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LAST RITES: The Death of William Saroyan
Given word that their difficult famous father is dying, brother and sister embark on an eleventh-hour struggle to heal a shattered family. “A daring and unusual book,” writes the New York Times. “Perhaps the best essay ever written about learning to replace judgment with compassion and rejection with understanding.” –Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, author of On Death and Dying.
- GenresNonfiction
Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1982
3 people are currently reading
35 people want to read
About the author
Aram Saroyan
58 books28 followersAram Saroyan is an American poet, novelist, biographer, memoirist and playwright. There has been a resurgence of interest in his work in the 21st century, evidenced by the publication in 2007 of several previous collections reissued together as Complete Minimal Poems. He is the son of author William Saroyan and actress Carol Grace, and the father of Strawberry Saroyan.
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
May 30, 2017
Gran libro dentro de la serie de la muerte del padre incluso sin saber nada de la obra de W. Saroyan.
March 6, 2018
3 por el libro, q está bastante bien, pero una * extra por la edición cuidada de blatt&ríos, la traducción de fadel y giacometti y el prólogo de katchadjian.
November 18, 2019
En la parte más triste me cayó una lagrimita.
March 19, 2024
My father never liked me or my sister, and he never liked our mother either, after an initial infatuation, and in fact, he never liked anyone at all after an hour or two, no, no one except a stooge, someone he could depend on to be a lackey, a nitwit he could make fun of behind his back, someone he could control completely by whatever means he could make work—fear, intimidation, or, because he was a famous and admired man, blind worshipfulness.
And he wanted me and Lucy and my mother to die.
And he didn’t kill us.
The author’s father was William Saroyan, an author I have not read, but was famous—I guess, for a good reason. Father Saroyan was a difficult man, as most artists are. He did not like being married or having children; these responsibilities took a toll on his ability to write. Bill’s distaste for family life impelled him to banish both of his children from his deathbed.
He is, indeed, a terribly clever man, as clever as the cleverest lawyer he detests. A terribly clever man, because, after all, a bully must be clever not to be exposed as a coward. He must choose his fights carefully not to be exposed by one who is evenly matched and willing to fight back. And my father was extremely clever and extremely careful.
He chose his wife, and his son, and his daughter.
His son needed to decide what to do about the situation, as his father lay dying. Would he go to him or would he not? After 100 pages of rumination, he finally went. The visit was more pleasant than he expected, and before he could return, his father died. Aram and his sister expressed predictable bitterness at their exclusion from Bill’s will, even though they had ample notice this would happen. Adults should not wait around for their parents to die and leave them money. It almost doesn’t matter, whether they get it or not. The point is the life they miss, in the meantime.
Aram Saroyan explains in his introduction that he has published these excerpts from his journal, largely unedited, to transmit the strong emotions they record, unfiltered. This decision succeeded but it’s also a major shortcoming of his book.
Aram writes well, but he can’t break out of this loop: My father was mean, really mean, inexcusably mean, mean to the bitter end. That alone is not an interesting story. If Aram had wondered how or why his father got to be that mean person, and why his family had a hard time letting go of this antagonistic patriarch, he would have breathed much-needed oxygen into the dark cellar of his resentment. Alternatively, he could have gained some distance by seeing humor in the situation, as he almost does here:
This was America, after all. We were all willingly submitting ourselves to an experiment, and there was no sense getting extra fussy.
And he wanted me and Lucy and my mother to die.
And he didn’t kill us.
The author’s father was William Saroyan, an author I have not read, but was famous—I guess, for a good reason. Father Saroyan was a difficult man, as most artists are. He did not like being married or having children; these responsibilities took a toll on his ability to write. Bill’s distaste for family life impelled him to banish both of his children from his deathbed.
He is, indeed, a terribly clever man, as clever as the cleverest lawyer he detests. A terribly clever man, because, after all, a bully must be clever not to be exposed as a coward. He must choose his fights carefully not to be exposed by one who is evenly matched and willing to fight back. And my father was extremely clever and extremely careful.
