Thank you for this. The mystery of the ever-vanishing father. Yours disappeared into isolation and thrillers; mine diminished into reclusivity and vodka. Now gone eleven years, I think about him more than I ever did while he was alive. But he was more alive when I was young than ever after: the star quarterback still resting in the glory of his laurels. Nothing that came later could replace that. A slow fade to emptiness. But I remember when his star still shone brightly, and ponder how I can escape his fate, even while carrying him with me. (It helps that I have a son, and must think every moment how to not inflict that kind of pain.)
So much I relate to here, a father unknown and estranged to me. I have my impressions from the stories I hear but he is ultimately unknown to me. Any artifacts I would have found, like these books, would by perceived through my eyes, not his. Also, I loved Robert Ludlum in my middle school years, and most definitely thought of myself as the protagonist. An easy escape for sure, where you could feel the energy of life, the thrill, and assume you were living, even had a full day, when in reality nothing had occurred.
That is a great piece. Devastatingly sad and thought-provoking. What do we really know about the people who are supposed to be the closest to us? I feared my father and never learned anything about him. He was always busy so it was a good excuse for me. A few years before his death, or maybe just a year, I cannot say for sure, he admitted not knowing me too. He expressed surprise about me. He said to me these strange words: “I never knew that you are such a good person.” I still never know what kind of person he was.
He did not read books. At least I have never seen him reading. Maybe I would have known something about him.
Thank you for writing this piece and opening this flood of emotions for me. And maybe even regrets, but I still don’t know if I would have been able to overcome my fear.
Fascinating read, I felt the emotional distancing of your life experience reflected in your writing and it seemed like a sincere effort to know, understand and respect the life of your father.
I read intermittently, I feel a bout coming on. But I've never been attracted to the authors you reference from your father's collection (or that genre) and I'm grateful for your analysis, it explains my aversion!!
This may sound a bit weird, but I somehow found your acceptance of your father's life choices comforting, even while you pull out all the stops to be different and more engaged with your own child. I watch people tear themselves with guilt, good intentions and hard work trying to change the lives of family members who won't change, at least not on their terms. Your story feels as authentic and valid, without the drama and conflict I witness in these interactions.
Wow. Crazy. So much about this story — a dad who retreated into nothingness, death from smoking, living alone in a room, reading only commercial page-turners, his only “estate” being his old car which sat on my sister’s drive till she sold it for next to nothing — is exactly what happened to my own dad.
My father passed away a couple of years ago suddenly and was a big reader like yours—but his taste leaned more towards the classics (he loved the Russians!). I pretty much the opposite experience to yours where my father and I used to read the same books, go to the bookstore together, discuss books, read aloud to one another. Thank you for sharing your story in such a beautiful way!
Great piece. It's interesting that Le Carre was in there - obviously far more literary than the rest, and full of beautifully drawn, defeated men. Also the shadow of the father, particularly in A Perfect Spy, which Roth called the 'best English novel since the war.'
Curious to know which le Carré’s your father read. The father-son dynamic recurs across his works. And le Carré poured a lot of his difficult experiences with his own father into his books (most overtly in ‘A Perfect Spy’).
Thanks for this. The situation you describe I don't think I've encountered before. As such it is a little hard for me to process. That is, such an absolute estrangement that wasn't precipitated by any particular inciting incident.
It may be that his life was his to do with as he pleased, but I'm sorry that he was not willing or able to contribute much to his children's lives.
Thank you for this. The mystery of the ever-vanishing father. Yours disappeared into isolation and thrillers; mine diminished into reclusivity and vodka. Now gone eleven years, I think about him more than I ever did while he was alive. But he was more alive when I was young than ever after: the star quarterback still resting in the glory of his laurels. Nothing that came later could replace that. A slow fade to emptiness. But I remember when his star still shone brightly, and ponder how I can escape his fate, even while carrying him with me. (It helps that I have a son, and must think every moment how to not inflict that kind of pain.)
So much I relate to here, a father unknown and estranged to me. I have my impressions from the stories I hear but he is ultimately unknown to me. Any artifacts I would have found, like these books, would by perceived through my eyes, not his. Also, I loved Robert Ludlum in my middle school years, and most definitely thought of myself as the protagonist. An easy escape for sure, where you could feel the energy of life, the thrill, and assume you were living, even had a full day, when in reality nothing had occurred.
That is a great piece. Devastatingly sad and thought-provoking. What do we really know about the people who are supposed to be the closest to us? I feared my father and never learned anything about him. He was always busy so it was a good excuse for me. A few years before his death, or maybe just a year, I cannot say for sure, he admitted not knowing me too. He expressed surprise about me. He said to me these strange words: “I never knew that you are such a good person.” I still never know what kind of person he was.
He did not read books. At least I have never seen him reading. Maybe I would have known something about him.
Thank you for writing this piece and opening this flood of emotions for me. And maybe even regrets, but I still don’t know if I would have been able to overcome my fear.
Fascinating read, I felt the emotional distancing of your life experience reflected in your writing and it seemed like a sincere effort to know, understand and respect the life of your father.
I read intermittently, I feel a bout coming on. But I've never been attracted to the authors you reference from your father's collection (or that genre) and I'm grateful for your analysis, it explains my aversion!!
This may sound a bit weird, but I somehow found your acceptance of your father's life choices comforting, even while you pull out all the stops to be different and more engaged with your own child. I watch people tear themselves with guilt, good intentions and hard work trying to change the lives of family members who won't change, at least not on their terms. Your story feels as authentic and valid, without the drama and conflict I witness in these interactions.
Wow. Crazy. So much about this story — a dad who retreated into nothingness, death from smoking, living alone in a room, reading only commercial page-turners, his only “estate” being his old car which sat on my sister’s drive till she sold it for next to nothing — is exactly what happened to my own dad.
My father passed away a couple of years ago suddenly and was a big reader like yours—but his taste leaned more towards the classics (he loved the Russians!). I pretty much the opposite experience to yours where my father and I used to read the same books, go to the bookstore together, discuss books, read aloud to one another. Thank you for sharing your story in such a beautiful way!
Fantastic piece - brilliantly written, affecting and humorous in both a wry and sensitive way. First essay I've read by Benvie but not the last.
Great piece. It's interesting that Le Carre was in there - obviously far more literary than the rest, and full of beautifully drawn, defeated men. Also the shadow of the father, particularly in A Perfect Spy, which Roth called the 'best English novel since the war.'
Great writing.
“Fathers are our role models for life. We can be like them, or learn from them not to be like them. For me, it was a blend of the two.”
Curious to know which le Carré’s your father read. The father-son dynamic recurs across his works. And le Carré poured a lot of his difficult experiences with his own father into his books (most overtly in ‘A Perfect Spy’).
Thanks for this. The situation you describe I don't think I've encountered before. As such it is a little hard for me to process. That is, such an absolute estrangement that wasn't precipitated by any particular inciting incident.
It may be that his life was his to do with as he pleased, but I'm sorry that he was not willing or able to contribute much to his children's lives.
Excellent. Not hacky.