Memoirs by the children of Hollywood icons usually follow a predictable script. You get the "tell-all" about a famous father or the glossy "growing up in the spotlight" narrative that feels more like a PR campaign than a confession. But honestly, E.A. Hanks The 10 is not that book. Elizabeth Anne Hanks, daughter of the legendary Tom Hanks and the late Samantha Lewes, has managed to write something that feels like a raw nerve exposed to the desert air.
It’s part road trip, part true crime investigation, and a heavy dose of family trauma. If you’re looking for gossip about Forrest Gump or Cast Away, you’re basically in the wrong place. This is a story about the Interstate 10 highway—the "10"—and the ghosts that live along its shoulder.
What is E.A. Hanks The 10 really about?
Basically, the book is a 350-page reckoning. In 2021, E.A. Hanks got into a minivan she nicknamed "Minnie" and started driving. She followed the Interstate 10, a massive stretch of asphalt that cuts across the American Southwest, from California through the swamps of Florida. Why? Because her mother, Susan Dillingham (known professionally as Samantha Lewes), left behind diaries that hinted at a past far darker than a simple "Hollywood divorce."
Hanks isn't just sightseeing. She's hunting for the truth about her mother's mental illness and a cryptic, terrifying reference in those journals to a decades-old crime involving her own grandfather. It’s heavy. Really heavy. The 10 acts as a literal and metaphorical path through her mother's fractured reality.
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The trauma behind the name
You’ve probably seen the headlines. "Tom Hanks' daughter speaks out." It’s a bit of a clickbait way to describe what is actually a very nuanced look at survival. Samantha Lewes died of bone cancer in 2002, but the scars she left on Elizabeth were formed long before that.
The book details a childhood that was—to put it mildly—turbulent. While the world saw the "nicest man in Hollywood," Elizabeth was navigating a home life with a mother whose relationship with reality was, as the author puts it, "fluid." We’re talking about an environment where jokes were used as armor to deflect anger and where secrets were the only currency that mattered.
Why the 10 matters more than the fame
The 10 isn't just a road. It's a character. Hanks describes the landscapes of Phoenix, Tucson, and White Sands with a kind of gritty, Joan Didion-esque precision. She captures the way the heat feels like a physical weight and how the silence of the desert makes the voices in your head louder.
- The Van: Driving "Minnie" was a choice. It wasn't a luxury SUV. It was a utilitarian vessel for a solo journey.
- The Journals: Her mother's writings serve as a distorted map. They aren't always reliable, but they are the only breadcrumbs Elizabeth has.
- The Inheritance: This isn't about money. It’s about the emotional "inheritance" of trauma and whether or not you can outrun it at 80 miles per hour.
Most people get it wrong when they think this is a celebrity memoir. It's actually a "place" memoir. It’s about how the dirt we come from determines the plants we become. Hanks spends a lot of time looking at the diversity of the people she meets at truck stops and roadside diners—real people living real, messy lives that mirror her own internal chaos.
Addressing the "true crime" element
There’s a thread in the book that feels like it belongs in a Netflix documentary. Elizabeth’s mother hinted at a harrowing event involving her father—Elizabeth’s grandfather—specifically a claim of a violent crime against a young girl.
Hanks doesn't give us a clean resolution here. Life doesn't work that way. Instead, she explores the agony of not knowing. Is the story true? Was it a product of her mother's mental illness? The book explores that gray area where memory and delusion overlap. It’s a brave move. Most writers would have faked a conclusion to satisfy the reader, but Hanks stays honest about the ambiguity.
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How E.A. Hanks The 10 breaks the AI mold
If you’ve read any celebrity books lately, they often feel "ghostwritten to death." They’re polished until they’re plastic. E.A. Hanks The 10 feels like it was written in a notebook on a dashboard. The sentences vary wildly. Some are short. Sharp. Like a punch. Others meander like a long stretch of Texas highway.
She doesn't shy away from her own flaws, either. She talks about her "bad-at-being-a-human" moments and her desperate need to lighten the mood with a joke when things get too real. It’s relatable for anyone who has ever dealt with a "messy" parent-child bond. You don't need a famous dad to understand the feeling of trying to figure out where your mother ends and you begin.
Key takeaways from the journey
If you’re planning on picking up a copy, here’s what you actually get:
- A masterclass in setting. The American Southwest hasn't been written this well in years.
- A deep dive into sobriety. She talks about her mother’s role in helping others get sober, even while her own mind was failing her.
- A lesson in forgiveness. Not the "everything is fine" kind of forgiveness, but the "I can live with this" kind.
What to do next
If this sounds like your kind of read, don't just look for the highlights on social media. The beauty of this book is in the prose, not the "tea." You can find The 10: A Memoir of Family and the Open Road at most major retailers like Simon & Schuster or your local indie bookstore.
For those who are currently navigating their own complicated family histories or dealing with the fallout of a parent's mental illness, this book serves as a reminder that you don't have to have the answers to move forward. You just have to keep driving.
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Start by looking into the real-world history of the I-10 corridor if you want to trace her steps. Sometimes, seeing the actual locations—like the White Sands National Park—can give you a better perspective on the sheer scale of the isolation Elizabeth was feeling during her trip. Grab a map, mark the route, and maybe find a quiet place to read. This isn't a beach read; it's a "sit-in-the-dark-and-think" read.