots, the Beginning of Confusion and Fear"

There was another kid in my class who had a similar nightmare to mine.
It was a girl named Coretta.
He was the only black kid in my grade before I transferred.
He was fat and black, so it seemed like he didn't have many friends.
(…) “I’m glad Coretta has a boyfriend.
“Boyfriend, why don’t you kiss Coretta?”
“I’m not her boyfriend!”
I screamed.
And then he ran to Coretta and pushed her.
Coretta, who was pushed back, looked at me.
But still he didn't say anything.
I shouted at Coretta.
“You’re telling me to leave me alone!”
Then suddenly Coretta started running.
His running became faster and faster, and finally he disappeared from my sight.
The sounds of praise and laughter rose around me.
(…) In return for betraying Coretta, the other children allowed me a little space to enter among them.
But I was almost alone.
Then I made some friends and we started talking and throwing and catching a rugby ball awkwardly.
But ever since that day, I couldn't shake the feeling that a part of me had been trampled and broken.

---From "Part 1: Roots, the Beginning of Confusion and Fear"

In 1983, I decided to become a community organizer.
There was not much specificity regarding this resolution.
I don't know a single person who made a living as a community organizer.
When my college friends asked me what a community organizer was, I couldn't even explain it well enough for them to nod.
Instead, I argued that change was needed.
He said that change was needed in the White House, where Reagan and his cronies were doing dirty work, change was needed in the Congress, which was as docile and corrupt as a lamb, and change was needed in the atmosphere within the country, which was so one-sided that it was crazy.
It is said that change does not come spontaneously, but only from the organized grassroots.
That's exactly what I was trying to do.
Organizing black people.
At the grassroots.
For a change.

---From "Part 2_ Chicago, Seeking Salvation"

“I thought of Allego.
Hometown.
Our grandfather's land.
The place where my grandmother still lives.
It's really beautiful, Barak.
I feel lonely when I'm in Germany.
It's cold there.
When that happens, I close my eyes and imagine that I am in my hometown, Alego.
“I am standing in the yard, surrounded by large trees that my grandfather planted, my grandmother telling me an interesting story, a cow flicks its tail to shoo away a swarm of flies, I hear chickens pecking at their feed as they roam the yard, and the smell of a fire burning in the fireplace fills the air, and there is a mango tree in the backyard that leads to a cornfield, buried in the ground.”
The plane started taking people.
We sat until the end.
Auma closed her eyes and held my hand tightly.
And he said this.
“We have to go back home.
We need to go back home, Barak.
“I have to go and see my father.”
---From "Part 2_ Chicago, Seeking Salvation"

A spark began to fly in her eyes.
Then suddenly he spoke in English.
“Yes, Barry.
I have cared for and raised your father since he was a child.
My mother, Akumu, is also your father's mother.
That's your grandmother.
The person you call grandma now is not your real grandmother.
You must take care of Akumu, the one who gave birth to your father.
And me too.
She's your father's older sister.
Look how I live.
“Why don’t you help us and instead help the wrong people?”
Before I could reply, my two aunts began to argue fiercely in Luo.
Then, Aunt Jaytuni suddenly stood up.
“Let’s go, Barry.”
As I tried to lift my butt and get up, Aunt Sarah grabbed my hand.
This time, the voice was much softer.
“Don’t you have anything for me? For your grandmother? Yes?”
I took out my wallet.
As I took out money from my wallet and counted it, I felt the gaze of two people staring at me.
I put about 30 Kenyan dollars in Aunt Sarah's withered hands.
My aunt quickly put the money in her pocket and then took my hand again.
“Stay here, Barry.
“The person you have to meet is… … .”
“I’ll come back later, let’s call it a day.”
Aunt J.Tuni hammered the nail in and I shook off Aunt Sarah's hand.

---From "Part 3_ Kenya, the Land of Reconciliation"

I sat in front of the grave for a long time and cried.
I cried so much that even my tears dried up.
Only then did I realize that silence had enveloped me.
And finally, I felt the circle that separated my family completely closing.
I realized that who I am and who I care for and look after is not a matter of intellect or duty.
It wasn't something that could be defined in words.
I looked back on my life in America.
Life as a black man, life as a white man, the self-destructive despair of my boyhood, the anger and hope I witnessed in Chicago…
All of these things connected me to this small place far across the Atlantic, and they meant something far beyond my name or skin color.

---From "Part 3_ Kenya, the Land of Reconciliation"