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A review by shirlev
Priestdaddy by Patricia Lockwood
A catastrophe has brought them all here, the catastrophe of being called. I think of that Buster Keaton stunt where the wall collapses and he finds himself standing in the open window of the upper room, not merely unharmed but chosen. After that, you must live the rest of your life differently, carrying that open window around with you always, amid the whoosh of everything else in the world falling.
This book frequently made me queasy with recognition and misidentification-- I see myself, I see my father, I see something in the shape of myself or my father that is unrecognizable. "Voice" was an especially affecting chapter. Lockwood's precision with language and especially humor is what shines through in a memoir that often hit a little too close.
This book frequently made me queasy with recognition and misidentification-- I see myself, I see my father, I see something in the shape of myself or my father that is unrecognizable. "Voice" was an especially affecting chapter. Lockwood's precision with language and especially humor is what shines through in a memoir that often hit a little too close.