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Já não és Meu Filho
Ambientado entre a Virgínia Ocidental e a cidade de Nova Iorque, Já não És Meu Filho é uma obra extraordinária e deslumbrante sobre a relação desoladora entre um filho homossexual e a mãe, que o renegou.
Nascido e criado na zona rural de uma pequena cidade, Jonathan Corcoran, o mais novo e único rapaz de três filhos, cresceu numa família que se equilibrava no precipício da pobreza. A mãe, uma mulher tradicional, evangélica e insular, era frequentemente a sua única aliada. Juntos, navegavam uma vida doméstica tensa, dominada por um pai distante e problemático. Mãe e filho partilhavam então um laço aparentemente inquebrável. Quando Jonathan saiu de casa para frequentar a universidade, desenhou-se lentamente um fosso entre a educação que teve e aquela nova realidade. À medida que os seus horizontes e experiências se iam expandindo, foi criando laços além dos de sangue e conheceu o homem por quem se viria a apaixonar.
Através da dor, da raiva, do questionamento e do crescimento, Corcoran explora as histórias e as identidades entrelaçadas, mas separadas, dele próprio e da mãe, e ainda o distanciamento geográfico – das árvores, das montanhas e dos riachos que foram, outrora, o seu direito de nascença –, debruçando-se sobre as relações perdidas com amigos e familiares e a sensação de lar que lhe foi retirada.
Nascido e criado na zona rural de uma pequena cidade, Jonathan Corcoran, o mais novo e único rapaz de três filhos, cresceu numa família que se equilibrava no precipício da pobreza. A mãe, uma mulher tradicional, evangélica e insular, era frequentemente a sua única aliada. Juntos, navegavam uma vida doméstica tensa, dominada por um pai distante e problemático. Mãe e filho partilhavam então um laço aparentemente inquebrável. Quando Jonathan saiu de casa para frequentar a universidade, desenhou-se lentamente um fosso entre a educação que teve e aquela nova realidade. À medida que os seus horizontes e experiências se iam expandindo, foi criando laços além dos de sangue e conheceu o homem por quem se viria a apaixonar.
Através da dor, da raiva, do questionamento e do crescimento, Corcoran explora as histórias e as identidades entrelaçadas, mas separadas, dele próprio e da mãe, e ainda o distanciamento geográfico – das árvores, das montanhas e dos riachos que foram, outrora, o seu direito de nascença –, debruçando-se sobre as relações perdidas com amigos e familiares e a sensação de lar que lhe foi retirada.
264 pages, Paperback
Published February 1, 2025
14 people are currently reading
671 people want to read
About the author
Jonathan Corcoran
3 books57 followersJonathan Corcoran is the author of No Son of Mine: A Memoir (April 2024) and the story collection, The Rope Swing, which was a finalist for the Lambda Literary Awards and long-listed for The Story Prize. His essays and stories have been published and anthologized widely, including in Eyes Glowing at the Edge of the Woods: Fiction and Poetry from West Virginia, and Best Gay Stories. He received a BA in Literary Arts from Brown University and an MFA in Fiction Writing from Rutgers University-Newark. Jonathan teaches writing at New York University. He was born and raised in a small town in West Virginia and currently resides in Brooklyn, NY. Learn more at jonathancorcoranwrites.com.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 60 reviews
March 6, 2025
Um poderoso testemunho que nos leva para uma intensa história de homofobia familiar e resistência pessoal. Um livro imprescindível.
January 1, 2024
*As a Collections Management Librarian, I was given an ARC of this book for free for consideration for our collection.
Absolutely stunning. I went into this memoir knowing nothing about the author, and very little about the book, and I came out of it with a new favourite.
Jonathan Corcoran's way of telling his life story was so beautiful. Anyone who has experienced estrangement will get it. His experiences with his family were eerily similar to what I've seen my partner experience, and because of those similarities, I feel like I've learned how to be a better, more supportive partner to her.
I will be buying copies of this book for our library collections, and I will also be buying one for my personal collection.
I can't wait for others to read this book.
Absolutely stunning. I went into this memoir knowing nothing about the author, and very little about the book, and I came out of it with a new favourite.
Jonathan Corcoran's way of telling his life story was so beautiful. Anyone who has experienced estrangement will get it. His experiences with his family were eerily similar to what I've seen my partner experience, and because of those similarities, I feel like I've learned how to be a better, more supportive partner to her.
I will be buying copies of this book for our library collections, and I will also be buying one for my personal collection.
I can't wait for others to read this book.
March 9, 2025
Ao contrário da maioria dos livros que leio, já sabia ao que ia em “Já Não És Meu Filho”. Sabia que se tratava de um relato verídico, na primeira pessoa, de alguém renegado pela própria mãe por conta da sua orientação sexual.
O que procurava com a leitura? Compreender. Mas confesso, desde já, que cheguei ao final da leitura sem o conseguir fazer…
Jonathan Corcoran era o terceiro filho de uma família equilibrada e onde existia amor. Desde cedo Jonathan percebeu que não sentia o mesmo que outros meninos que o rodeavam, mas o passo de assumir a sua orientação sexual e ter um namorado veio apenas mais tarde. Quando, aos 20 anos, a sua mãe o confrontou, ele contou finalmente a verdade que o aprisionava, tendo sido renegado logo de seguida com um “já não és meu filho”.
O preconceito falou mais alto para esta mãe. E o mais triste de tudo é perceber, pelas páginas deste livro, que não só Jonathan sofreu uma vida por conta disto, como a própria mãe não conseguiu nunca ser feliz e equilibrada, dividida entre o amor a um filho e a opinião dos outros. É muito triste, todo este cenário. Uma família que não soube respeitar o próximo (tão próximo deles) e se deixou destruir.
Em termos de testemunho, este livro é muito interessante, porque Jonathan é muito directo e simples na forma de contar a sua história, com factos e sentimentos à mistura, como não podia deixar de ser. Enquanto obra literária, ficou um pouco aquém, essencialmente porque, na minha opinião, peca pela repetição de ideias.
Felizmente em todas as histórias há o reverso da moeda, e Jonathan encontrou no seu companheiro Sam um homem compreensivo, respeitador e amigo.
Opinião mais detalhada em video:
https://abibliotecadajoao.blogspot.co...
O que procurava com a leitura? Compreender. Mas confesso, desde já, que cheguei ao final da leitura sem o conseguir fazer…
Jonathan Corcoran era o terceiro filho de uma família equilibrada e onde existia amor. Desde cedo Jonathan percebeu que não sentia o mesmo que outros meninos que o rodeavam, mas o passo de assumir a sua orientação sexual e ter um namorado veio apenas mais tarde. Quando, aos 20 anos, a sua mãe o confrontou, ele contou finalmente a verdade que o aprisionava, tendo sido renegado logo de seguida com um “já não és meu filho”.
O preconceito falou mais alto para esta mãe. E o mais triste de tudo é perceber, pelas páginas deste livro, que não só Jonathan sofreu uma vida por conta disto, como a própria mãe não conseguiu nunca ser feliz e equilibrada, dividida entre o amor a um filho e a opinião dos outros. É muito triste, todo este cenário. Uma família que não soube respeitar o próximo (tão próximo deles) e se deixou destruir.
