This book is both beautiful and ugly. It is beautiful in its writing style, in its depth of character, and its brutal honesty about the author’s hardships of having an absent father. Its ugliness comes from its dark depiction of how alcoholism can effect multiple generations of a family.
Clay writes a memoir centered around her father, a man who could never quite seem to let go of the free-wheeling nature of the 1960’s. He dreamed of a life following in the footsteps of Jack Kerouac and never woke up, despite eventually having five children. At a time when letters were a main source of communication, this is where his love for them can be found. As the oldest child, our author has carefully compiled them and presented us with a real, raw, and honest portrait of a man whom she loved and yet was also perpetually let down by.
He was kind and funny, his letters exuding charisma and wit. His children all grew up to share his love of music, and yet sadly, they also inherited his favorite past time: alcohol. This book is, first and foremost, a testament to the effects of alcoholism on multiple generations of a family. A lifelong drinker, Clay’s father never put the bottle down, despite his belief that he could at any time (a stony belief shared by many who drink). Without her father around to teach her otherwise, our author began drinking at the age of 12, eventually getting off the wagon at age 21, before her “elevator hit the bottom floor.” Tragically, one of her brothers was not so lucky, passing away in his mid-40s undoubtedly due to a combination of alcohol and depression, things which a present father figure could have deterred.
This book is a mosaic of stories, pictures, and wisdom, both from Clay’s late father via his letters and from our author herself. She shares honestly and openly, inviting the reader into her relationship with her father and allowing all of their open sores to feel oxygen. It is funny, sad, and emotional throughout. This book, like the life pursued by her father, is an exciting journey.