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libbyhenderson's review against another edition
3.0
Memoir in the form of letters to the author's sons. Lots of "I can relate" stuff is included, and the author's writing style is excellent; amusing, relatable, and honest. It did get a bit self-aggrandizing, morbid, and narcissistic in places. All in all, a good read!
paladintodd's review against another edition
3.0
Gave up at page 150. I enjoyed O'Brien's writing, but there was just nothing here that grabbed me. No fatherly insights, nothing sentimental, no life lesson to take away.
jessbarbour's review against another edition
3.0
Got this on clearance at Waterstones, thought it would be more addressed to his children than it was. Loved some parts, but found the war descriptions a little repetitive in places
bobbo49's review against another edition
4.0
Visiting with my sons and grandsons this last weekend, I finished O'Brien's latest, a series of notes and letters and lessons to his own sons written over the last 16 years (he first became a father in his late 50s). He was inspired to write these missives when he reflected on the possibility/likelihood that he might not live long enough to see his children reach adulthood, and he wanted them to be able to know and understand something of his life and his philosophical views, forged of course in the 1960s/1970s and during and after his service in Vietnam, the pivotal formative years in his own struggles, and in his writing life. While there was a bit too much analysis of Hemingway (and a few other writers) for me, most of O'Brien's deep reflections on the good and poor choices he made, the after-effects of those decisions, the personal relationships he formed with his military buddies and others, the pain and pleasure of being a writer, and on the many challenges that all of us face in life -and parenthood - are well worth the reading.
lckeser7's review against another edition
5.0
I read this whole thing in two sittings. I almost couldn't put it down, not because of a compelling plot or interesting characters, but because Tim O'Brien is, to my mind, (among) the best sentence crafter(s) I've ever read.
The book is ostensibly a love letter to O'Brien's two children with bits of advice and some explanation of who O'Brien is (O'Brien, having had his kids so late in life, worries that they will never really know him). The book is that. It fulfills that purpose well and I don't think one needs to have children to appreciate it. But through his explanations of himself, O'Brien does a few other things with this book.
First, it acts as a follow-up to [b:If I Die in a Combat Zone, Box Me Up and Ship Me Home|3445|If I Die in a Combat Zone, Box Me Up and Ship Me Home|Tim O'Brien|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1399498242l/3445._SY75_.jpg|9118], O'Brien's memoir written as a much younger man whose experiences with Vietnam were still fresh. Here he grapples with the ways that he is still affected by that trauma five decades removed. He talks (sometimes with great disdain) about being labeled A War Writer or A Vietnam Writer. In one great passage he writes, "A war writer, and more narrowly a Vietnam writer, and so it will always be. It's my own fault. I could have said no; I should have said no. There is a sting, though, to the knowledge that the worst thing that ever happened to me will determine almost the entire content of my obituary."
He writes about authors' intent versus audience reception as he offers examples of people who read his work and come away ready to enlist and THEY THANK HIM FOR IT! How? Are they not reading the same books I am? He writes about meeting up with those remaining war buddies of his who are still alive. He writes about how Vietnam vets almost all hate his work, even his own friends.
Second, the book is a meditation on aging and death. Without flipping back through to find the exact number, O'Brien was in his 60s when his first kid was born. Much of the book is a lamentation about what he will not be able to experience with his kids, about how he escaped death back in the turbulent 1960s, witnessed death, dealt death, and dealt with the resulting trauma of all of that, including so much guilt and shame. He still carries those.
Third, the book discusses the craft of writing. We read about O'Brien's process as a writer. We learn why it takes so long for him to produce content. We learn that most of the time, he seems to hate writing. Another passage would be illustrative here:
I resented the loneliness and aloneness; I resented the pitiless subjectivity of it all. What had once been fun for me--tedious fun, frustrating fun--had hardened into something edging up on hatred. At this very instant the hatred bubbles. Should the word "hardened" be replaced by the word "evolved"? Yes? No? Screw it--keep going. Is the word "awaken" too poetic, too precious? Yes. Probably. No. Probably. With every syllable I try to talk myself out of writing the next syllable.