Em termos de testemunho, este livro é muito interessante, porque Jonathan é muito directo e simples na forma de contar a sua história, com factos e sentimentos à mistura, como não podia deixar de ser. Enquanto obra literária, ficou um pouco aquém, essencialmente porque, na minha opinião, peca pela repetição de ideias.
Felizmente em todas as histórias há o reverso da moeda, e Jonathan encontrou no seu companheiro Sam um homem compreensivo, respeitador e amigo.
Opinião mais detalhada em video:
https://abibliotecadajoao.blogspot.co...
March 18, 2025
"Já não és meu filho", de Jonathan Corcoran, é uma memória crua e honesta sobre a relação fraturada entre um filho homossexual e a sua mãe. A premissa é poderosa e o potencial para uma história comovente era grande. No entanto, a execução deixou muito a desejar, resultando numa experiência de leitura por vezes exasperante.
O autor não hesita em revelar as suas feridas emocionais, o que é louvável. Transportando-nos para a paisagem agreste da Virgínia Ocidental e para o turbilhão de emoções que o invade. Contudo, a narrativa apresenta falta de clareza e organização. As frequentes mudanças temporais e a falta de uma evolução definida dificultam o acompanhamento da história e a criação de empatia com as personagens.
A mãe de Corcoran é apresentada de maneira ambígua. De um lado, testemunhamos sua homofobia e uma recusa cerrada. Do outro, há ocasiões em que percebemos gestos de algum carinho e arrependimento. Essa dualidade, que poderia ter sido desenvolvida de maneira intrigante, acaba por se mostrar confusa e sem um desfecho claro. A falta de profundidade na construção dos personagens impede-nos de compreender verdadeiramente as suas motivações e de nos identificarmos com as suas lutas.
A honestidade e a vulnerabilidade do autor são inegáveis, mas a falta de estrutura narrativa, a construção superficial dos personagens e o tom melodramático impedem-no de atingir o seu pleno potencial. Infelizmente, não funcionou para mim.
O autor não hesita em revelar as suas feridas emocionais, o que é louvável. Transportando-nos para a paisagem agreste da Virgínia Ocidental e para o turbilhão de emoções que o invade. Contudo, a narrativa apresenta falta de clareza e organização. As frequentes mudanças temporais e a falta de uma evolução definida dificultam o acompanhamento da história e a criação de empatia com as personagens.
A mãe de Corcoran é apresentada de maneira ambígua. De um lado, testemunhamos sua homofobia e uma recusa cerrada. Do outro, há ocasiões em que percebemos gestos de algum carinho e arrependimento. Essa dualidade, que poderia ter sido desenvolvida de maneira intrigante, acaba por se mostrar confusa e sem um desfecho claro. A falta de profundidade na construção dos personagens impede-nos de compreender verdadeiramente as suas motivações e de nos identificarmos com as suas lutas.
A honestidade e a vulnerabilidade do autor são inegáveis, mas a falta de estrutura narrativa, a construção superficial dos personagens e o tom melodramático impedem-no de atingir o seu pleno potencial. Infelizmente, não funcionou para mim.
March 5, 2025
No passado fim de semana estive num parque, junto a um extenso lago, a contar o número de círculos que uma pedrinha atirada ao lago formava. Quando da pedrinha e dos círculos já só restava uma memória, veio-me ao pensamento o livro “Já Não És Meu Filho”, do autor e escritor norte-americano Jonathan Corcoran a quem eu, desde já, gostaria de agradecer a partilha tão franca, integra e visceral do seu testemunho.
Escrito na primeira pessoa, este é um livro sobre um homem que se debateu, anos a fio, com a não aceitação da sua sexualidade por parte da sua mãe e consequentes feridas que o abandono e rejeição maternos nele sulcaram. Jonathan partilha com o leitor, entre todo um mundo de vivências, episódios pessoais e familiares marcados pela ambivalência entre a dor e o desejo de seguir em frente com a sua vida. Os seus momentos de dúvida e culpa, mesclados com saudade e necessidade de afecto e validação. A afirmação crescente da sua identidade enquanto ser humano e a âncora de segurança e amor que encontrou em Sam.
Foram vários os momentos em que este livro me deixou sem palavras, de coração encolhido, comovida com a resiliência e coragem de Jonathan e com um sentimento de profunda admiração e respeito por ele, pela sua vida.
É de uma humildade e dignidade inabaláveis a forma como Jonathan fala dos seus pais e do contexto familiar tumultuoso em que cresceu, permitindo-me colocar também no papel da mãe. Uma mãe que se debate com a resignação e o desejo de sair da pequena localidade onde mora. Uma mãe que tem dentro de si todo um conjunto de sentimentos contraditórios e que, na incapacidade de os nomear e organizar, acaba por se isolar e afastar, cada vez mais, o seu filho de si.
Por detrás de um título pungente, este livro constitui uma mensagem poderosíssima sobre o amor e a rejeição, o abandono e o luto, a ambivalência e a esperança e, sobretudo, sobre a coragem de se ser a cada instante. Ao dar voz a tantas vozes que se deparam com estereótipos, preconceitos e juízos de valor, Jonathan apresenta o contributo vital que a aceitação, empatia e respeito pelas escolhas dos outros desempenham no conceito da própria humanidade.
Escrito na primeira pessoa, este é um livro sobre um homem que se debateu, anos a fio, com a não aceitação da sua sexualidade por parte da sua mãe e consequentes feridas que o abandono e rejeição maternos nele sulcaram. Jonathan partilha com o leitor, entre todo um mundo de vivências, episódios pessoais e familiares marcados pela ambivalência entre a dor e o desejo de seguir em frente com a sua vida. Os seus momentos de dúvida e culpa, mesclados com saudade e necessidade de afecto e validação. A afirmação crescente da sua identidade enquanto ser humano e a âncora de segurança e amor que encontrou em Sam.
Foram vários os momentos em que este livro me deixou sem palavras, de coração encolhido, comovida com a resiliência e coragem de Jonathan e com um sentimento de profunda admiração e respeito por ele, pela sua vida.
É de uma humildade e dignidade inabaláveis a forma como Jonathan fala dos seus pais e do contexto familiar tumultuoso em que cresceu, permitindo-me colocar também no papel da mãe. Uma mãe que se debate com a resignação e o desejo de sair da pequena localidade onde mora. Uma mãe que tem dentro de si todo um conjunto de sentimentos contraditórios e que, na incapacidade de os nomear e organizar, acaba por se isolar e afastar, cada vez mais, o seu filho de si.
Por detrás de um título pungente, este livro constitui uma mensagem poderosíssima sobre o amor e a rejeição, o abandono e o luto, a ambivalência e a esperança e, sobretudo, sobre a coragem de se ser a cada instante. Ao dar voz a tantas vozes que se deparam com estereótipos, preconceitos e juízos de valor, Jonathan apresenta o contributo vital que a aceitação, empatia e respeito pelas escolhas dos outros desempenham no conceito da própria humanidade.
February 26, 2025
✍️ (Review em breve)
Um título pungente com uma mensagem poderosíssima sobre o amor e a rejeição, a aceitação e o abandono, e a coragem de se ser a cada instante.
Este livro não deixará ninguém indiferente: ele é uma profunda e comovente lição de e sobre a humanidade.
Um título pungente com uma mensagem poderosíssima sobre o amor e a rejeição, a aceitação e o abandono, e a coragem de se ser a cada instante.
Este livro não deixará ninguém indiferente: ele é uma profunda e comovente lição de e sobre a humanidade.
February 25, 2025
Este livro é um autêntico murro no estômago. Um choque de realidade do que é ser diferente num mundo de pessoas todas iguais.
A dureza dos relatos fez-me pensar (a mim que tive a sorte de ser educada num ambiente de respeito e liberdade) em como deve ser difícil ser corajoso. Ter efetivamente coragem de ser o que somos e nada mais. Abandonar o que nos faz mal é um passo fundamental para sermos felizes, melhores e efetivamente vivermos. Mas e quando o que nos faz mal é tudo o que conhecemos? Tudo o que mais amamos? Como é que se arranja coragem para abandonar isso?
Jonathan Corcoran traz-nos um relato cru de uma vida que podia ter sido tão diferente se ele não fosse um corajoso. Um livro duro mas muito muito bonito, que nos ensina que no amor (seja ela qual for) tem de haver efetivamente limites. Sobre como nunca é tarde para lambermos as nossas feridas e seguirmos em frente, com a certeza que fizemos o melhor, mesmo quando só nos ofereceram o pior.
A dureza dos relatos fez-me pensar (a mim que tive a sorte de ser educada num ambiente de respeito e liberdade) em como deve ser difícil ser corajoso. Ter efetivamente coragem de ser o que somos e nada mais. Abandonar o que nos faz mal é um passo fundamental para sermos felizes, melhores e efetivamente vivermos. Mas e quando o que nos faz mal é tudo o que conhecemos? Tudo o que mais amamos? Como é que se arranja coragem para abandonar isso?
Jonathan Corcoran traz-nos um relato cru de uma vida que podia ter sido tão diferente se ele não fosse um corajoso. Um livro duro mas muito muito bonito, que nos ensina que no amor (seja ela qual for) tem de haver efetivamente limites. Sobre como nunca é tarde para lambermos as nossas feridas e seguirmos em frente, com a certeza que fizemos o melhor, mesmo quando só nos ofereceram o pior.
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March 16, 2025Iniciei a leitura sem saber nada sobre o autor, mas quando li a sinopse tive vontade de ler a sua história.
É um livro de memórias e senti que escrever este livro foi uma espécie de catarse para o autor. Após ter sido rejeitado pela sua mãe quando assumiu a sua homossexualidade, o autor viveu sempre uma relação muito difícil coma família, intercalando momentos de distanciamento com tentativas de reconciliação. Lidou com o preconceito de uma família profundamente disfuncional, com a rejeição da mãe, com o abandono e com as dificuldades psicológicas e económicas que resultaram desse afastamento familiar.
Em 2020, em plena pandemia, a mãe morre. Não houve tempo para reconciliação, para perdão, e o luto foi um processo ainda mais difícil dadas as circunstâncias de isolamento obrigatório.
O autor estruturou o livro nos diversos acontecimentos marcantes da sua vida e, por vezes, senti alguma repetição das ideias.
Creio que escrever este livro faz parte do longo processo de cura e de luto do autor. É um alerta sobre o preconceito, sobre a falta de amor, sobre os limites que devemos impor, mesmo aos que nos são próximos. Espero que este livro consiga encerrar um capítulo e traga paz ao autor.
É um livro de memórias e senti que escrever este livro foi uma espécie de catarse para o autor. Após ter sido rejeitado pela sua mãe quando assumiu a sua homossexualidade, o autor viveu sempre uma relação muito difícil coma família, intercalando momentos de distanciamento com tentativas de reconciliação. Lidou com o preconceito de uma família profundamente disfuncional, com a rejeição da mãe, com o abandono e com as dificuldades psicológicas e económicas que resultaram desse afastamento familiar.
Em 2020, em plena pandemia, a mãe morre. Não houve tempo para reconciliação, para perdão, e o luto foi um processo ainda mais difícil dadas as circunstâncias de isolamento obrigatório.
O autor estruturou o livro nos diversos acontecimentos marcantes da sua vida e, por vezes, senti alguma repetição das ideias.
Creio que escrever este livro faz parte do longo processo de cura e de luto do autor. É um alerta sobre o preconceito, sobre a falta de amor, sobre os limites que devemos impor, mesmo aos que nos são próximos. Espero que este livro consiga encerrar um capítulo e traga paz ao autor.
October 30, 2024
I read this book because the author and I attended Brown University at the exact same time, and it turns out we have several friends in common (though I don't think our paths crossed during college). One of those mutual friends recommended this as an antidote to that *other* Appalachian memoir. Jonathan's story is compelling and heartbreaking. It is not precisely a linear narrative, as it is structured around his complicated relationship with his mother, who disowned him at 20 when he came out as gay, and with whom he alternated between estrangement and reconciliation for decades until her death in 2020. It seems that the act of writing this book was part of the healing process for Jonathan, and I truly hope it has given him some closure and peace.
Content warning for homophobic slurs and the theme of family estrangement.
Content warning for homophobic slurs and the theme of family estrangement.
November 12, 2024
Beautifully written story of a gay man and his dysfunctional family. I fault it only that it goes on too, long, the primary points too repetitive. By the end, my sympathies had flagged and I mainly just wanted it to end. I suppose the author who lived it, though, may have felt the same.
June 12, 2025
3,5 ⭐️
Gostei muito da mensagem, importante, do livro . Só não me identifiquei com o formato de escrita do autor. Ao saltar no tempo, repetindo-se varias vezes sobre o mesmo assunto, fez-me perder e desconectar um pouco com a sua história.
No entanto é-me sempre difícil avaliar as memórias e experiências de vida de outras pessoas, porque todas são únicas, intransmissíveis e pessoais.
Gostei muito da mensagem, importante, do livro . Só não me identifiquei com o formato de escrita do autor. Ao saltar no tempo, repetindo-se varias vezes sobre o mesmo assunto, fez-me perder e desconectar um pouco com a sua história.
No entanto é-me sempre difícil avaliar as memórias e experiências de vida de outras pessoas, porque todas são únicas, intransmissíveis e pessoais.
July 13, 2024
Admittedly, I bought this book to satisfy some sort of trauma porn. I too am a mid-30s, white, gay man, who grew up in Appalachia with a mother who didn’t accept him and a father who didn’t want a relationship. Maybe our stories are foundationally too similar for me to actually dive into this book and appreciate it. I kept finding myself expecting more. More detail, more story, more emotion.
There are some solid aspects about the writing. I found myself enjoying the quasi-cyclical nature of Corcoran’s style.
