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The Lost Prince: A Search for Pat Conroy
Pat Conroy was America’s poet laureate of family dysfunction. A larger-than-life character and the author of such classics as The Prince of Tides and The Great Santini, Conroy was remembered by everybody for his energy, his exuberance, and his self-lacerating humor.
Michael Mewshaw’s The Lost Prince is an intimate memoir of his friendship with Pat Conroy, one that involves their families and those days in Rome when they were both young—when Conroy went from being a popular regional writer to an international bestseller. Family snapshots beautifully illustrate that time. Shortly before his forty-ninth birthday, Conroy telephoned Mewshaw to ask a terrible favor. With great reluctance, Mewshaw did as he was asked—and never saw Pat Conroy again.
Although they never managed to reconcile their differences completely, Conroy later urged Mewshaw to write about “me and you and what happened . . . i know it would cause much pain to both of us. but here is what that story has that none of your others have.” The Lost Prince is Mewshaw’s fulfillment of a promise.
“In The Lost Prince Michael Mewshaw sets down one of the most gripping stories of friendship I’ve ever read.” —Daniel Menaker, author of My Mistake: A Memoir
Michael Mewshaw’s The Lost Prince is an intimate memoir of his friendship with Pat Conroy, one that involves their families and those days in Rome when they were both young—when Conroy went from being a popular regional writer to an international bestseller. Family snapshots beautifully illustrate that time. Shortly before his forty-ninth birthday, Conroy telephoned Mewshaw to ask a terrible favor. With great reluctance, Mewshaw did as he was asked—and never saw Pat Conroy again.
Although they never managed to reconcile their differences completely, Conroy later urged Mewshaw to write about “me and you and what happened . . . i know it would cause much pain to both of us. but here is what that story has that none of your others have.” The Lost Prince is Mewshaw’s fulfillment of a promise.
“In The Lost Prince Michael Mewshaw sets down one of the most gripping stories of friendship I’ve ever read.” —Daniel Menaker, author of My Mistake: A Memoir
286 pages, Kindle Edition
First published February 26, 2019
44 people are currently reading
291 people want to read
About the author
Michael Mewshaw
27 books15 followersMichael Mewshaw is an American author of 11 novels and 8 books of nonfiction, and works frequently as a travel writer, investigative reporter, book reviewer, and tennis reporter. His novel Year of the Gun was made into a film of the same name by John Frankenheimer in 1991. He is married with two sons.
Alan Cheuse, National Public Radio's longtime "voice of books," has called him "the best novelist in America that nobody knows."
Alan Cheuse, National Public Radio's longtime "voice of books," has called him "the best novelist in America that nobody knows."
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 45 reviews
January 9, 2021
This was a surprisingly good book,quite unputdownable.I enjoy Pat Conroy's books and I liked this book about his life,to an even greater degree.
The author was a close friend of Pat Conroy during the 1980s,when they both lived in Rome, and the 90s.Although he is not famous,I loved his writing style.There is hardly a dull moment in this book.
He has a great sense of humour,it made me chuckle many times.The author recounts many of Pat Conroy's own jokes,which provide the necessary comic relief amid the doom and gloom of his life.
In the first half of the book,Pat Conroy is portrayed very favourably.His struggles as the son of an abusive father are highlighted.Then come his marriages.He played father to six kids,though only two were biologically his.
His first two marriages did not work out.His second divorce was particularly difficult,and he referred to his second wife as "the Taliban." He also accused her of stealing millions of dollars from him,which she denied.
He would marry a third time,later.For a man who made millions of dollars through paperback and movie deals,he ended up filing for bankruptcy,towards the end of his life.
The author and Conroy had a falling out after Conroy's second divorce,as Conroy felt that his friend was on his ex-wife's side.
After that,they didn't meet for decades.The portrayal of Conroy then turns negative.His troubles with alcohol are highlighted,as is his troubled relationship with his biological daughter,Susannah.
The author also alleges that Conroy took liberties with facts in his memoirs.He single mindedly pursued a court case with his ex-wife's first husband,who wanted custody of his own children.Conroy accused him of sexually abusing his own daughter.It got very messy and very ugly.
For sheer interest,I would have given this book five stars.But it's hard to decide whether to believe the author's version of how bad Conroy was.
One thing is for sure,though.I'd be reading more books by Pat Conroy.
The author was a close friend of Pat Conroy during the 1980s,when they both lived in Rome, and the 90s.Although he is not famous,I loved his writing style.There is hardly a dull moment in this book.
He has a great sense of humour,it made me chuckle many times.The author recounts many of Pat Conroy's own jokes,which provide the necessary comic relief amid the doom and gloom of his life.
In the first half of the book,Pat Conroy is portrayed very favourably.His struggles as the son of an abusive father are highlighted.Then come his marriages.He played father to six kids,though only two were biologically his.
His first two marriages did not work out.His second divorce was particularly difficult,and he referred to his second wife as "the Taliban." He also accused her of stealing millions of dollars from him,which she denied.
He would marry a third time,later.For a man who made millions of dollars through paperback and movie deals,he ended up filing for bankruptcy,towards the end of his life.
The author and Conroy had a falling out after Conroy's second divorce,as Conroy felt that his friend was on his ex-wife's side.
After that,they didn't meet for decades.The portrayal of Conroy then turns negative.His troubles with alcohol are highlighted,as is his troubled relationship with his biological daughter,Susannah.
The author also alleges that Conroy took liberties with facts in his memoirs.He single mindedly pursued a court case with his ex-wife's first husband,who wanted custody of his own children.Conroy accused him of sexually abusing his own daughter.It got very messy and very ugly.
For sheer interest,I would have given this book five stars.But it's hard to decide whether to believe the author's version of how bad Conroy was.
One thing is for sure,though.I'd be reading more books by Pat Conroy.
May 20, 2019
I enjoyed reading Pat Conroy's The Lords of Discipline and Beach Music. I saw the movie The Prince of Tides. This candid look at his life and times by his long-time friend, fellow novelist Michael Mershaw, is a colorful story. I liked their early days while they resided in Rome with their families. Conroy's chaotic, combative biography reminds me of James Dickey who is also discussed in the book. The narrative moves quickly and uses lots of letters and emails are included.
April 20, 2019
I confess: I am a literary romantic. I really want to believe that great writers live in a paradise of books, good music, poetry, and fine conversations with other literary people, punctuated by long periods of sitting in a perfect setting writing words that will last forever. Reading about literary greats punches gaping holes in that myth. All the way back to my high school days, I read biographies of writers. Some writers led incredibly dull lives that were tied mostly to them pecking away on typewriters or filling pages with ink. Others lived lives that were more adventurous and harrowing than their books. Hemingway was not a nice guy, although he might have been fun to go fishing with. Faulkner would not have been easy to sit around with and talk about literature, but that would not have been impossible. Robert Frost could be downright mean and devious. All too many writers were drunkards.
