Nancy Johnson's The Kindest Lie and the pursuit of American Dream

Nancy Johnson. Photo / Supplied

It's election night 2008 and, as Barack Obama is announced as America's first Black president, Ruth Tuttle's Chicago townhouse is immediately filled with a palpable hope for a post-racial era. Surrounded by friends and family, the Black 29-year-old seems to have every box ticked; a Yale degree, fulfilling career, charming husband and new townhouse in one of Chicago's nicer suburbs.

However, Ruth soon discovers that escaping your past isn't quite as simple as one would hope. When she can no longer rebuff her husband's pleas for a child, she'd forced to let a bombshell drop; Ruth is already a mother. In fact, she has been since she was a clueless 17-year-old, desperate to please her teenage boyfriend. And while she's done well to bury her mistakes and make a new life, it quickly becomes clear that if Ruth truly wants to move forward, she must return home and settle the past.

Despite having all the makings for a mystery-child storyline, readers may be surprised when the novel takes a far richer and more timely direction. Debut author Nancy Johnson instead draws focus to the stubborn divide between the Black and white communities in the United States that were united by a hope in Obama to redeem the American Dream.

So, what was it like? To be strung tightly between the optimistic symbolism of President Obama and the despairing reality of the global financial crisis? That's exactly what Johnson seeks to reveal in the deeply affecting work of truth and reckoning that is The Kindest Lie.

The tension is brought to life through Ruth as she travels from the election-high Chicago to her Indiana hometown (a town that has since been ravaged by unemployment and racism) and makes an unlikely friend in a young white boy called Midnight.

Objectively, Ruth and Midnight are polar opposites; a Black woman and a white boy. One has ascended the ranks while the other is trapped in the lower strata. And yet, the two are haunted and bound by experiences that transcend colour and status; absent mothers, imperfect families and the deeply human desire for love and belonging.

Johnson uses this unexpected friendship to demonstrate how African Americans and working-class whites were historically estranged yet momentarily united by a struggle to survive the economically crushed Midwest.

The Kindest Lie doesn't stop there either, using the individual narratives of Ruth and Midnight to explore further social tensions from motherhood and unemployment to classism and masculinity with piercing honesty.

For Ruth, we encounter questions of motherhood and family; does simply giving birth make you a mother? Or is there something more? Is it ever okay to abandon a child? And if we one day have regrets, are we allowed to re-enter their life?

Meanwhile, Midnight comes to terms with what it means to be white and a man; to move through the world with different rights and permissions than his BIPOC school friends. A coming-of-age story within a larger reality of racial hostility that rings far truer for American children today.

While set in 2008, many of these themes are as relevant as ever. Amidst racially charged shootings and BLM protests, political upheaval and financial insecurity, The Kindest Lie is a gripping and timely commentary on how families are made, broken and reconciled in the pursuit of that elusive American Dream.

The Kindest Lie, by Nancy Johnson (William Morrow, $35)

Reviewed by Sarah Pollok