The last twenty pages or so had me thinking about my own drive from NYC to rural Ohio and how the book itself was such a familiar drive including the last turn onto Pleasantville road which always felt like the longest road in the world because you know that you’re so close to the end.
There are some solid aspects about the writing. I found myself enjoying the quasi-cyclical nature of Corcoran’s style.
The last twenty pages or so had me thinking about my own drive from NYC to rural Ohio and how the book itself was such a familiar drive including the last turn onto Pleasantville road which always felt like the longest road in the world because you know that you’re so close to the end.
June 8, 2024
I grew up in Elkins, and I'm 2 years older than Jon. We had mutual friends and have been connected on social media for years. I didn't know his whole story. His experience of rejection from his family for being his true self broke my heart and was simultaneously unsurprising since I am familiar with the beliefs and values held by older Appalachian generations. This is a story of strength and resilience and living and loving authentically.
March 28, 2025
💬 "És uma bicha, Jon?"
"Vais morrer de sida"
"Vais parar ao inferno"
...
"Já não és meu filho"
Que livro dolorosamente arrebatador! 💔
Neste livro de memórias e escrito na primeira pessoa, vamos acompanhar uma história de superação, crescimento pessoal e de autodescoberta de alguém em busca da sua liberdade. Jonathan Corcoran, com uma coragem e resiliência admiráveis, conta nos através de um testemunho íntimo a sua vida e as suas experiências pessoais. De como aceitou a sua sexualidade, do ambiente familiar tumultuoso, do amor por Sam, o seu companheiro e principalmente a relação com a sua mãe.
Esta mãe teve a coragem de renegar o próprio filho por ele ser homossexual, algo que não ia de encontro aos seus ideais. A religião e as suas crenças pessoais também contribuíram para a sua forma de pensar, levando isso para toda a sua vida... Mas mesmo assim, houve sempre um sentimento de arrependimento e amor por ele, mas a teimosia e o preconceito eram mais fortes do que tudo... O processo de cura foi lento e doloroso, porque a mágoa que este filho sentia pela própria mãe foi crescendo, ficando destruído emocionalmente e adotando um sentimento de abandono com feridas difíceis de sarar.
Em pleno século XXI, a liberdade é um desejo que muitos desejam, mas que não conseguem obter por causa de uma sociedade que insiste em criar estereótipos completamente retrógrados, obrigando muitos a viver em silêncio e em isolamento com o medo de não serem aceites. Mas o mais difícil é não ser aceite por aqueles que deviam de dar apoio e amor, o que se torna catastrófico, causando danos emocionais profundos. É por isso que é necessário haver empatia, compreensão e respeito.
Este livro torna se assim numa mensagem de esperança para todos aqueles que apenas procuram a sua liberdade. Gostaria de agradecer ao Jonathan Corcoran por partilhar com os leitores este testemunho tão emotivo, dando voz a tantas pessoas que vivem em silêncio e também pela sensibilidade ao falar de temas tão difíceis.
"Vais morrer de sida"
"Vais parar ao inferno"
...
"Já não és meu filho"
Que livro dolorosamente arrebatador! 💔
Neste livro de memórias e escrito na primeira pessoa, vamos acompanhar uma história de superação, crescimento pessoal e de autodescoberta de alguém em busca da sua liberdade. Jonathan Corcoran, com uma coragem e resiliência admiráveis, conta nos através de um testemunho íntimo a sua vida e as suas experiências pessoais. De como aceitou a sua sexualidade, do ambiente familiar tumultuoso, do amor por Sam, o seu companheiro e principalmente a relação com a sua mãe.
Esta mãe teve a coragem de renegar o próprio filho por ele ser homossexual, algo que não ia de encontro aos seus ideais. A religião e as suas crenças pessoais também contribuíram para a sua forma de pensar, levando isso para toda a sua vida... Mas mesmo assim, houve sempre um sentimento de arrependimento e amor por ele, mas a teimosia e o preconceito eram mais fortes do que tudo... O processo de cura foi lento e doloroso, porque a mágoa que este filho sentia pela própria mãe foi crescendo, ficando destruído emocionalmente e adotando um sentimento de abandono com feridas difíceis de sarar.
Em pleno século XXI, a liberdade é um desejo que muitos desejam, mas que não conseguem obter por causa de uma sociedade que insiste em criar estereótipos completamente retrógrados, obrigando muitos a viver em silêncio e em isolamento com o medo de não serem aceites. Mas o mais difícil é não ser aceite por aqueles que deviam de dar apoio e amor, o que se torna catastrófico, causando danos emocionais profundos. É por isso que é necessário haver empatia, compreensão e respeito.
Este livro torna se assim numa mensagem de esperança para todos aqueles que apenas procuram a sua liberdade. Gostaria de agradecer ao Jonathan Corcoran por partilhar com os leitores este testemunho tão emotivo, dando voz a tantas pessoas que vivem em silêncio e também pela sensibilidade ao falar de temas tão difíceis.
March 1, 2025
4,5 ⭐️
Um livro muito cru sobre a relação complexa mãe e filho. Um livro sobre perda, sobre luto, sobre ser rejeitado por se ser quem é. Sobre tentar e tentar e tentar mas sair cada vez mais ferido. Sobre curar as sua próprias feridas.
Uma mensagem de força, perseverança e amor. Gostei muito!
Um livro muito cru sobre a relação complexa mãe e filho. Um livro sobre perda, sobre luto, sobre ser rejeitado por se ser quem é. Sobre tentar e tentar e tentar mas sair cada vez mais ferido. Sobre curar as sua próprias feridas.
Uma mensagem de força, perseverança e amor. Gostei muito!
June 9, 2024
"I wanted you to be happy for me," I said. She could take any happy moment in my life and turn it into trash.
June 3, 2025
The prose is so rich. Though the story is profound in its own right, I am left thinking about the craft of writing itself. The language is beautiful and Corcoran’s ability to skip between memories in a single scene is dazzling.
June 1, 2025
Não estava á espera de gostar tanto deste livro.
É um testemunho bastante marcante onde ficamos a conhecer o autor e por todos os altos e baixos sobre a sua relação com a sua própria mãe, como também de outros elementos da sua família.
O autor passou por bastantes privações de carinho e afeto e também de aceitação, tentando sempre manter a sua verdade.
É um livro que aborda abandono, rejeição, violência, entre outras coisas.
Gostei bastante da estreita e do relato contado na primeira pessoa.
Foi a primeira vez que li um livro de não ficção e fiquei bastante agradado.
É um testemunho bastante marcante onde ficamos a conhecer o autor e por todos os altos e baixos sobre a sua relação com a sua própria mãe, como também de outros elementos da sua família.
O autor passou por bastantes privações de carinho e afeto e também de aceitação, tentando sempre manter a sua verdade.
É um livro que aborda abandono, rejeição, violência, entre outras coisas.
Gostei bastante da estreita e do relato contado na primeira pessoa.
Foi a primeira vez que li um livro de não ficção e fiquei bastante agradado.