Pat Conroy was a man with real literary gifts. He could write prose that soared. Maybe more than most writers, his fiction was autobiographical. And then much of his autobiographical material was fictitious. He was outgoing, fun, generous, and loveable, but he was also morose, cruel, and mentally messed up. I tend to view his books overall as being good, but not great literature. He could weave a fine story. He could make a reader laugh, cry, and feel the stunning weight of beautiful language.
This past several months, I have occasion to read and write several times about Conroy. I read and loved the book Our Prince of Scribes which was compiled by a number of friends and fellow writers who shared memories of Conroy. More than any other writer I have read about, Conroy encouraged, promoted, and pushed other writers. He really loved helping others. More than most writers, he really loved his fans. Rather than eschewing crowds, he was empowered by them. He would sit and autograph books and listen to fans for hours. That is the Conroy man that I love.
I also read his posthumous book A Lowcountry Heart: Reflections on a Writing Life. Many of the essays were wonderful. This book is quite similar in approach to his book My Reading Life. Anyone wanting to enjoy books by a writer about reading and writing will enjoy these. I ran up and down our school hall shouting the day I realized that I had an autographed copy of My Reading Life.
The Lost Prince, published by Counterpoint, is by Michael Meshaw, who is also a writer and was a close, maybe even the best friend, of Conroy. This book is a delightful story in many ways about the ups and downs of the writing life. Both the Meshaws and the Conroys were living in Rome; both Mike and Pat (begging pardon for this informality) were working on novels; both found lots of similarities in their life experiences. However, Conroy was writing best-selling books that were being turned into movies while Meshaw’s works were less successful.
As always, Conroy was supportive of his friend. That sometimes meant Conroy would make use of contacts to help Meshaw or would lavish him with gifts. All this is the positive side of the friendship. These two guys really did have some heart-to-heart shared thoughts, experiences, and vision. But Pat Conroy was a combustible figure. Much of the book is about how Conroy’s marriage to Lenore (his second wife) bounced from battle to battle. Sometimes, the battles were with Lenore’s ex-husband, while often the conflicts were between Conroy and his wife.
Life in Rome was followed by times when the Conroys would move to Atlanta, Georgia or to California, or to Fripp Island in South Carolina. The Meshaws lived a similarly nomadic life. It is, once supposes, the nature of writers to be vagabonds in many cases. The friendship and comradeship would wax and wane for years, but after Conroy and Lenore divorced, the Meshaws were estranged from Pat.
This book is a sad reflection of a lost and never-ending painful separation. Granted, this is only Mike’s side of the story, but it seems that Pat was down-right cruel, manipulative, vindictive, and evil toward ex-friends and ex-family members. Added to that, Pat’s tendency toward alcoholism, toward suicidal thoughts, toward sadistic behavior compounded the problems.
In short, Pat Conroy didn’t mind living in fiction as well as writing it. It hurts to realize that the wonderful man described by friends in Our Prince of Scribes was also the mean man described by Mike Meshaw. This is a story of love and friendship, but, boy, it hurts.
Preaching is not always appreciated, but I will venture to preach a bit in closing. Pat Conroy needed to experience God’s grace. He had a horrific upbringing with an abusive father and a deceptive mother. He was a flawed human being. He could be brave and bold with a willingness to fight for right. But he never found the peace in his heart to deal with his past or to acknowledge his own sins to others. Since Michael Meshaw was not close by during Pat’s last days, perhaps there were reconciliations and repentances. One can only hope.
The lives of writers often fall short of their fiction. Perhaps the same can be said of those of us who are teachers, preachers, and people in other professions. It is the greatness of man interwoven with the flaws of man that keeps us searching and thinking. Only Jesus of Nazareth was perfect in every way. The rest of us, whether we are lost princes or lost serfs, are still lost and in need of something greater than mere human improvement.
Pat Conroy was a man with real literary gifts. He could write prose that soared. Maybe more than most writers, his fiction was autobiographical. And then much of his autobiographical material was fictitious. He was outgoing, fun, generous, and loveable, but he was also morose, cruel, and mentally messed up. I tend to view his books overall as being good, but not great literature. He could weave a fine story. He could make a reader laugh, cry, and feel the stunning weight of beautiful language.
This past several months, I have occasion to read and write several times about Conroy. I read and loved the book Our Prince of Scribes which was compiled by a number of friends and fellow writers who shared memories of Conroy. More than any other writer I have read about, Conroy encouraged, promoted, and pushed other writers. He really loved helping others. More than most writers, he really loved his fans. Rather than eschewing crowds, he was empowered by them. He would sit and autograph books and listen to fans for hours. That is the Conroy man that I love.
I also read his posthumous book A Lowcountry Heart: Reflections on a Writing Life. Many of the essays were wonderful. This book is quite similar in approach to his book My Reading Life. Anyone wanting to enjoy books by a writer about reading and writing will enjoy these. I ran up and down our school hall shouting the day I realized that I had an autographed copy of My Reading Life.
The Lost Prince, published by Counterpoint, is by Michael Meshaw, who is also a writer and was a close, maybe even the best friend, of Conroy. This book is a delightful story in many ways about the ups and downs of the writing life. Both the Meshaws and the Conroys were living in Rome; both Mike and Pat (begging pardon for this informality) were working on novels; both found lots of similarities in their life experiences. However, Conroy was writing best-selling books that were being turned into movies while Meshaw’s works were less successful.
As always, Conroy was supportive of his friend. That sometimes meant Conroy would make use of contacts to help Meshaw or would lavish him with gifts. All this is the positive side of the friendship. These two guys really did have some heart-to-heart shared thoughts, experiences, and vision. But Pat Conroy was a combustible figure. Much of the book is about how Conroy’s marriage to Lenore (his second wife) bounced from battle to battle. Sometimes, the battles were with Lenore’s ex-husband, while often the conflicts were between Conroy and his wife.
Life in Rome was followed by times when the Conroys would move to Atlanta, Georgia or to California, or to Fripp Island in South Carolina. The Meshaws lived a similarly nomadic life. It is, once supposes, the nature of writers to be vagabonds in many cases. The friendship and comradeship would wax and wane for years, but after Conroy and Lenore divorced, the Meshaws were estranged from Pat.
This book is a sad reflection of a lost and never-ending painful separation. Granted, this is only Mike’s side of the story, but it seems that Pat was down-right cruel, manipulative, vindictive, and evil toward ex-friends and ex-family members. Added to that, Pat’s tendency toward alcoholism, toward suicidal thoughts, toward sadistic behavior compounded the problems.
In short, Pat Conroy didn’t mind living in fiction as well as writing it. It hurts to realize that the wonderful man described by friends in Our Prince of Scribes was also the mean man described by Mike Meshaw. This is a story of love and friendship, but, boy, it hurts.
