Dooce: love her or hate her (or both), you cannot deny that she does indeed live in Utah. On Thursday night, June 5th in the year of our Lord 2008, she had a book signing at a cute university bookstore in a seriously cute part of Salt Lake City. Dick and I went. We were late, just catching her in time to hear Jon ask solicitously, “Are you okay, Heather?” and to hear Heather, depressively writing her 180th inscription, “Yeah, today has been a really long day.”
Perhaps I should have brought her a caffeine-free Mountain Dew, as that is as close as I can come to a beer. Maybe next time.
Notice how Dick horned in to be next to (and touching!) Dooce. Notice also how the short, chubby one was pushed to the front and therefore looks more short and chubby than strictly necessary.
I wanted to see Dooce, despite good advice to stop stalking her already. I didn’t want to have to buy her book, though. That’s what libraries are for. But we needed a Father’s Day gift for Dick’s dad anyway.
On Thursday evening I didn’t consider the book for my own dad because I worried that he wouldn’t appreciate the swearing. But the very next day I called someone a f—— a—— in my father’s presence. My brother was horrified, wanting it documented that that was the first defilement of the homestead by the f-bomb.
But Dad actually defended me, saying I was PROBABLY RIGHT. I’m sure he thought better of that later. No matter how much someone deserves to be called a f- a-, it’s just not good precedent to encourage Jane in thinking she’s right. She already knows she is, especially when it comes to derogatory nomenclature.
Speaking of dads, fatherhood — having a dad, being a dad, being married to a dad — is an unexpected, and possibly inspired, topic for a Mommy Blogger’s first book. Heather’s essays (2 of the 17) are good. A bit disappointing if you are a faithful reader of Dooce.com, as there is very little (no?) new material. A bit impressive too, as her skill in framing a narrative, creating immediacy and urgency then deftly mixing in backstory and exposition, is just breathtaking. BREATHTAKING.
Jon’s essay about his father is troubling. I enjoy Jon’s blog, though I confess I read it rarely, and always as an accompaniment to Dooce. His essay here is a bit strained, a bit contrived, a bit forced. A bit rambling. A bit incoherent. I feel uncomfortable for him.
Being married to Heather B. Armstrong seems like as thankless a task as your basic wind-beneath-my-wings, X-could-never-do-it-without-Y role. It’s nice that the supporting role is played so well by a nice guy in this case (rather than the stereotypical nurturer-woman), but I don’t envy the pressure he must feel to produce writing as clever as hers.
things i learned about my dad (in therapy) and several initial reactions were covered well by Lauriewrites, and if you’re the type who compulsively reads the reviews on Allrecipes.com before cooking, check out the thoughtful Amazon reviews, which leaves me free to reflect on the great mystery that is successful writing.
I’ve been reading Laid-off Dad since just before he announced his divorce. In an era of seemingly-easily-disposed-of marriages, his anguish at succumbing to divorce, as a last resort, is immensely appealing and heart-wrenching. So I want to love his essay, I want to love every word that comes out of his mouth/pen/computer. And yet, his essay? A letter to his sons about the last summer before their family breaks irrevocably? It’s all over the place, with a genealogical section both baffling and distracting.
It makes me wonder if writers reach a certain point of immunity from narrative flow. And if they do, probably it shouldn’t be before their first solo book is a bestseller.
I do love that LOD is emotionally candid about his divorce. His description of not-fighting in front of the kids as “two people ensnared in a fit of furious quiet,” “screaming in stage whispers,” is fantastic, and his ability to hope, while still in the acrimonious middle, that at some point mom and dad will be more amicable is a triumph of heart over instinct.
Then I read probably the most profane essay in the book, Peas and Domestic Tranquility, and I wanted to sit down Dick and my dad and his dad and Dick’s dad and my brother who will be a dad someday and every other dad and mother I ever knew and read aloud to them every profanity-laced sentence. I want to quote the entire thing here, but that might violate some copyright or other. Greg Knauss posted an excerpt on his own blog, though, so you can read a bit before running out later tonight to get the book for yourself.
