A Literary Horserace

Running the Rapids is a fine title for a book, but it could also be an entry for the Queen’s Plate in the great memoir-sweepstakes—say, a filly sired by the famous Derby winner Running to Paradise. If Kildare Dobbs’s autobiography were such a pony, she would have two things going for her right out of the starting gate. One, she would be ridden by an accomplished jockey. Two, not just any accomplished jockey, but an Irishman.

Gifts are not equally apportioned among tribes. For a scribbler to be Irish is half the battle won. If saying this is politically incorrect, tough cheese. Everyone knows that hailing from the city of Odessa puts a concert violinist on the inside track, and let scholars debate whether it is in the genes or in the water. As an Irishman, Mr. Dobbs has a head start, all right; the question is, can he maintain the pace?

He certainly reaches the first turn ahead of the herd. Memoirs don’t recount lives—they would be very boring if...