As I stated earlier, O'Brien is probably my favorite sentence crafter ever, and that passage highlights why, as does the following. He begins by quoting Conrad: "A work that aspires, however humbly, to the condition of art should carry its justification in every line." Here the quote ends and O'Brien emends Conrad with "To this, one might reasonably add: every word, every syllable." That's why he's so good, that's why he takes forever, that's why he's frustrated. He cares about every single syllable being right. He's a perfectionist who feels like he still hasn't found it.
To conclude with this topic of craft and process, I think it becomes pretty clear that this is probably the final book we're getting from O'Brien.
Finally, the book is also literary criticism. One of the most impactful writers throughout O'Brien's life, it appears, is Hemingway, and so he takes time in several chapters to dissect the work of Hemingway. I can see many not much caring for these chapters if they don't like Hemingway at least a little, and they might seem, at first, like a diversion from the book's purpose. In these tangents, O'Brien really is sticking to the purpose. He believes that getting his kids to understand the books that have impacted him will help them understand him. For the reader too, it is interesting to see O'Brien make connections and distinctions between the way he has written about war and how Hemingway has. We get to know O'Brien a little more through the work of Hemingway. And if you appreciate O'Brien's work as much as I do, you want to hear what he has to say about literature and writers, especially one of the giants.
I guess that last part wasn't really a Finally...
Finally, the book is funny too. O'Brien has great anecdotes about fatherhood, about kids saying and doing ridiculous things, about encounters with readers. We also learn that O'Brien's kids (in their teens by book's end) have never read or asked a single question about their father's work. This intrigues me. I want to hear from them when they're older. Why didn't they read it? Why didn't they ask? Did they eventually read it and did it change how they think about their dad?
The book is ostensibly a love letter to O'Brien's two children with bits of advice and some explanation of who O'Brien is (O'Brien, having had his kids so late in life, worries that they will never really know him). The book is that. It fulfills that purpose well and I don't think one needs to have children to appreciate it. But through his explanations of himself, O'Brien does a few other things with this book.
First, it acts as a follow-up to [b:If I Die in a Combat Zone, Box Me Up and Ship Me Home|3445|If I Die in a Combat Zone, Box Me Up and Ship Me Home|Tim O'Brien|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1399498242l/3445._SY75_.jpg|9118], O'Brien's memoir written as a much younger man whose experiences with Vietnam were still fresh. Here he grapples with the ways that he is still affected by that trauma five decades removed. He talks (sometimes with great disdain) about being labeled A War Writer or A Vietnam Writer. In one great passage he writes, "A war writer, and more narrowly a Vietnam writer, and so it will always be. It's my own fault. I could have said no; I should have said no. There is a sting, though, to the knowledge that the worst thing that ever happened to me will determine almost the entire content of my obituary."
He writes about authors' intent versus audience reception as he offers examples of people who read his work and come away ready to enlist and THEY THANK HIM FOR IT! How? Are they not reading the same books I am? He writes about meeting up with those remaining war buddies of his who are still alive. He writes about how Vietnam vets almost all hate his work, even his own friends.
Second, the book is a meditation on aging and death. Without flipping back through to find the exact number, O'Brien was in his 60s when his first kid was born. Much of the book is a lamentation about what he will not be able to experience with his kids, about how he escaped death back in the turbulent 1960s, witnessed death, dealt death, and dealt with the resulting trauma of all of that, including so much guilt and shame. He still carries those.
Third, the book discusses the craft of writing. We read about O'Brien's process as a writer. We learn why it takes so long for him to produce content. We learn that most of the time, he seems to hate writing. Another passage would be illustrative here:
I resented the loneliness and aloneness; I resented the pitiless subjectivity of it all. What had once been fun for me--tedious fun, frustrating fun--had hardened into something edging up on hatred. At this very instant the hatred bubbles. Should the word "hardened" be replaced by the word "evolved"? Yes? No? Screw it--keep going. Is the word "awaken" too poetic, too precious? Yes. Probably. No. Probably. With every syllable I try to talk myself out of writing the next syllable.