Preaching is not always appreciated, but I will venture to preach a bit in closing. Pat Conroy needed to experience God’s grace. He had a horrific upbringing with an abusive father and a deceptive mother. He was a flawed human being. He could be brave and bold with a willingness to fight for right. But he never found the peace in his heart to deal with his past or to acknowledge his own sins to others. Since Michael Meshaw was not close by during Pat’s last days, perhaps there were reconciliations and repentances. One can only hope.
The lives of writers often fall short of their fiction. Perhaps the same can be said of those of us who are teachers, preachers, and people in other professions. It is the greatness of man interwoven with the flaws of man that keeps us searching and thinking. Only Jesus of Nazareth was perfect in every way. The rest of us, whether we are lost princes or lost serfs, are still lost and in need of something greater than mere human improvement.
March 20, 2019
To me this book is written by a bitter man who is getting revenge on someone who can not defend himself. In a small way I can understand the bitterness, but the vengeful act of writing this book is something he should have resisted. While Pat Conroy would have been the first to say he was not a perfect person, the one sided angle of this story is not balanced.
Michael Mewshaw was obviously hurt by the abrupt end of the friendship he had with Pat. Pat Conroy felt that he was taking sides against him as his second marriage ended. Michael makes himself out to be completely innocent of that charge, but I think this book shows that Pat Conroy was reading his "old friend" correctly. There is no grace at all in Michael's portrayal of Pat, in regard to the divorce or in the situation with his daughter after, no seeing these situations from his supposed friends point of view. He makes him out to be a bully and a drunk and frankly someone with no sense at all. From the way he writes about Pat I can't understand why he would have been a friend with someone he had no respect and no liking for in the first place. He goes on to try and find other reasons to distain Pat, such as finding fault in a lavish party that Pat and his wife threw for him. Sad.
I am sorry I picked this book up, it was disappointing on every level.
Michael Mewshaw was obviously hurt by the abrupt end of the friendship he had with Pat. Pat Conroy felt that he was taking sides against him as his second marriage ended. Michael makes himself out to be completely innocent of that charge, but I think this book shows that Pat Conroy was reading his "old friend" correctly. There is no grace at all in Michael's portrayal of Pat, in regard to the divorce or in the situation with his daughter after, no seeing these situations from his supposed friends point of view. He makes him out to be a bully and a drunk and frankly someone with no sense at all. From the way he writes about Pat I can't understand why he would have been a friend with someone he had no respect and no liking for in the first place. He goes on to try and find other reasons to distain Pat, such as finding fault in a lavish party that Pat and his wife threw for him. Sad.
I am sorry I picked this book up, it was disappointing on every level.
February 25, 2019
A strange, sad, and unnecessary book. I enjoyed Conroy's novels but have always assumed his image as a novelist raconteur was carefully self-curated. A performative figure and a fabulist, yet not so significant that I need to know every gruesome detail of the failings of his personal life.
However, Mewshaw wants to make sure you know that Conroy's life was an alcoholic tattered mess, that his 2nd marriage was a loveless fury, that his ex-wife gave him herpes, that his closest relationships were all painful and disastrous.
The only thing I really learned was after you are dead a former friend might publish your emails and private thoughts and incorporate them into a shambling vicious mess.
However, Mewshaw wants to make sure you know that Conroy's life was an alcoholic tattered mess, that his 2nd marriage was a loveless fury, that his ex-wife gave him herpes, that his closest relationships were all painful and disastrous.
The only thing I really learned was after you are dead a former friend might publish your emails and private thoughts and incorporate them into a shambling vicious mess.
September 29, 2021
This is the story of the man rather than the author who dealt with many emotional issues in his life and uses those experiences in his stories without concern about embellishment and hyperbole in order to make a good story even better. After all, he was writing fiction, wasn’t he?
That his fictional stories came so close to non-fiction he created incredible chaos and embarrassment for his family and friends. It is hard to know the difference between reality and fiction but it became a real issue for those who were close to him. A reader like me would enjoy his stories but those on whom he based his tales did not appreciate his overstepping at their expense.
In the end, Conroy could not escape his past or himself as his destructive personal habits and mental depressions destroyed many of those who loved him. His personal vendetta against his second wife’s former husband destroyed the former husband and his marriage and, most significantly, his daughter.
Obviously, Michael Mewshaw’s biography gives the reader a far different picture of Pat Conroy than did his third wife, Cassandra King, in Tell Me A Story but both explain the dichotomy that was Pat Conroy.
Writers are a unique breed. For example off the top of my head come names such as Gore Vidal, Truman Capote, Ernest Hemingway, William Faulkner, and Samuel Clemons all who were excellent story tellers yet their lives were far from exemplary. Conroy was a wrecking ball yet I would have loved to have had an opportunity to spend an evening over drinks listening to his stories whether true or not. Most likely, he would have turned me inside out, spit me out, and left me in emotional turmoil.
Mewshaw loved Conroy despite his failures as a man, husband, father, and friend. Yes, his childhood was a mess but he is not the first nor will he be the last human being unable to escape his childhood. Mewshaw saw his friend’s struggles only after he dealt with his own demons and he tried desperately yet unsuccessfully to steer Conroy in a different direction.
Biographical books such as Mewshaw’s and Cassandra King’s shed light on the author and explain some of the foundations of Conroy’s writing, yet they do not diminish his stories to readers such as me. His prose is a picture of life in the low country and he will always be a favorite author of mine. If you are a fan of Pat Conroy, this is required reading.
That his fictional stories came so close to non-fiction he created incredible chaos and embarrassment for his family and friends. It is hard to know the difference between reality and fiction but it became a real issue for those who were close to him. A reader like me would enjoy his stories but those on whom he based his tales did not appreciate his overstepping at their expense.
In the end, Conroy could not escape his past or himself as his destructive personal habits and mental depressions destroyed many of those who loved him. His personal vendetta against his second wife’s former husband destroyed the former husband and his marriage and, most significantly, his daughter.
Obviously, Michael Mewshaw’s biography gives the reader a far different picture of Pat Conroy than did his third wife, Cassandra King, in Tell Me A Story but both explain the dichotomy that was Pat Conroy.
Writers are a unique breed. For example off the top of my head come names such as Gore Vidal, Truman Capote, Ernest Hemingway, William Faulkner, and Samuel Clemons all who were excellent story tellers yet their lives were far from exemplary. Conroy was a wrecking ball yet I would have loved to have had an opportunity to spend an evening over drinks listening to his stories whether true or not. Most likely, he would have turned me inside out, spit me out, and left me in emotional turmoil.
Mewshaw loved Conroy despite his failures as a man, husband, father, and friend. Yes, his childhood was a mess but he is not the first nor will he be the last human being unable to escape his childhood. Mewshaw saw his friend’s struggles only after he dealt with his own demons and he tried desperately yet unsuccessfully to steer Conroy in a different direction.
