I’m convinced that the titles of Barack Obama’s (probably ghost-written) books were intended to be arrogant nose-thumbs at the American people ~
 

 
After 3 ½ years of empty rhetoric and progressive prevarication from our first post-racial president, it’s clear that both of these carefully-chosen phrases were a deliberate play on words, intended to mock anyone gullible enough to take him seriously.
 

 
“Dreams from My Father” in particular is turning out to be more fiction than fact. Since none of the elite media types actually bothered to vet the president before the ’08 election, it’s been left to internet journalists to do most of the heavy lifting and discover the truth.
 
Turns out “Dreams” mostly was. Obama’s “autobiography” is mainly a collection of distortions, “composites” and totally fabricated episodes made up purely for political window-dressing.
 
Mark Steyn, in a wonderfully sarcastic article at National Review Online, reviews “Obama’s Great American Novel,” and the make-up-your-memoirs trend that seems to catching on with the rarified-air crowd:

Courtesy of David Maraniss’s new book, we now know that yet another key prop of Barack Obama’s identity is false: His Kenyan grandfather was not brutally tortured or even non-brutally detained by his British colonial masters. The composite gram’pa joins an ever-swelling cast of characters from Barack’s “memoir” who, to put it discreetly, differ somewhat in reality from their bit parts in the grand Obama narrative.
 
The best friend at school portrayed in Obama’s autobiography as “a symbol of young blackness” was, in fact, half Japanese, and not a close friend.
 
The white girlfriend he took to an off-Broadway play that prompted an angry post-show exchange about race never saw the play, dated Obama in an entirely different time zone, and had no such world-historically significant conversation with him.
 
His Indonesian step-grandfather supposedly killed by Dutch soldiers during his people’s valiant struggle against colonialism met his actual demise when he “fell off a chair at his home while trying to hang drapes.”

 
Read the whole piece – it’s a hoot!
Apparently America has now entered its Post-Reality Period – where “we’re too busy inventing ourselves to be interested in the truth.”