As I stated earlier, O'Brien is probably my favorite sentence crafter ever, and that passage highlights why, as does the following. He begins by quoting Conrad: "A work that aspires, however humbly, to the condition of art should carry its justification in every line." Here the quote ends and O'Brien emends Conrad with "To this, one might reasonably add: every word, every syllable." That's why he's so good, that's why he takes forever, that's why he's frustrated. He cares about every single syllable being right. He's a perfectionist who feels like he still hasn't found it.
To conclude with this topic of craft and process, I think it becomes pretty clear that this is probably the final book we're getting from O'Brien.
Finally, the book is also literary criticism. One of the most impactful writers throughout O'Brien's life, it appears, is Hemingway, and so he takes time in several chapters to dissect the work of Hemingway. I can see many not much caring for these chapters if they don't like Hemingway at least a little, and they might seem, at first, like a diversion from the book's purpose. In these tangents, O'Brien really is sticking to the purpose. He believes that getting his kids to understand the books that have impacted him will help them understand him. For the reader too, it is interesting to see O'Brien make connections and distinctions between the way he has written about war and how Hemingway has. We get to know O'Brien a little more through the work of Hemingway. And if you appreciate O'Brien's work as much as I do, you want to hear what he has to say about literature and writers, especially one of the giants.
I guess that last part wasn't really a Finally...
Finally, the book is funny too. O'Brien has great anecdotes about fatherhood, about kids saying and doing ridiculous things, about encounters with readers. We also learn that O'Brien's kids (in their teens by book's end) have never read or asked a single question about their father's work. This intrigues me. I want to hear from them when they're older. Why didn't they read it? Why didn't they ask? Did they eventually read it and did it change how they think about their dad?
ashleyfritch's review against another edition
4.0
4.5 stars. Beautiful, thoughtful, and a little sad, this book contains all of the literary brilliance that I would expect from O' Brien, yet has a such a down to earth feel to it. Amongst the expertly crafted sentences is a love for his sons that is so deep and so endearing. Towards the end, there were parts that were a little tedious and crotchety, but on the whole a really enjoyable book.
edwinspindrift's review against another edition
5.0
The seemingly glib title of this book belies the heart stopping seriousness of its theme: fatherhood, regret, love and mortality. I will carry much of tires book with me for the rest of my life.
samhouston's review
4.0
Dad’s Maybe Book is Tim O’Brien’s first new book in seventeen years – and, sadly enough, it is likely to be his last one. But never say never, because O’Brien didn’t expect the material that comprises Dad’s Maybe Book ever to be published when he began writing the pieces to his two young sons back in 2003. Near the end of this one, though, the seventy-three-year-old author does seem to be formally announcing his retirement when he says, “…no more early (writing) mornings. The daily agenda will be simple: sleep until seven or eight, then settle in to read the books I want to read. At my age, a certain selfishness seems permissible – doing the things I long to do and not what some preacherly internal voice tells me I must do.”
In June of 2003, the fifty-seven-year-old Tim O’Brien was surprised by the gift of a first child, a little boy called Timmy that the author describes as “an eater of electrical cords, a fertilizer factory, a pain in the ass, and a thrill in the heart.” As Timmy entered his sixteenth month of life, O’Brien was struck by the thought that his young son might never really know him. After all, if the actuarial tables were correct, they would not be spending too many more years together.
And that’s when Dad’s Maybe Book was born. But the book didn’t really begin to gain much momentum until O’Brien and his wife learned that they were expecting a second son, a little boy they would call Tad. The book that began as a series of “love letters to his children, along with a few anecdotes and some tentative words of advice” was finally published in late 2019. That Dad’s Maybe Book turned into so much more than that, and that Tim O’Brien (the National Book Award winner for 1979’s Going After Cacciato) fans would enjoy reading it, seems to have caught O’Brien at least a little bit by surprise.
Personally, I’m not surprised by that at all because what O’Brien has written here is as much a terrific memoir as it is a book about parenting or a series of letters to his young sons. Even more importantly for contemporaries of the author, this is a very fine reflection on the aging process and facing the ultimate ending that grows closer for all of us with each day’s passing. The book is largely structured around “Home School” and “Homework” assignments that O’Brien requires of his sons over the years. Surprisingly, many of those assignments focus on the stories and novels of Ernest Hemmingway, an author whose work O’Brien both admires and dislikes – often at the same time. It is in these five sections of the book (titled “Timmy and Tad and Papa and I) that O’Brien, a decorated Vietnam War veteran, explains how he became a pacifist and why he despises wars of any type so much today. (He particularly despises those who are so willing to fight wars using someone else’s sons to fight them.)