Biographical books such as Mewshaw’s and Cassandra King’s shed light on the author and explain some of the foundations of Conroy’s writing, yet they do not diminish his stories to readers such as me. His prose is a picture of life in the low country and he will always be a favorite author of mine. If you are a fan of Pat Conroy, this is required reading.
May 26, 2019
This book deserves 0 stars. It's poorly written and Mewshaw's POV irritated me to the point that I threw the book across the room when the last page was turned and the agony was finally over.
I wanted to enjoy this book because it was supposed to be about Pat Conroy’s friendship with another writer, Mewshaw. Unfortunately, Michael Mewshaw spent more time bashing Conroy than he did talking about their friendship and the subsequent falling out that destroyed it. Mewshaw did this all the while he professed a great love and admiration of Conroy. It was an awful book. I only finished it because I kept hoping it would improve. Don’t bother with it.
I wanted to enjoy this book because it was supposed to be about Pat Conroy’s friendship with another writer, Mewshaw. Unfortunately, Michael Mewshaw spent more time bashing Conroy than he did talking about their friendship and the subsequent falling out that destroyed it. Mewshaw did this all the while he professed a great love and admiration of Conroy. It was an awful book. I only finished it because I kept hoping it would improve. Don’t bother with it.
July 31, 2019
Though thoroughly engaging and expertly written, reading this book saddened me. I realize a memoir is a one-sided story. I also realize that anyone who has achieved fame is going to be a fair game. Were Pat Conroy alive, my response would be different. Not to disparage the book, for Mr. Mewshaw is a wonderful writer and there is much to like in many of its stories. The Lost Prince was published after Conroy's death and is not entirely favorable. All things considered, therein lies the rub.
September 19, 2018
A must read for any fan of Pat Conroy- which should be everyone!!!!!
March 11, 2019
This work is a despicable, boorish failure of literary character assassination.
August 30, 2019
The Lost Prince: A Search For Pat Conroy by Michael Mewshaw (Counterpoint 2019) (Biography).
I'm a fan of Pat Conroy's work, so when I saw this new volume I grabbed it quickly. What I found is a rather disturbing biographical sketch.
Author Michael Mewshaw has written twenty-two published books. His “go to” topic has been the professional tennis tour. He has written at least four books on the subject which is about as obscure a topic for four or more books as I can imagine. I surmise that the sum total of his target audience is not large enough to sustain a readership, for I have never heard of Michael Mewshaw or of any of his titles.
The premise of the book is that Mewshaw and Pat Conroy (now deceased) were best friends. They were close enough that Mewshaw and his wife stood as godparents for Conroy's youngest child. Mewshaw should thus have myriad insights into Conroy's personality to share with Conroy's reading public.
But this is not that book.
By Mewshaw's own account, Pat Conroy cut all ties and communication with Mewshaw over twenty years before Conroy died. There were brief periods during which Conroy and Mewshew resumed communication through emails, but these attempts at reconcilliation did not last. It appears that the friendship ended during the last months of Conroy's marriage to Conroy's (third?) wife Lenore. Conroy became incensed over what he deemed to be treachery on Mewshaw's part when Conroy decided that both Mewshaw and Mewshaw's wife had chosen to side with Lenore during the Conroys' extremely contentious divorce. And as a result, Pat Conroy “ghosted” Mewshaw for the next twenty years or so until Conroy died.
And now it certainly looks like Mewshaw has cashed in on his friendship.
This is not to imply that Conroy was not at fault. Conroy was his own worst enemy. The vileness and the fury Conroy directed towards his own daughter in the emails published in this volume are far beyond cruel, and they seem to indicate that Conroy wallowed in previously undisclosed levels of hate and bile. I was certainly taken aback by Conroy's undisguised rage. The only explanation that makes sense is that Conroy was subject to some undiagnosed mental illness. (This layman's call: bipolar disorder).
But sadly, this volume – coming from one who professed to love Pat Conroy – seems to be nothing but piling on. Even if all of Mewshaw's allegations and accusations are true, why did Mewshaw choose to publish this? Did Mewshaw think he would bring closure by publishing this? Or was this simply an act of revenge by an obscure writer against a phenomenally successful storyteller based upon a lifetime of professional jealousy?
The reader can draw her own conclusions. My rating: 7/10, finished 8/30/19.
July 10, 2019
(NOTE: I'm stingy with stars. For me 2 stars means a good book or a B. 3 stars means a very good book or a B+. 4 stars means an outstanding book or an A {only about 5% of the books I read merit 4 stars}. 5 stars means an all time favorite or an A+ {Only one of 400 or 500 books rates this!).
Pat Conroy is one of my favorite contemporary authors. His personal story is the inspiration for many of his books. Therefore I was very interested in this account by one of his best friends. The good news is that we learn a lot more about the man. The bad news is that a lot of it is disappointing. There is a lot to this story but below are a few highlights, lowlights and insights from the book.
“It was uncanny how much we had in common—a boyhood love of books and basketball, harsh Irish Catholic upbringings as military brats, abusive alcoholic parents, a deep amazement that we had survived to write about early turmoil and our attempts to overcome it. Pat in particular produced work that was the prose equivalent of lacerating confessional poetry, the kind in which a courageous artist unbandages his wounds in public and through some precious alchemy brings healing to others. Yet for all he disclosed about himself and his vulnerabilities, there’s much that he never acknowledged, perhaps never allowed himself to know.
I expected us to be best friends forever. But then Pat’s second marriage fell apart, and as he once wrote: “Each divorce is the death of a small civilization,” and there’s always collateral damage. He went stone silent on me. For almost six years there were no calls, no letters, no contact of any type. It was only through a literary agent we shared for a short time that Pat and I got back in touch by email and tried to reconcile.” (4)
“For years, Pat’s suggestion that I write about “me and you and what happened” stuck in my mind. The story deserved to be told. I agreed with him about that. But I hesitated to tear open old wounds or to divulge anything that might undermine Pat’s image as an icon of suffering and survival. It caused me no small torment as I vacillated between the impulse to protect Pat and the urge to understand the events that had estranged us. I also wanted to recall what had first brought us together. I wanted to remember the years in Rome and the man he used to be—not yet famous but on the brink and already revealing tiny fissures that would result in the damage ahead.” (6)
Pat was the MVP of the Citadel basketball team in 1967 (20) but he said: ““I guarded Pete Maravich when he played at LSU. He carved me up like a turkey and scattered my bones on the court.’” (27)
“I would learn, regardless of whether Pat was writing a novel or a memoir, his stories were seldom “exact.” He always shaped them for his own purposes.” (36)
“He said he had been in and out of therapy, in and out of clinical depression, on and off the brink of suicide for years.” (37)
“Each divorce is the death of a small civilization,” he said. “Two people declare war on each other, and their screams and tears and days of withdrawal infect their entire world with the bacilli of their pain.
