Memoirs About Fathers, Sons, & Men

Won't someone think about the men? YWR #95

Here’s an observation: over many weeks of book recommendations, I haven’t shared a lot of books about masculinity and the state of being men, or even fatherhood. Weird! Whereas you can’t even turn around in this virtual joint without knocking over a stack of books about the experience of being women, about bad/good/indifferent mothers, about femininity or lack thereof. This, even though only a third of all published books are by women. What in the DE&I is going ON here?

If you’re still reading despite this hopelessly ponderous opening paragraph, I thank you for your patience, I promise that this week’s book recos are worthwhile, and also (pushes glasses up) I have various and sundry theories:

• Is it that being a man is the “default” state and so there’s less compulsion for a writer to explore that, per se?

• Is it that men who write memoirs tend to write more about their work, whatever that is, rather than about themselves?

• Is it that the mother-child relationship is so indelible that it tends to overshadow conversations about fathers unless you are the great and powerful Pat Conroy? (RIP Pat, we still miss ya.)

• Is it simply just my selection bias, given my insatiable enthusiasm for five-lamb comedies and romances? Have I been missing out on some greats in the pursuit of joy?

Honestly, it’s probably this and I should stop making this a junior-year-of-college gender studies treatise, but … the unexamined life, and so on, and what have you.

ANYWAY - this week’s books all, to me, address masculinity and the legacy of fatherhood/sonhood in interesting and moving ways. They’re also all memoirs that tackle that topic, and the genre, with very different styles, so I hope there’s something for everyone!

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Hoo BOY, could David Carr write a memoir. The Night of the Gun is an unusual, unsparing, and fierce reflection on the author’s own life in deep addiction, and how the birth of his twin girls changed his life.

I’m not sure what’s more compelling about this book: is it the marriage of memoir and reportage, as this veteran New York Times reporter actually investigates his own life and memories? Is it the repellent tale of destructive substance abuse against the tenderness of fatherhood and the relationships with many other men in his life who helped Carr become the man he was? Or is it Carr’s singular, laconically funny, unsentimental, wise and gravelly voice? It’s probably all of those things.

“Everyone is told just as much as he needs to know, including the self.”

Someday I’ll write a sentence like that, and then stop writing for the week in a self-congratulatory flourish.

Why lambs? Why not? But also, here’s the decoder ring about what they mean.

There are certain beloved authors who go back to the same well so often that even if you love them, you know a new book will be a pale facsimile of their previous greatness (ahem Anne Lamott ahem) and I was wondering if this David Sedaris, Happy-Go-Lucky, would fall into that category. And while the well is the same, the essays feel fresh, insightful, and deeply moving while still of course mostly being laugh-out-loud funny. Memoir as humor? Please and thank you.

While the writing covers the times of COVID, of the George Floyd protests, and of the general now-ness of it all, what really jumped out to me, and has stayed with me for many weeks, is his tender writing about his fraught relationship with his father, his father’s death, and what it means to no longer be anyone’s son. Poignant and lovely.

Okay. Okay okay. So. There’s an essay in this collection that essentially points out that white women have been the gatekeepers of book editing and publishing for a long time (75%!!), to the detriment of what gets published, promoted, and appreciated. And that just because a book doesn’t appeal to white women doesn’t mean it’s not a great book. I reflect on this a lot now. But also this is a newsletter about my thoughts on books, what to do, what to do!

So with that acknowledgement, I’ll say that this collection of essays are both deeply personal/individual to the author while raising provocative and societal questions about learned masculinity, ingrained patriarchy, and how to do the work of unlearning that. Questions that all of us, but especially men, really should be asking ourselves. I thought some of the essays were more successful than others - the voice was a little uneven as a collection - but the perspective and the reflections were honest, unresolved in the best way, and challenging. I really appreciated it even knowing that I was not, likely, the intended audience.

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Book Confessions and a Request

Recently, a friend with whom I often talk books asked me about a certain title and I said “Oh, remember? I *just* wrote about that in my newsletter!” and she cheerfully said, “oh yeah, I never read that. Way too many words for me.”

First of all, I thank her for her complete candor, accurate assessment, and an actual laugh, even though she obviously will never read this (ABBY).

Second of all, if you have made it this far, and you are a reader, I’m very, very grateful. 95 weeks in, if you have liked or shared or commented on this, you, to me, are perfect. And if you never have, you also are perfect.

But also in the style of an interminable public radio telethon, I have a personal milestone of readers in mind by week 100 and liking, commenting or sharing always helps, so maybe today is the DAY. You know, THE ALGORITHM, and whatnot. Tell me what you love! Tell me what you hate! Tell me what you want to see more of! (I know, I know - audiobooks and mysteries. I KNOW.) Thanks for your consideration.

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