November 26, 2024
NO SON OF MINE is a brilliant memoir—at times impressionistic, but wholly engrossing and deeply emotional—as it explores the relationship one gay man has with a mother who loved him deeply but could never fully accept him.
If you’re struggling with the idea of facing your family this holiday season, here’s a memoir you’ll likely relate to. Writer Jonathan Corcoran was living in New York City at the onset of the pandemic when he found out his mother had died. As he himself battled Covid in those early, uncertain days, he reflected on a life spent with a woman who loved him more than anything, but turned on him when he revealed his relationship with a man named Sam. Combining linear storytelling about his upbringing in West Virginia with an exploration of grieving someone you lost long ago, NO SON OF MINE contributes to a new wave of Appalachian literature that couldn’t be further from Hillbilly Elegy.
This memoir will resonate with readers who were moved by Educated by Tara Westover or I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jeannette McCurdy. While Corcoran’s narrative may not contain as many shocking moments as those memoirs, his powerful writing, emotional depth, and unwavering empathy make this book as formidable as its counterparts. It’s clear that Corcoran holds great love for his humble West Virginian roots, despite the moments where its people, values, and even its geography worked against him. But be prepared for a memoir that ultimately uplifts. This is not a story of tragedy for its author. Though it centers on a profound loss, it is a celebration of life like no other.
A huge thank you to the author, now friend, for my copy. NO SON OF MINE is out now.
If you’re struggling with the idea of facing your family this holiday season, here’s a memoir you’ll likely relate to. Writer Jonathan Corcoran was living in New York City at the onset of the pandemic when he found out his mother had died. As he himself battled Covid in those early, uncertain days, he reflected on a life spent with a woman who loved him more than anything, but turned on him when he revealed his relationship with a man named Sam. Combining linear storytelling about his upbringing in West Virginia with an exploration of grieving someone you lost long ago, NO SON OF MINE contributes to a new wave of Appalachian literature that couldn’t be further from Hillbilly Elegy.
This memoir will resonate with readers who were moved by Educated by Tara Westover or I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jeannette McCurdy. While Corcoran’s narrative may not contain as many shocking moments as those memoirs, his powerful writing, emotional depth, and unwavering empathy make this book as formidable as its counterparts. It’s clear that Corcoran holds great love for his humble West Virginian roots, despite the moments where its people, values, and even its geography worked against him. But be prepared for a memoir that ultimately uplifts. This is not a story of tragedy for its author. Though it centers on a profound loss, it is a celebration of life like no other.
A huge thank you to the author, now friend, for my copy. NO SON OF MINE is out now.
May 10, 2024
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫 / 4.5 stars
This book wasn't on my radar until the local bookstore announced that the author would be doing a reading in my hometown. I read the blurb and was immediately intrigued.
The author is from the next town over, and much of what he writes about in this book takes place close to home. But more than the geographical connection; the themes of estrangement, loss, grief, and loneliness are what really drew me in.
While the book's central focus is on the disownment of the author by his mother when she learns that her son is gay, the feelings and emotions expressed in the writing will resonate far beyond the LGBTQ community. Anyone who has had a profound loss, felt a sense of not belonging, or felt abandoned by the ones meant to make them feel safe and secure, will feel seen and understood through Jonathan's words.
I was able to meet Jon last evening and listen as he read from No Son of Mine and then discussed not only the writing process behind his memoir, but also the emotional process as well. Hearing Jon read his own words brought the impact of them to a completely new level. I wish he would have been the one to narrate the audiobook, but when I asked him about it he said that he was never given the option. I truly feel like this was an injustice to the audiobook and why I have given a 4.5 star rating for the audiobook. The book itself gets 5 stars all day long.
This book wasn't on my radar until the local bookstore announced that the author would be doing a reading in my hometown. I read the blurb and was immediately intrigued.
The author is from the next town over, and much of what he writes about in this book takes place close to home. But more than the geographical connection; the themes of estrangement, loss, grief, and loneliness are what really drew me in.
While the book's central focus is on the disownment of the author by his mother when she learns that her son is gay, the feelings and emotions expressed in the writing will resonate far beyond the LGBTQ community. Anyone who has had a profound loss, felt a sense of not belonging, or felt abandoned by the ones meant to make them feel safe and secure, will feel seen and understood through Jonathan's words.
I was able to meet Jon last evening and listen as he read from No Son of Mine and then discussed not only the writing process behind his memoir, but also the emotional process as well. Hearing Jon read his own words brought the impact of them to a completely new level. I wish he would have been the one to narrate the audiobook, but when I asked him about it he said that he was never given the option. I truly feel like this was an injustice to the audiobook and why I have given a 4.5 star rating for the audiobook. The book itself gets 5 stars all day long.
December 21, 2025
This review first appeared on my Substack newsletter, Omnivorous.
Jonathan Corcoran’s memoir No Son of Mine has been on my to-read list for a long time. I mean, it’s a memoir about a gay man from West Virginia who has a fractured relationship with his mother and his family and his origins, which is the kind of story that I live to read. While my own biography is far less traumatic than Corcoran’s, the two of us do share a lot in common (we’re even the same age, oddly enough), and so I knew I was going to find myself drawn into this book, that I was probably going to end up seeing more than a little of myself reflected in its pages.
No Son of Mine is both one of the best and also one of the most devastating things I’ve read this year. I give Corcoran so much credit for being willing to dig deep into his own history and his own memories to unearth the pain that he’s endured so that he can finally find healing and, to an extent at least, some closure. This is a tremendous emotional labor to undertake, particularly when doing so also involves putting words on the page, and he really does deserve all the praise for being so honest and so forthright, both with us and with himself.
Corcoran’s book, however, begins not in the distant past of his childhood, but instead in the dark days of COVID, when both Corcoran and his husband come down with the disease. As they struggle to breathe and as New York City seems to fall apart around them, he gets word that his mother’s health has begun to precipitately decline and then, shortly thereafter, he gets the word she’s died. This is a truly terrible position to be in–losing a parent in the midst of a raging pandemic, unable to go home to grieve–but it’s made all the more acute by the fact that his relationship with his mother has long been characterized by rejection, pain, and cyclical reconciliation.
Though raised in poverty, in the small town of Elkins, Corcoran eventually makes his way to Brown University, where he meets Sam, the man who’ll become his husband. Then, one fateful holiday, his life is changed forever when his mother disowns him because of his homosexuality. From that point on their relationship will be one of reconciliations and betrayals, as his mother battles her demons and lashes out, only to come begging her estranged son to let her back into his life. The book is, in large part, about Corcoran’s attempt to find his love and grace for his mother while also making sure she doesn’t suck him into the swirling vortex of her own terrible darkness.
It’s always difficult to be ostracized and cut off by a parent, but I think that rejection feels different–not more acute, perhaps, but different, nevertheless–when it takes place in the context of both queerness and Appalachia. We Appalachian folk put a lot of stock in our families, a legacy, perhaps, of the Scotch-Irish clans who were some of the region’s first full-time White inhabitants. Your kin are the folks you can rely on when everyone else abandons you, and to be cast out from that charmed circle is doubly devastating. It’s not just that you’re cut off from the people that raised you; it’s that you’re cut off from an entire home and hearth.