When he told his daughters that Barbara and he were splitting up, the girls gazed at the floor and refused to look at either parent. “I felt like Judas Iscariot as he fingered his thirty pieces of silver,” Pat said. “I was ashamed of being a man. By the time I started dating again, I searched for women who would make me be more like a woman.” (41)
“I had walked these brick paths at UVA with great authors—James Dickey, Robert Lowell, Reynolds Price, William Styron, Peter Matthiessen, Philip Levine, James Salter—none of whom ever attracted such a flash crowd. Everybody loved Pat Conroy—except, perhaps, himself.” (163)
“Pat was a man of many faults, all of which he confessed and apologized for so effusively, it was impossible not to forgive him.” (169)
“Pat called in tears and told me his brother Tom, age thirty-three, had jumped off a fourteen-floor building in Columbia, South Carolina. The baby of the family, Tom had been a schizophrenic, in and out of institutions, on and off his medications most of his life.” (190)
“Then in late October, shortly before he turned forty-nine, Pat called again from Fripp and told me, “I’ve never been closer to killing myself.” The subject of self-harm played such a constant part of our conversations.” (190)
““Listen, Mike, my marriage is over. It’s been over for years, and Lenore won’t accept that. I swear to Christ, this’ll end either with you convincing her not to come or me killing myself. Your choice.” (191)
“I struck a bargain. I’d speak to Lenore if he promised to see a therapist. Pat gave me his word.” (191)
“The next day we had another aborted conversation. “Catch you later,” he said. But there was no “later.” As October vanished into November, Pat never called back, no matter how many voice mails I left. I wrote several letters, and he didn’t answer them either.” (193)
“But a journalist attacked My Losing Season’s truthfulness, a serious accusation against any memoir, especially in Pat’s case, where his credibility, not to mention his popularity, depended on his being a reliable narrator of his misery.” (225)
““I married Lenore Fleischer who would teach me everything about life and love that I didn’t want to know . . . in the next ten years she would ruin my life and lead me into a suicidal spiral that I thought I would never recover from.” (229)
“Susannah emailed, “I was with my Dad a few days before he died and wanted to let you know that he was thinking about you and you were on his mind and in his heart.”
(240)
“Among the twelve hundred mourners, some eulogized Conroy as a basketball prodigy who had once scored fifty-five points in a game. Some praised his books which had made the town proud, others his loyalty and humility for resettling in the place where he had started. Some recalled that he had excoriated the state as a refuge for racist bigots. In revenge, he had been labeled a “nigger lover,” and now, as if to embrace that ugly epithet, he chose to have his mortal remains and immortal soul buried outside of Beaufort in an African American cemetery.” (241)
“Jean-Paul Sartre opined that most writers aren’t as good as their books. But in many respects, Pat Conroy was better than what he wrote. He fought against child abuse, sexual abuse, racism, and violations of women’s rights. He advocated coeducation at the Citadel and supported Shannon Faulkner when she broke the school’s gender barrier in 1995. Then after Ms. Faulkner withdrew from the Citadel, citing psychological distress and death threats to her family, Pat paid for her college education elsewhere. In recognition of Pat’s international stature, President Clinton invited him to fly aboard Air Force Two to the 1997 Irish peace accords.” (243)
Pat Conroy is one of my favorite contemporary authors. His personal story is the inspiration for many of his books. Therefore I was very interested in this account by one of his best friends. The good news is that we learn a lot more about the man. The bad news is that a lot of it is disappointing. There is a lot to this story but below are a few highlights, lowlights and insights from the book.
“It was uncanny how much we had in common—a boyhood love of books and basketball, harsh Irish Catholic upbringings as military brats, abusive alcoholic parents, a deep amazement that we had survived to write about early turmoil and our attempts to overcome it. Pat in particular produced work that was the prose equivalent of lacerating confessional poetry, the kind in which a courageous artist unbandages his wounds in public and through some precious alchemy brings healing to others. Yet for all he disclosed about himself and his vulnerabilities, there’s much that he never acknowledged, perhaps never allowed himself to know.
I expected us to be best friends forever. But then Pat’s second marriage fell apart, and as he once wrote: “Each divorce is the death of a small civilization,” and there’s always collateral damage. He went stone silent on me. For almost six years there were no calls, no letters, no contact of any type. It was only through a literary agent we shared for a short time that Pat and I got back in touch by email and tried to reconcile.” (4)
“For years, Pat’s suggestion that I write about “me and you and what happened” stuck in my mind. The story deserved to be told. I agreed with him about that. But I hesitated to tear open old wounds or to divulge anything that might undermine Pat’s image as an icon of suffering and survival. It caused me no small torment as I vacillated between the impulse to protect Pat and the urge to understand the events that had estranged us. I also wanted to recall what had first brought us together. I wanted to remember the years in Rome and the man he used to be—not yet famous but on the brink and already revealing tiny fissures that would result in the damage ahead.” (6)
Pat was the MVP of the Citadel basketball team in 1967 (20) but he said: ““I guarded Pete Maravich when he played at LSU. He carved me up like a turkey and scattered my bones on the court.’” (27)
“I would learn, regardless of whether Pat was writing a novel or a memoir, his stories were seldom “exact.” He always shaped them for his own purposes.” (36)
“He said he had been in and out of therapy, in and out of clinical depression, on and off the brink of suicide for years.” (37)
“Each divorce is the death of a small civilization,” he said. “Two people declare war on each other, and their screams and tears and days of withdrawal infect their entire world with the bacilli of their pain.
When he told his daughters that Barbara and he were splitting up, the girls gazed at the floor and refused to look at either parent. “I felt like Judas Iscariot as he fingered his thirty pieces of silver,” Pat said. “I was ashamed of being a man. By the time I started dating again, I searched for women who would make me be more like a woman.” (41)
“I had walked these brick paths at UVA with great authors—James Dickey, Robert Lowell, Reynolds Price, William Styron, Peter Matthiessen, Philip Levine, James Salter—none of whom ever attracted such a flash crowd. Everybody loved Pat Conroy—except, perhaps, himself.” (163)
“Pat was a man of many faults, all of which he confessed and apologized for so effusively, it was impossible not to forgive him.” (169)
“Pat called in tears and told me his brother Tom, age thirty-three, had jumped off a fourteen-floor building in Columbia, South Carolina. The baby of the family, Tom had been a schizophrenic, in and out of institutions, on and off his medications most of his life.” (190)
“Then in late October, shortly before he turned forty-nine, Pat called again from Fripp and told me, “I’ve never been closer to killing myself.” The subject of self-harm played such a constant part of our conversations.” (190)
““Listen, Mike, my marriage is over. It’s been over for years, and Lenore won’t accept that. I swear to Christ, this’ll end either with you convincing her not to come or me killing myself. Your choice.” (191)
“I struck a bargain. I’d speak to Lenore if he promised to see a therapist. Pat gave me his word.” (191)
“The next day we had another aborted conversation. “Catch you later,” he said. But there was no “later.” As October vanished into November, Pat never called back, no matter how many voice mails I left. I wrote several letters, and he didn’t answer them either.” (193)
“But a journalist attacked My Losing Season’s truthfulness, a serious accusation against any memoir, especially in Pat’s case, where his credibility, not to mention his popularity, depended on his being a reliable narrator of his misery.” (225)
““I married Lenore Fleischer who would teach me everything about life and love that I didn’t want to know . . . in the next ten years she would ruin my life and lead me into a suicidal spiral that I thought I would never recover from.” (229)
“Susannah emailed, “I was with my Dad a few days before he died and wanted to let you know that he was thinking about you and you were on his mind and in his heart.”
(240)
“Among the twelve hundred mourners, some eulogized Conroy as a basketball prodigy who had once scored fifty-five points in a game. Some praised his books which had made the town proud, others his loyalty and humility for resettling in the place where he had started. Some recalled that he had excoriated the state as a refuge for racist bigots. In revenge, he had been labeled a “nigger lover,” and now, as if to embrace that ugly epithet, he chose to have his mortal remains and immortal soul buried outside of Beaufort in an African American cemetery.” (241)
“Jean-Paul Sartre opined that most writers aren’t as good as their books. But in many respects, Pat Conroy was better than what he wrote. He fought against child abuse, sexual abuse, racism, and violations of women’s rights. He advocated coeducation at the Citadel and supported Shannon Faulkner when she broke the school’s gender barrier in 1995. Then after Ms. Faulkner withdrew from the Citadel, citing psychological distress and death threats to her family, Pat paid for her college education elsewhere. In recognition of Pat’s international stature, President Clinton invited him to fly aboard Air Force Two to the 1997 Irish peace accords.” (243)
March 16, 2019
A fascinating memoir from Mewshaw (Sympathy for the Devil, the later life of Gore Vidal) of his friendship with the late novelist Pat Conroy is a love story. The two men found in each other a confidant and sympathetic soul with similar fears and scars born of transient military family life, Catholic upbringings, abusive parents, as well as a shared love of basketball and books. They met in Rome, as part of the American expatriate community in the 1980s, forming a relationship Mewshaw describes as intense, loving, and open-hearted. Mewshaw exposes the dark underbelly to Conroy’s “hail fellow, well met” nature: his excessive drinking, his anger with one of his daughters (to whom Mewshaw was godfather) divorces and alienations from spouses, his tendency toward self-mythologizing, lies and insecurities. Mewshaw, meanwhile, had his own personal and professional setbacks. At Mewshaw’s side through it all was his friend—until, during Conroy’s divorce, Conroy perceived Mewshaw as taking his wife’s side and broke off ties. Near the end of his life, though, the two tentatively reconnected, and Conroy urged Mewshaw to tell the story of their friendship. What could have been a maudlin, masked self-indulgent memory piece instead proves an honest, eminently readable look at the fraught but rewarding bond between two writers, two men and two friends.
January 28, 2021
Reading this book is a bit like driving past the proverbial car accident--you don't want to look but can't help yourself. The author's envy of his "friend" is palpable, and his reasons for writing this book seem more like betrayal than a desire to add information on the life of a famous author.
October 16, 2019
This is a very difficult book to review. I loved reading Pat Conroy's books, and knew that he did indeed struggle with demons - - -writing demons, alcoholic demons, broken relationship demons. Yet how does one feel about a book that lays those demons bare on the table for everyone to examine?
Well, my final feeling was that this book was worth reading. I do believe that the author felt upstaged by Conroy, and he was more than a little distressed at Conroy's method of breaking with his wife Lenore (and literally also his daughter, Susannah). But I also feel that Mewshaw was sincere in his true love and admiration for a man who was bigger than life for almost everyone he touched.
The thing that finally convinced me that this was indeed an accurate portrayal and not one written out of jealousy or ire was the very thing that has seemingly destroyed Mewshaw's chances at becoming a bestseller - - -that is, his dry and methodical delivery, his constant fact checking, his continual quest to be sure he understands every possible angle. Mewshaw is scrupulous in his quest to be sure everything he states is supported by letters, emails, and documents, and those scruples lend a great deal of credence to what he says.
Mewshaw delivers a vivid portrait of a man who not only HAS demons, but one whose demons are so overwhelming that they finally overshadow every portion of his daily life. In that, this story is sad. Yet in another sense, Mewshaw also notes that Conroy's brilliance at writing comes from those very same demons. His constant quoting of Conroy's prose underscores what makes that prose, to many, absolutely brilliant. And he gives us the sense that it is okay to not idolize or idealize the man behind those words, but to love him in spite of all of his warts and flaws. Mewshaw might not have liked the way Conroy left their relationship, or how he ran much of his personal life, but he showed a deep understanding of the WHY behind those choices. Pat Conroy was a man, not a saint; a writer, not a role model; a human being, not an icon. And that's ok.
Well, my final feeling was that this book was worth reading. I do believe that the author felt upstaged by Conroy, and he was more than a little distressed at Conroy's method of breaking with his wife Lenore (and literally also his daughter, Susannah). But I also feel that Mewshaw was sincere in his true love and admiration for a man who was bigger than life for almost everyone he touched.
The thing that finally convinced me that this was indeed an accurate portrayal and not one written out of jealousy or ire was the very thing that has seemingly destroyed Mewshaw's chances at becoming a bestseller - - -that is, his dry and methodical delivery, his constant fact checking, his continual quest to be sure he understands every possible angle. Mewshaw is scrupulous in his quest to be sure everything he states is supported by letters, emails, and documents, and those scruples lend a great deal of credence to what he says.
Mewshaw delivers a vivid portrait of a man who not only HAS demons, but one whose demons are so overwhelming that they finally overshadow every portion of his daily life. In that, this story is sad. Yet in another sense, Mewshaw also notes that Conroy's brilliance at writing comes from those very same demons. His constant quoting of Conroy's prose underscores what makes that prose, to many, absolutely brilliant. And he gives us the sense that it is okay to not idolize or idealize the man behind those words, but to love him in spite of all of his warts and flaws. Mewshaw might not have liked the way Conroy left their relationship, or how he ran much of his personal life, but he showed a deep understanding of the WHY behind those choices. Pat Conroy was a man, not a saint; a writer, not a role model; a human being, not an icon. And that's ok.
December 13, 2020
Any fan of Pat Conroy would love the opportunity to read about him from Mewshaw’s perspective. An author himself, Mewshaw got to know the Conroys when both families lived in Rome. There they hobnobbed with other ex-pats in the literary community including Gore Vidal. Not only did I appreciate how their friendship developed, but how they both produced their writing. The writer’s life is not all that glamorous and Mewshaw struggled for success (admittedly, I had never heard of him before reading this book).