Dad’s Maybe Book was written over a fifteen-year period during which O’Brien’s sons grew from babyhood to teenagers; a time during which they, their father, the country, and the world changed greatly. It is a hopeful book, but it is often a sad book, one in which the author’s anxiety about being so much older than his children becomes more and more obvious as the years pass. It ends, though, with a comforting piece that O’Brien calls “One Last Lesson Plan,” instructions on just how he want his sons to spend the day together on what would have been the author’ hundredth birthday, October 1, 2046 (wouldn’t it be something if he were still here to spend that day with them). He wants them to play a round of golf together, drink some beer, look at some old family pictures, and “Forgive what needs forgiving, laugh at what needs laughing, and then go home.”
Bottom Line: I saved my favorite quote from Dad’s Maybe Book for this summation because I think it represents the overall tone of the book so well: “It’s 3:12 a.m., October 1, 2016. I have turned seventy. Daylight will bring slices of cake and cheerful goodwill. It will be like celebrating a hernia.” God help me, but I love this quote.
In June of 2003, the fifty-seven-year-old Tim O’Brien was surprised by the gift of a first child, a little boy called Timmy that the author describes as “an eater of electrical cords, a fertilizer factory, a pain in the ass, and a thrill in the heart.” As Timmy entered his sixteenth month of life, O’Brien was struck by the thought that his young son might never really know him. After all, if the actuarial tables were correct, they would not be spending too many more years together.
And that’s when Dad’s Maybe Book was born. But the book didn’t really begin to gain much momentum until O’Brien and his wife learned that they were expecting a second son, a little boy they would call Tad. The book that began as a series of “love letters to his children, along with a few anecdotes and some tentative words of advice” was finally published in late 2019. That Dad’s Maybe Book turned into so much more than that, and that Tim O’Brien (the National Book Award winner for 1979’s Going After Cacciato) fans would enjoy reading it, seems to have caught O’Brien at least a little bit by surprise.
Personally, I’m not surprised by that at all because what O’Brien has written here is as much a terrific memoir as it is a book about parenting or a series of letters to his young sons. Even more importantly for contemporaries of the author, this is a very fine reflection on the aging process and facing the ultimate ending that grows closer for all of us with each day’s passing. The book is largely structured around “Home School” and “Homework” assignments that O’Brien requires of his sons over the years. Surprisingly, many of those assignments focus on the stories and novels of Ernest Hemmingway, an author whose work O’Brien both admires and dislikes – often at the same time. It is in these five sections of the book (titled “Timmy and Tad and Papa and I) that O’Brien, a decorated Vietnam War veteran, explains how he became a pacifist and why he despises wars of any type so much today. (He particularly despises those who are so willing to fight wars using someone else’s sons to fight them.)
Dad’s Maybe Book was written over a fifteen-year period during which O’Brien’s sons grew from babyhood to teenagers; a time during which they, their father, the country, and the world changed greatly. It is a hopeful book, but it is often a sad book, one in which the author’s anxiety about being so much older than his children becomes more and more obvious as the years pass. It ends, though, with a comforting piece that O’Brien calls “One Last Lesson Plan,” instructions on just how he want his sons to spend the day together on what would have been the author’ hundredth birthday, October 1, 2046 (wouldn’t it be something if he were still here to spend that day with them). He wants them to play a round of golf together, drink some beer, look at some old family pictures, and “Forgive what needs forgiving, laugh at what needs laughing, and then go home.”
Bottom Line: I saved my favorite quote from Dad’s Maybe Book for this summation because I think it represents the overall tone of the book so well: “It’s 3:12 a.m., October 1, 2016. I have turned seventy. Daylight will bring slices of cake and cheerful goodwill. It will be like celebrating a hernia.” God help me, but I love this quote.
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