Exacerbating all of this darkness is the fact that Corcoran’s father is, to put it bluntly, a piece of shit, a man who never wanted to be–and probably never should have been–a father and so acted accordingly. And on top of that there’s also the fact that Corcoran’s mother never knew her father, a glaring absence in her life that, in some ways, paved her own perilous road to perdition. This doesn’t excuse her actions and behavior, of course, and No Son of Mine makes it clear she bears the lion’s share of the blame, but it does at least offer an explanation of sorts as to how a woman could become such a victim of her own demons that she would then perpetuate that cycle on her own son, one of the few people in her life who seemed to actually see her.
While his relationship with his mother and his father is one of trauma and never-ending horror and sadness, Corcoran’s relationship with his boyfriend–and later husband–Sam is a point of light and grace in both his life and in the book as a whole. Theirs is truly a meeting of two kindred souls, and I loved getting to see these glimpses into their life together, because it’s clear they’re partners in every sense of the word. They’ve managed to forge their own little idyll, and this relationship proves to be an anchor for Corcoran when things get really bad with his family. Even in the darkness, then, there is light.
Indeed, for all that the book can make for grim reading, there are many moments of joy and of hope. I was struck in particular by the moment when, late in the book, they go back to Elkins and, to their surprise, happen to stumble upon the local Pride festival. For Corcoran, this is a jarring moment, as it is a reminder of how far things have come in places like West Virginia, and how far they have yet to go. To be sure, the Mountain State has made some strides forward, but after Trump’s return to the White House it remains unclear whether this forward momentum will continue or whether the state’s queer youth, like Corcoran (and like myself, for that matter) may have to move away, leaving behind a part of themselves in the process.
No Son of Mine is a powerful piece of healing literature and, though there is pain here–pain at being abandoned by a mother, pain at having to leave behind a deep-rooted place like Appalachia–pain at having to acknowledge the trauma of our own histories–there is love too, so much love. This book, like the best Appalachian memoirs, shows how so many queer folks from the region still carry that love and grace in their hearts, even if they have also left those hills and hollers behind. It’s a book of empathy and of grace, of heartache and of longing and of joy. I loved it, and I think you will, too.
Jonathan Corcoran’s memoir No Son of Mine has been on my to-read list for a long time. I mean, it’s a memoir about a gay man from West Virginia who has a fractured relationship with his mother and his family and his origins, which is the kind of story that I live to read. While my own biography is far less traumatic than Corcoran’s, the two of us do share a lot in common (we’re even the same age, oddly enough), and so I knew I was going to find myself drawn into this book, that I was probably going to end up seeing more than a little of myself reflected in its pages.
No Son of Mine is both one of the best and also one of the most devastating things I’ve read this year. I give Corcoran so much credit for being willing to dig deep into his own history and his own memories to unearth the pain that he’s endured so that he can finally find healing and, to an extent at least, some closure. This is a tremendous emotional labor to undertake, particularly when doing so also involves putting words on the page, and he really does deserve all the praise for being so honest and so forthright, both with us and with himself.
Corcoran’s book, however, begins not in the distant past of his childhood, but instead in the dark days of COVID, when both Corcoran and his husband come down with the disease. As they struggle to breathe and as New York City seems to fall apart around them, he gets word that his mother’s health has begun to precipitately decline and then, shortly thereafter, he gets the word she’s died. This is a truly terrible position to be in–losing a parent in the midst of a raging pandemic, unable to go home to grieve–but it’s made all the more acute by the fact that his relationship with his mother has long been characterized by rejection, pain, and cyclical reconciliation.
Though raised in poverty, in the small town of Elkins, Corcoran eventually makes his way to Brown University, where he meets Sam, the man who’ll become his husband. Then, one fateful holiday, his life is changed forever when his mother disowns him because of his homosexuality. From that point on their relationship will be one of reconciliations and betrayals, as his mother battles her demons and lashes out, only to come begging her estranged son to let her back into his life. The book is, in large part, about Corcoran’s attempt to find his love and grace for his mother while also making sure she doesn’t suck him into the swirling vortex of her own terrible darkness.
It’s always difficult to be ostracized and cut off by a parent, but I think that rejection feels different–not more acute, perhaps, but different, nevertheless–when it takes place in the context of both queerness and Appalachia. We Appalachian folk put a lot of stock in our families, a legacy, perhaps, of the Scotch-Irish clans who were some of the region’s first full-time White inhabitants. Your kin are the folks you can rely on when everyone else abandons you, and to be cast out from that charmed circle is doubly devastating. It’s not just that you’re cut off from the people that raised you; it’s that you’re cut off from an entire home and hearth.
Exacerbating all of this darkness is the fact that Corcoran’s father is, to put it bluntly, a piece of shit, a man who never wanted to be–and probably never should have been–a father and so acted accordingly. And on top of that there’s also the fact that Corcoran’s mother never knew her father, a glaring absence in her life that, in some ways, paved her own perilous road to perdition. This doesn’t excuse her actions and behavior, of course, and No Son of Mine makes it clear she bears the lion’s share of the blame, but it does at least offer an explanation of sorts as to how a woman could become such a victim of her own demons that she would then perpetuate that cycle on her own son, one of the few people in her life who seemed to actually see her.
While his relationship with his mother and his father is one of trauma and never-ending horror and sadness, Corcoran’s relationship with his boyfriend–and later husband–Sam is a point of light and grace in both his life and in the book as a whole. Theirs is truly a meeting of two kindred souls, and I loved getting to see these glimpses into their life together, because it’s clear they’re partners in every sense of the word. They’ve managed to forge their own little idyll, and this relationship proves to be an anchor for Corcoran when things get really bad with his family. Even in the darkness, then, there is light.
Indeed, for all that the book can make for grim reading, there are many moments of joy and of hope. I was struck in particular by the moment when, late in the book, they go back to Elkins and, to their surprise, happen to stumble upon the local Pride festival. For Corcoran, this is a jarring moment, as it is a reminder of how far things have come in places like West Virginia, and how far they have yet to go. To be sure, the Mountain State has made some strides forward, but after Trump’s return to the White House it remains unclear whether this forward momentum will continue or whether the state’s queer youth, like Corcoran (and like myself, for that matter) may have to move away, leaving behind a part of themselves in the process.
No Son of Mine is a powerful piece of healing literature and, though there is pain here–pain at being abandoned by a mother, pain at having to leave behind a deep-rooted place like Appalachia–pain at having to acknowledge the trauma of our own histories–there is love too, so much love. This book, like the best Appalachian memoirs, shows how so many queer folks from the region still carry that love and grace in their hearts, even if they have also left those hills and hollers behind. It’s a book of empathy and of grace, of heartache and of longing and of joy. I loved it, and I think you will, too.
April 4, 2024
The Publisher Says: Born and raised in rural West Virginia, Jonathan Corcoran was the youngest and only son of three siblings in a family balanced on the precipice of poverty. His mother, a traditional, evangelical, and insular woman who had survived abuse and abandonment, was often his only ally. Together they navigated a strained homelife dominated by his distant, gambling-addicted father and shared a seemingly unbreakable bond.
