Holy cow. Just this afternoon I finished the great Josh memoir and my husband and I spent dinner talking about parents and kids and perceptions and transformation and forgiveness. Holy shit.
The thing that's so amazing (well, one of the things) is the subtlety. Of composition and of complex thought processes and an emotional journey and language and, and, and. Wow.
I thought I'd come out of it with a better understanding of a close family member, who overdosed (for the 10th? 15th? time) at 35 and died. I was quasi surrogate mom---and the one who got those phone calls and dragged him to rehab and begged him to stop and tried every last goddamned thing. I blamed myself and then he convinced me how stupid that was. So, yes, I appreciate more than I can say that I finally made some major connections from this book. The unanswerable causalities.
But. Really, the strength of this book is the utter selflessness, oddly. Memoir=Navel gazing, right? Josh turns that upside down. It's not self-deprecating (though, Jesus H Christ, I wanted to say to the author---can you give this poor guy a break?!)
It's humble. It's very humility is a masterful driving force.
I LOVE that he exhaustively researched his ASD closure and caths, and then the book elevates even more into a dissertation on duality and then once again into contemplation on being a child of--eh, em---imperfect parents whilst also being an imperfect parent. Yeah--that, "how could my parent do that to his child...?" His answers are complex and far from judgemental.
I really loved Jeannette Wall and Mary Karr's memoirs, but for all their seductive world building full-on immersion, there was always something intensely self-involved, something missing.
Joshua Mohr found it. He avoids the whole whiny addict thing. I'll be thinking about the addicts I know, the parents I know, the imperfect people I know and the people who love them, for a long time.