Conroy was as generous and loving to his friends as he was selfish and mean to anyone who crossed him. Despite decades of friendship and shared memories, Conroy suddenly cut the Mewshaws out of his life without explanation. After five years of radio silence, Mewshaw’s attempt at reconciliation was met with angry diatribes accusing him of betrayal. I could relate to his daughter Susannah, who was also on the receiving end of Conroy’s virulent tirades. I know how difficult it can be having a talented father with a big ego.
Conroy always used his traumatic childhood as an excuse for his unruly behavior. But as Mewshaw points out, “Most of his faults… were ones of excess.” That was true when it came to money, alcohol, depression, anger, exaggeration, and a host of other factors in Conroy’s life. His talent was never eclipsed by his volatility in his lifetime, but Mewshaw’s portrayal of Conroy is honest, unapologetic, and intriguing.
Conroy was as generous and loving to his friends as he was selfish and mean to anyone who crossed him. Despite decades of friendship and shared memories, Conroy suddenly cut the Mewshaws out of his life without explanation. After five years of radio silence, Mewshaw’s attempt at reconciliation was met with angry diatribes accusing him of betrayal. I could relate to his daughter Susannah, who was also on the receiving end of Conroy’s virulent tirades. I know how difficult it can be having a talented father with a big ego.
Conroy always used his traumatic childhood as an excuse for his unruly behavior. But as Mewshaw points out, “Most of his faults… were ones of excess.” That was true when it came to money, alcohol, depression, anger, exaggeration, and a host of other factors in Conroy’s life. His talent was never eclipsed by his volatility in his lifetime, but Mewshaw’s portrayal of Conroy is honest, unapologetic, and intriguing.
April 12, 2021
This is essential reading for fans of Pat Conroy. Mewshaw was one of his best friends, if not his best friend, during the period when Conroy published Prince of Tides and Beach Music; as two American ex-pats living in Rome, with similar backgrounds, they talked and shared endlessly.
Sadly, Mewshaw’s account confirms what we should have realized: despite achieving fame and acclaim, Conroy did not escape his wretched childhood (albeit perhaps somewhat exaggerated) without significant psychological scars. Saddest of all, he descended into alcohol abuse and emotionally abused his second wife and children.
Mewshaw is the author of nearly a dozen books, and his asides on life in Italy as an ex-pat (renting apartments without leases, moving multiple times, being unable to purchase a car, etc.) might themselves form the basis for an entertaining book.
I see that several reviewers here have criticized Mewshaw, mainly for his motives in writing this warts-and-all book about Conroy. I didn’t have that problem; I took Mewshaw at his word, as he declared in the Prologue: “Whatever else it [this story] shows, I mean it to declare as I never did when he was alive that I loved Pat every bit as much as he loved me.”
Sadly, Mewshaw’s account confirms what we should have realized: despite achieving fame and acclaim, Conroy did not escape his wretched childhood (albeit perhaps somewhat exaggerated) without significant psychological scars. Saddest of all, he descended into alcohol abuse and emotionally abused his second wife and children.
Mewshaw is the author of nearly a dozen books, and his asides on life in Italy as an ex-pat (renting apartments without leases, moving multiple times, being unable to purchase a car, etc.) might themselves form the basis for an entertaining book.
I see that several reviewers here have criticized Mewshaw, mainly for his motives in writing this warts-and-all book about Conroy. I didn’t have that problem; I took Mewshaw at his word, as he declared in the Prologue: “Whatever else it [this story] shows, I mean it to declare as I never did when he was alive that I loved Pat every bit as much as he loved me.”
February 27, 2019
Thank you so much Counterpoint Press for sending me my very first advance reader hardcopy, The Lost Prince: A Search for Pat Conroy, in exchange for an honest review.
Counterpoint Press reached out to me after noticing that I was a big fan of Pat Conroy, and sent me Michael Mewshaw's memoir titled The Lost Prince: A Search for Pat Conroy. Mewshaw recounts his relationship with author Pat Conroy, from the smallest passing of phrases to their intimately deep conversations.
Introduced to each other over the phone, Conroy contacted Mewshaw as a fellow writer and US expat living in Rome, Italy, desperate to make a friend. With similar self-depreciating humors, inquisitive minds, and eloquent writing styles, their families became immediate extensions of the other. Over time they weathered many storms, including family feuds, marital problems, writers block...but they also celebrated many successes, such as book sales, movie deals, and family milestones. The two men created such a balance between them, even when, to the outsider, one would seem to have more than the other.
While Mewshaw recollects how their lives became entwined, he also relays how they seemingly fell out of step. As quickly as Conroy became a success professionally, his personal life took a terrible dive. Mewshaw, stuck in the middle of friendship and professionalism, had to navigate the waves of Conroy's depression and yet remain a neutral party. In doing so, he was able to share the whole truth of Conroy's life.
I will admit, I never read anything by Mewshaw prior to this memoir, but I have to say that I was absolutely fascinated by his ability to write as if he were sitting next to you, relaying his tale in person. In The Lost Prince, I feel that I truly got an idea of what kind of man Pat Conroy was- persuasive, animated, self-deprecatingly charming. I also felt that I go to know what kind of man Mewshaw is- pensive, studious, curious, and a consistently loyal companion. Throughout the novel, I could see how the two men where a good balance for each other, and I appreciated that within their relationship, they weren't afraid to be forthright with the other. Nothing seemed off limits, and they didn't pass judgement on the expression of their emotions.
Aside from their relationships, I enjoyed learning about these authors and their writing careers. I loved the concept of "digging for gold and finding uranium", and admired the way the men handled that situation. I adored the way both men preferred to write long hand instead of typing, and that they wrote each other letters more often than emails. It's almost a foreign concept these days, and it's nice to think of each sitting at a desk and putting their thoughts down with pen and paper. I also enjoyed reading about their lifestyles, and how despite the differences in their incomes and family relationships, each had their own way of entertaining and finding adventure.
In the end, I found myself a little less enthused about the man Conroy became (or maybe always was) but as Mewshaw explained, despite his downfalls, he was still an admirable writer who never shied away from sharing the grittiest details of his life. I'm so appreciative that Counterpoint Press sent me this memoir, and I would absolutely recommend it to fans of both men and their works, as well as any writing professionals.
Expected Publish Date: February 26, 2019
Counterpoint Press reached out to me after noticing that I was a big fan of Pat Conroy, and sent me Michael Mewshaw's memoir titled The Lost Prince: A Search for Pat Conroy. Mewshaw recounts his relationship with author Pat Conroy, from the smallest passing of phrases to their intimately deep conversations.
Introduced to each other over the phone, Conroy contacted Mewshaw as a fellow writer and US expat living in Rome, Italy, desperate to make a friend. With similar self-depreciating humors, inquisitive minds, and eloquent writing styles, their families became immediate extensions of the other. Over time they weathered many storms, including family feuds, marital problems, writers block...but they also celebrated many successes, such as book sales, movie deals, and family milestones. The two men created such a balance between them, even when, to the outsider, one would seem to have more than the other.