When Corcoran left home to attend Brown University, a chasm between his upbringing and his reality began to open. As his horizons and experiences expanded, he formed new bonds beyond bloodlines, and met the upper-middle-class Jewish man who would become his husband. But this authentic life would not be easy, and Corcoran was forever changed when his mother disowned him after discovering his truth. In the ensuing fifteen years, the two would come together only to violently spring apart. As the COVID-19 pandemic raged in 2020, the cycle finally ended when he received the news that his mother had died.
In No Son of Mine, Corcoran traces his messy estrangement from his mother through lost geographies: the trees, mountains, and streams that were once his birthright, as well as the lost relationships with friends and family and the sense of home that were stripped away when she said he was no longer her son. A biography nestled inside a memoir, No Son of Mine is Corcoran's story of alienation and his attempts to understand his mother's choice to cut him out of her life. Through grief, anger, questioning, and growth, Corcoran explores the entwined yet separate histories and identities of his mother and himself.
I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.
My Review: Y'all remember my four-star review of The Rope Swing? The man who wrote that, wrote this. What I noted then was that I felt removed from the people in his stories, like something I'd expected to be immediate and intimate was not quite that.
Objection overruled, eight-years-ago me.
The story of a Southern son...and Appalachia, where Author Corcoran hails from, is its own thing but is also The South...of a religious Mama who, in firm in her Faith, rejects her child whom she bore, nurtured, and loved, is not new nor is it underrepresented in the literary scene. UPK made the book available to me; I respected the author's chops; I started the read cautiously optimistic that it would be a Good Read. And that it was.
Being raised by a religious mother is often troublesome for a son. She often uses faith as a punishment. Her efforts to parent are more likely to be aimed at one's religious well-being and not quite concerned enough with the problems of being an adolescent. What Author Corcoran does in his memoir is to make you part of the fabric of the troubled (and frankly troubling to my atheist eyes) family he came from, and overcame. His education at elite Brown University, where my own eldest sister graduated from, drew him away from the limited life of his borderline impoverished, uneducated, Bible-believing family; not coincidentally, it introduced him to his desire's fulfillment in the gay demimonde, so to speak, of university life.
Once that genie's out of the bottle, that is that. Gawd stops being The Big Bad, and sex becomes possible to imagine as part of one's life without thunderation and guilt. Until, of course, one goes home.
It might be this bit that truly hit home hardest for me: That fracturing of the idea of Home. The title of the book gives the game away. "No son of mine" is harsh, unforgiving, and stone-cold. Those are words I heard as well. They sever the taproot of family brutally and irreparably. The rest of one's life they resonate, drowning out the less-resonant words of lovingkindness one attracts. One day, if one is VERY lucky, a voice will say "I love you" in the exact canceling resonance to that thunderous rejection...and that good luck came to Author Corcoran, or I simply could not have borne to read or write about this book. I knew that going in, as I follow him on Facebook, so I was in no doubt that this would be the case. Even being uncertain of this facet of his present-day life would have rendered me unable to read the book, so strongly do I feel about it.
What made Author Corcoran write this memoir now is the pandemic just past. His mother died in the pandemic without the two of them being able to reach mutual forgiveness. That is an incalculable agony. Staying silent, not howling one's pain to the world, is just flat imposssible. Being a writer meant that he chose to make this hegira from belief, to education, to rejection, to sad, grieving acceptance of one's losses in words. His life today is a materially and emotionally better one, his loving partnership is a source of acceptance and self-worth support, it is in short a story of succeeding without forgetting his beginnings. What pleased me, as a reader, the most was the fact that I never once felt that he belittled or looked down on his mother, or the world he left behind; that is a spiritual generosity that I can but envy.
In his evocation of a life left behind, Author Corcoran leaves the reader with the sense that he looks on his mother and the life she led, the teachings she imparted, and the world she lived in as a chrysalis from which he emerged, not a trap from which he escaped.
That is the best gift a parent can receive from an adult child. I am deeply saddened that the author's mother is not alive to receive it.
When Corcoran left home to attend Brown University, a chasm between his upbringing and his reality began to open. As his horizons and experiences expanded, he formed new bonds beyond bloodlines, and met the upper-middle-class Jewish man who would become his husband. But this authentic life would not be easy, and Corcoran was forever changed when his mother disowned him after discovering his truth. In the ensuing fifteen years, the two would come together only to violently spring apart. As the COVID-19 pandemic raged in 2020, the cycle finally ended when he received the news that his mother had died.
In No Son of Mine, Corcoran traces his messy estrangement from his mother through lost geographies: the trees, mountains, and streams that were once his birthright, as well as the lost relationships with friends and family and the sense of home that were stripped away when she said he was no longer her son. A biography nestled inside a memoir, No Son of Mine is Corcoran's story of alienation and his attempts to understand his mother's choice to cut him out of her life. Through grief, anger, questioning, and growth, Corcoran explores the entwined yet separate histories and identities of his mother and himself.
I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.
My Review: Y'all remember my four-star review of The Rope Swing? The man who wrote that, wrote this. What I noted then was that I felt removed from the people in his stories, like something I'd expected to be immediate and intimate was not quite that.
Objection overruled, eight-years-ago me.
The story of a Southern son...and Appalachia, where Author Corcoran hails from, is its own thing but is also The South...of a religious Mama who, in firm in her Faith, rejects her child whom she bore, nurtured, and loved, is not new nor is it underrepresented in the literary scene. UPK made the book available to me; I respected the author's chops; I started the read cautiously optimistic that it would be a Good Read. And that it was.
Being raised by a religious mother is often troublesome for a son. She often uses faith as a punishment. Her efforts to parent are more likely to be aimed at one's religious well-being and not quite concerned enough with the problems of being an adolescent. What Author Corcoran does in his memoir is to make you part of the fabric of the troubled (and frankly troubling to my atheist eyes) family he came from, and overcame. His education at elite Brown University, where my own eldest sister graduated from, drew him away from the limited life of his borderline impoverished, uneducated, Bible-believing family; not coincidentally, it introduced him to his desire's fulfillment in the gay demimonde, so to speak, of university life.
Once that genie's out of the bottle, that is that. Gawd stops being The Big Bad, and sex becomes possible to imagine as part of one's life without thunderation and guilt. Until, of course, one goes home.
It might be this bit that truly hit home hardest for me: That fracturing of the idea of Home. The title of the book gives the game away. "No son of mine" is harsh, unforgiving, and stone-cold. Those are words I heard as well. They sever the taproot of family brutally and irreparably. The rest of one's life they resonate, drowning out the less-resonant words of lovingkindness one attracts. One day, if one is VERY lucky, a voice will say "I love you" in the exact canceling resonance to that thunderous rejection...and that good luck came to Author Corcoran, or I simply could not have borne to read or write about this book. I knew that going in, as I follow him on Facebook, so I was in no doubt that this would be the case. Even being uncertain of this facet of his present-day life would have rendered me unable to read the book, so strongly do I feel about it.