He chose his wife, and his son, and his daughter.
His son needed to decide what to do about the situation, as his father lay dying. Would he go to him or would he not? After 100 pages of rumination, he finally went. The visit was more pleasant than he expected, and before he could return, his father died. Aram and his sister expressed predictable bitterness at their exclusion from Bill’s will, even though they had ample notice this would happen. Adults should not wait around for their parents to die and leave them money. It almost doesn’t matter, whether they get it or not. The point is the life they miss, in the meantime.
Aram Saroyan explains in his introduction that he has published these excerpts from his journal, largely unedited, to transmit the strong emotions they record, unfiltered. This decision succeeded but it’s also a major shortcoming of his book.
Aram writes well, but he can’t break out of this loop: My father was mean, really mean, inexcusably mean, mean to the bitter end. That alone is not an interesting story. If Aram had wondered how or why his father got to be that mean person, and why his family had a hard time letting go of this antagonistic patriarch, he would have breathed much-needed oxygen into the dark cellar of his resentment. Alternatively, he could have gained some distance by seeing humor in the situation, as he almost does here:
This was America, after all. We were all willingly submitting ourselves to an experiment, and there was no sense getting extra fussy.
January 5, 2026
A difficult read … a portrait of an artist’s life from the experience of the son of the artist .. I’ve always felt I saw myself in the writings of William Saroyan — that I was understood. I still feel the same way. But I am not his child.
Aram hated his father, and it makes so much sense why. I can relate to Aram’s hatred and his complicated feelings for him in the weeks before his father’s death. It’s difficult to reckon with someone so brilliant publicly, yet so foul privately. But I’d like to think William Saroyan worked through his pride and inner torment through his writing, and was unable to practice that personally. People are complicated I guess. I’ve never read a piece so honest. William Saroyan always trusted his readers to understand — while in this book, his son Aram knows his readers, lovers of his father, may not understand, but he writes anyway. And I have to applaud him for that. It’s a hard read, and it’s hard because there isn’t anything like it, just as there isn’t anyone like William Saroyan, and there’s no experience like the child of a famous writer
Aram hated his father, and it makes so much sense why. I can relate to Aram’s hatred and his complicated feelings for him in the weeks before his father’s death. It’s difficult to reckon with someone so brilliant publicly, yet so foul privately. But I’d like to think William Saroyan worked through his pride and inner torment through his writing, and was unable to practice that personally. People are complicated I guess. I’ve never read a piece so honest. William Saroyan always trusted his readers to understand — while in this book, his son Aram knows his readers, lovers of his father, may not understand, but he writes anyway. And I have to applaud him for that. It’s a hard read, and it’s hard because there isn’t anything like it, just as there isn’t anyone like William Saroyan, and there’s no experience like the child of a famous writer
September 18, 2021
It took me several months to finish this short book by the son of the famous writer William Saroyan. A personal journal kept over the course of the final three weeks of his father's life, Last Rites overflows with painful memories like a tidal wave of self-analytic emotion, regret, and barely suppressed rage. Incredibly, Aram's dysfunctional (to my way of thinking) persistence in trying to be near his abusive father in his last days pays off. Despite the title, there are no sacramental rites performed, which was a disappointment. But a cautionary tale for anyone who tends to idolize talent, which I think we all do to some extent. A must-read for students of Saroyan, if only as a means of paying one's respects to this larger-than-life Armenian American hero.
March 17, 2023
A complicated account of the last few weeks of William Saroyan's life as chronicled by his son Aram. I am impressed by A. Saroyan's ability to recount what was mostly a tumultuous/bad relationship with his father while at the same time discover the lightness/ tender feelings he had towards him. did cry.
April 11, 2019
Gran relato lleno de sentimientos, miserias, la vida misma, sobre un hijo que despide a su padre, luego de una difícil relación.
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews