Perhaps the most moving -- and possibly most significant -- sections in Hope are those that deal with Cedric's existential quandaries. On the one hand, he believes there is nothing he and God can't handle; on the other hand, he increasingly wonders whether he can't claim a little credit for his own work? Minus this quiet internal battle, Hope is rhetoric. It would be cliche to note here the distance between the Jennings' tiny, one-bedroom apartment on V Street Southeast and Brown University's manicured lawns in Providence were it not for the mix of sociology and journalism that makes A Hope in the Unseen both compelling and problematic. For Cedric, the cultural distance alone is, in fact, incalculable. But one suspects the same may be said of the author, who struggles throughout to balance a faithful account of Cedric's world with the temptation to turn Cedric himself into a poster boy for affirmative action. .
In fact Suskind, who first told Cedric's story in a Pulitzer Prize- winning series four years ago, crafts a narrative that is as calculated as it is candid. Like the celebrated series that is its foundation, Hope is based on extensive interviews, astounding access, and acute reporting. The minutiae of Cedric's personal history come alive in carefully observed scenes; his thoughts are revealed in often-bracing interior monologues. The result, though, is a complex coming-of-age saga mediated through the author's good intentions. As Suskind says of Cedric and his mother, "I will forever be grateful for their trust in me and in the ideal that racial distinctions can be bridged by shared understanding." Hope clearly serves that ideal. Its design makes palpable the fervor of Cedric's ambition and the valor of his strivings -- especially his efforts to conform to more mainstream values. To that end, Suskind is big on contrast. Briefly, he introduces one of Cedric's Ballou peers who plays class clown to gain the social acceptance that eludes Cedric.