What made Author Corcoran write this memoir now is the pandemic just past. His mother died in the pandemic without the two of them being able to reach mutual forgiveness. That is an incalculable agony. Staying silent, not howling one's pain to the world, is just flat imposssible. Being a writer meant that he chose to make this hegira from belief, to education, to rejection, to sad, grieving acceptance of one's losses in words. His life today is a materially and emotionally better one, his loving partnership is a source of acceptance and self-worth support, it is in short a story of succeeding without forgetting his beginnings. What pleased me, as a reader, the most was the fact that I never once felt that he belittled or looked down on his mother, or the world he left behind; that is a spiritual generosity that I can but envy.
In his evocation of a life left behind, Author Corcoran leaves the reader with the sense that he looks on his mother and the life she led, the teachings she imparted, and the world she lived in as a chrysalis from which he emerged, not a trap from which he escaped.
That is the best gift a parent can receive from an adult child. I am deeply saddened that the author's mother is not alive to receive it.
May 4, 2024
A raw and honest look at a mother-son relationship and the aftermath for a child once outed and disowned.
In this memoir, Corcoran expertly uses a balance of directness and lyrical language to pull readers into his thoughts and depict the settings of West Virginia, Rhode Island, and New York. Both the shorthand and descriptive detail about the pandemic also heightened so many of these scenes. I cried by page ten.
I usually need memoirs to be chronological to fully enjoy them, but this book plays with time in a way that enacts the slipperiness of memory. Distilling down a lifelong relationship into roughly 200 pages is no easy task, but Corcoran gives us a mix of fully crafted scenes, snap shots of dialogue, and reflective connections that make the people of the page come to life. It’s a vulnerable look at heartbreaking cycles in relationships and with oneself. It’s also a beautiful tribute to the people who lift others up and take them in. Corcoran writes, “They provided shelter. They sheltered. To shelter means to protect someone, to provide a roof, both real and figurative… I think of sheltering and mothering and whether these two words mean the same thing.”
In this memoir, Corcoran expertly uses a balance of directness and lyrical language to pull readers into his thoughts and depict the settings of West Virginia, Rhode Island, and New York. Both the shorthand and descriptive detail about the pandemic also heightened so many of these scenes. I cried by page ten.
I usually need memoirs to be chronological to fully enjoy them, but this book plays with time in a way that enacts the slipperiness of memory. Distilling down a lifelong relationship into roughly 200 pages is no easy task, but Corcoran gives us a mix of fully crafted scenes, snap shots of dialogue, and reflective connections that make the people of the page come to life. It’s a vulnerable look at heartbreaking cycles in relationships and with oneself. It’s also a beautiful tribute to the people who lift others up and take them in. Corcoran writes, “They provided shelter. They sheltered. To shelter means to protect someone, to provide a roof, both real and figurative… I think of sheltering and mothering and whether these two words mean the same thing.”
July 23, 2024
Content Warnings: Homophobia, Family Estrangement (Disowned Post-Coming Out); Family Death, Terminal Illness/End-of-Life Care; Gambling Addiction; Child Abuse (Verbal, Emotional); Spousal Abuse (Verbal, Emotional)
Corcoran’s writing is beautiful in using waves of memory that echo waves of grief. Not everything is presented chronologically, but nothing is unclear or confusing. Details surface as they come, organically, along with the emotions tied to them. The memoir is hard to read in the sense that it forces confrontation with many LGBTQ+ individuals’ greatest fears of family rejection and trauma, along with the fear and tension that comes when caring for loved ones at the end of their lives, particularly if relationships with them are strained. However, it also offers insight into moments of growth and joy, of persisting and thriving. I think the work is especially important in communicating how queer individuals in Southern and rural areas’ experience face unique challenges.
Corcoran’s writing is beautiful in using waves of memory that echo waves of grief. Not everything is presented chronologically, but nothing is unclear or confusing. Details surface as they come, organically, along with the emotions tied to them. The memoir is hard to read in the sense that it forces confrontation with many LGBTQ+ individuals’ greatest fears of family rejection and trauma, along with the fear and tension that comes when caring for loved ones at the end of their lives, particularly if relationships with them are strained. However, it also offers insight into moments of growth and joy, of persisting and thriving. I think the work is especially important in communicating how queer individuals in Southern and rural areas’ experience face unique challenges.
August 7, 2024
This was a beautifully written memoir detailing sexuality and Corcoran's family dynamics. The love that Corcoran holds for his partner, Sam, shines through the novel, though it is evident that they have had to depend upon one another through hardships. The strain of Corcoran's relationship with his mother and father (who struggle immensely with accepting his queer identity) have impacted his life monumentally. He is honest about the emotions that they evoked within him, though he also treats them with a certain kindness. There was never a doubt about the love he felt for his mother despite the pain and suffering she caused. The one constant in Corcoran's life was Sam (his partner) and his found family, which was beautiful to read about. Corcoran's journey to self-acceptance and growing as a person was wonderful to behold. He is an incredibly talented author whose narrative is well constructed and considered.
April 16, 2024
I know a lot of my friends feel I only read books that are surrounded by family dysfunction , but until I read "No Son of Mine" I' m not sure I truly understood the meaning of the phrase. This book is part horrific and part stunning but that only describes the characters. The writing is engrossing and hard to put aside. Although this may fall under the heading "Queer Voices" it can be any chasm between parent and child over any life defining decision. In the course of this few hundred pages you feel angst, anguish and at times relief, but you are always feeling something. More than anything else this is about parent and child and the obstacles we build in that already fragile relationship. I look forward to Corcoran'next work.
June 11, 2025
Um livro triste, com muitos "para a frente e para trás" no decorrer da história, em que sentimos a dor da mãe e do filho, presos na fantasia do que queriam que fosse e confrontados com a realidade do que é. Como o precoceito os afastou, não permitindo que o amor falasse mais alto. Tenho filhos. Não sei como reagiria na situação deles. Mas sentir a dor da mãe e do filho... Sentir que, apesar de ter Sam na sua vida e estarem os dois apaixonados, lá dentro ainda há aquele garotinho pequenino que precisa da aprovação da mãe...
A mãe de Sam chorou porque não sabia como o mundo ia aceitar a homossexualidade do filho. A mãe de Jon chorou porque não sabia como aceitar a homossexualidade do filho.
Duro, tocante, real.
A mãe de Sam chorou porque não sabia como o mundo ia aceitar a homossexualidade do filho. A mãe de Jon chorou porque não sabia como aceitar a homossexualidade do filho.
Duro, tocante, real.
May 28, 2024
So So So good, glad I stumbled on this audiobook. I would never understand being in Jonathan’s shoes yet his story resonates as I have a brother in similar shoes. Every child wants to be accepted by each of their parents. It’s amazing what Jonathan did to do so and so happy he got to where he did with his “relationship” with them. Appreciated when Sam stood up to Jonathan’s mom. There comes a point where you’re aware and need to accept and move on thereafter. Crazy how death came for parents and all of a sudden, they accepted their son, tough situation. Loved the book/story, how he drove change, and had a great ending.
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