His dissection of family dinnertime is so freakin’ spot-on that I will worship at the fount of his RSS feed for the rest of time. His essay is also organized, with what might even be called a thesis or road map: “Here’s what I’ve found that sets me off: disobedience, lying, and rudeness.” How deliciously un-p.c. and old-fashioned. Let’s here it for some basic, unquestioning-for-once-in-your-life obedience! On lying, he says:
If anything crystallizes the Pyrrhic victories of fatherhood, it’s the fact that my fondest wish is for hooligans instead of sociopaths. . . . the lying bothers me . . . because I see my own weaknesses and failures in it. Lying is about not having the confidence to defend what you’ve done. Lying is about weaseling out of the consequences of your actions. I was a liar because it seemed easier.
I get angry at my kids for lying because now I know it’s not.
It’s a neat trick to inspire me to try to do better as a parent. I can read Love and Logic for Girl Children Aged 1-7, or Dr. Sear’s Discipline Book, but honestly, that kind of measured, well-meant drivel can make me want to match my three-year old tantrum for tantrum. Why do I have to be the adult? Why do I have to take the knees to the head and the screeches to the ear and the food spit out on the floor with a cheerful smile and maybe a lame time-out?
Somehow, Greg Knauss’s essay (and now the posts I have stayed-up-too-late to catch up on) are outrageously entertaining AND instructive. He understands, and informs me: 1) Why I do what I do, 2) Why my kids do what they do, and 3) That I am not alone in wanting my kids to just SIT. DOWN. FOR. DINNER. And (in the case of my girls) SIT UP STRAIGHT SO I CAN’T SEE YOUR PANTIES. DANG IT.
What’s more, and most incredible, he makes me feel actual desire to be a better parent. I know what I should do. Making me feel inclined to do it is another thing entirely.
Tags: book review, dooce, doug french, fatherhood, greg knauss, heather b armstrong, jon armstrong, things i learned about my dad (in therapy)
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I haven’t read the book yet, but I was at the signing (obviously), and I have read a handful of Dooce’s posts. You’ve inspired me to read more and especially check out some of the contributing author sites you mentioned above.
By the way, I thought this review was a lot more even handed than your previous review of Book of Mom. I also think you have a talent for reviewing books. You consume them quickly and the cogs in your brain immediately turn with insightful analysis and commentary. Keep it up.
Tom Johnsons last blog post..Technical Writer as Conversation Stopper, and Other Notes from the STC Summit in Philadelphia
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hey! I saw you there. I was chatting with Jon about nerd stuff while you were there. I wish I’d recognized you and said hi.
Pete Dunns last blog post..If You Only Watch One Video Of My Precocious Niece Today
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I guess Ms. Dooce is a little too irreverent for me.
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Tom — Thanks, honey. But I have to say that I liked parts of this book a lot more than that entire other book, so it really wasn’t an effort to be “more evenhanded.”
Pete — Oh! Hopefully next time. Must think of another superstar blogger we both stalk (although you seem to be more “insider” than “stalker”; should I be stalking you?).
Brad — A common complaint. Although, her essays seemed cleaned up from when I’d seen that material on her blog.
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Congrats on meeting (and getting a photo with) Dooce. I’ve read her after stumbling her through you, but haven’t grabbed her RSS yet.
Torn on the language (f-bombs, et al) issue like Brad. Transparent v. filtered blogs — I know I’m not brave enough to drop it on mine (although I’m no clean-mouthed saint IRL).
The narrative voice…can and do totally agree with you.
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I didn’t notice this till just now. Check out the sign over Heather’s head. The one with the arrow.
Pete Dunns last blog post..I Want To Make Us Both Famous
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DUDE (Pete). That is hilarious. Didn’t notice either until you pointed it out. I want to say it’s eponymous or something, but that’s probably not the right word.
Oh, Marianne, I wanted to respond to your comment too. I sometimes wonder if I’m being almost hypocritical to have cleaner language on my blog than I do IRL. But I do (usually/often) aspire to better language IRL. And by better, I don’t even mean only cleaner language, but more descriptive, more creative. How creative is it to drop f-bombs all the time (which I sometimes do, to my shame)? Not very creative at all, right?
On the other hand, my favorite of all time instance of the f-word in literature is in Roddy Doyle’s Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha. It’s an Irish book I read in college and the young boy narrator describes the glee and awesomeness of discovering and using that word. And it’s really creative and fantastic. Definitely recommended reading, for all.
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