While Mewshaw recollects how their lives became entwined, he also relays how they seemingly fell out of step. As quickly as Conroy became a success professionally, his personal life took a terrible dive. Mewshaw, stuck in the middle of friendship and professionalism, had to navigate the waves of Conroy's depression and yet remain a neutral party. In doing so, he was able to share the whole truth of Conroy's life.
I will admit, I never read anything by Mewshaw prior to this memoir, but I have to say that I was absolutely fascinated by his ability to write as if he were sitting next to you, relaying his tale in person. In The Lost Prince, I feel that I truly got an idea of what kind of man Pat Conroy was- persuasive, animated, self-deprecatingly charming. I also felt that I go to know what kind of man Mewshaw is- pensive, studious, curious, and a consistently loyal companion. Throughout the novel, I could see how the two men where a good balance for each other, and I appreciated that within their relationship, they weren't afraid to be forthright with the other. Nothing seemed off limits, and they didn't pass judgement on the expression of their emotions.
Aside from their relationships, I enjoyed learning about these authors and their writing careers. I loved the concept of "digging for gold and finding uranium", and admired the way the men handled that situation. I adored the way both men preferred to write long hand instead of typing, and that they wrote each other letters more often than emails. It's almost a foreign concept these days, and it's nice to think of each sitting at a desk and putting their thoughts down with pen and paper. I also enjoyed reading about their lifestyles, and how despite the differences in their incomes and family relationships, each had their own way of entertaining and finding adventure.
In the end, I found myself a little less enthused about the man Conroy became (or maybe always was) but as Mewshaw explained, despite his downfalls, he was still an admirable writer who never shied away from sharing the grittiest details of his life. I'm so appreciative that Counterpoint Press sent me this memoir, and I would absolutely recommend it to fans of both men and their works, as well as any writing professionals.
Expected Publish Date: February 26, 2019
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August 4, 2019This is an odd book - but a good one. It tells of the adult life of Pat Conroy, the author of Prince of Tides and so many more beautiful and lyrical prose. It is the story of a relationship between two writers, one more famous than the other. A friendship that persisted despite mental and physical illness and long geographical distances. It is the story of a man, Pat Conr0y, whose abusive childhood and young adulthood clung to his back and never let go. It colored every word he wrote or said all his life. The book has insight into both personalities of the author of this book and into Pat Conroy and of the weaving of their lives as they grow from young adulthood into old age. It is a disturbing book but not a surprising one. Reading the books of Pat Conroy, you can see how he lays all of it out for you to see. Recommend for Pat Conroy fans who are up to a little disillusionment.
May 31, 2023
Initially, I really enjoyed reading this author's memory of Pat Conroy. The author introduced Conroy as a very real, complex person, with talent and terrors. If you are looking for insight into a favorite author, most of this book is your answer.
The last quarter of the story seemed rushed and entirely focused on the author, not Conroy, to a unsatisfying effect. Yes, the book was written from the author's perspective, but most of it contained enough of Conroy to be a good balance. I quit when it was just complaining about how hard Mershaw tried to reach Conroy in the last years of Conroy's life. There is a time to cut your losses and stop whining about people who don't want you in their life, no matter if you disagree about their reasons. If Mershaw had stopped earlier, the book would have earned a 4 star review.
The last quarter of the story seemed rushed and entirely focused on the author, not Conroy, to a unsatisfying effect. Yes, the book was written from the author's perspective, but most of it contained enough of Conroy to be a good balance. I quit when it was just complaining about how hard Mershaw tried to reach Conroy in the last years of Conroy's life. There is a time to cut your losses and stop whining about people who don't want you in their life, no matter if you disagree about their reasons. If Mershaw had stopped earlier, the book would have earned a 4 star review.
June 9, 2019
Mewshaw has written of his intimate friendship with Pat Conroy. Conroy has been one of my favorite authors. I enjoyed his memoirs and non-fiction even more than his novels. His writing in both fiction and non-fiction always highlighted the dysfunction in his family. Near the end of his life I began to suspect that Conroy was a genius at hyperbole and suspected he often saw the truth differently than others. Still, he was a master storyteller and I loved his work. Mewshaw has revealed the personality of a man who was a brilliant writer, a generous and kind person and friend but also a man with many demons. His behavior drove away people who loved him and his last years were spent in heavy drink and paranoid thinking. I found this book to be an honest and sad profile of a great writer.
March 3, 2019
I very much admire Pat Conroy’s and his writing. Mewshaw and his family was a close intimate of Conroy’s and his family during the years in Italy and after until he and Conroy’ became very distant moving back and forth
between the United States and Italy. He (Conroy) was a very conflicted individual. His dysfunction is an integral part of his stories which are bestsellers and some made into movies.
Mewshaw chooses, post-death to publish a nasty tell all which may or may not be all factual, yet are very damaging to Conroy, now dead, who Cannot defend himself.
And yet I almost read this book straight thru!
We’ll never know the whole story, will we?
I still adore Conroy’s books!
between the United States and Italy. He (Conroy) was a very conflicted individual. His dysfunction is an integral part of his stories which are bestsellers and some made into movies.
Mewshaw chooses, post-death to publish a nasty tell all which may or may not be all factual, yet are very damaging to Conroy, now dead, who Cannot defend himself.
And yet I almost read this book straight thru!
We’ll never know the whole story, will we?
I still adore Conroy’s books!
August 22, 2019
Don't read this book if you want to believe that Pat Conroy was as good a person as he was a writer. This book, written by Mike Mewshaw ~ once Pat Conroy's best friend ~ dispels that myth and points out that Conroy was a very flawed husband, father and friend. Plagued by many demons, including alcohol, a life of fury and excess and a childhood of horrific abuse, Conroy's life spun out of control. He died at age 70 of pancreatic cancer, forever beloved as a charming, prolific Southern writer. Maybe, if he had lived longer, he would have mended some of the hearts that he smashed along the way. Probably not.
March 31, 2023
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️+ STORY
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️+ PERFORMANCE
Wow! I love Pat Conroy’s novels, but had no idea he was such a broken, tortured soul and a raving alcoholic to boot. He clearly had major mental health issues and after this book, it makes me want to go back and re-read The Great Santini, which I didn't enjoy at all the first time, nine years ago, not realizing it was autobiographical. His poor ex-wives and children… but doesn’t this seem to be par for the course for many of the greatest authors to have ever lived? I can’t decide if I should be rating this five stars, so will let it marinate for a while in my mind. If I go to reread, then I’ll know!
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️+ PERFORMANCE
Wow! I love Pat Conroy’s novels, but had no idea he was such a broken, tortured soul and a raving alcoholic to boot. He clearly had major mental health issues and after this book, it makes me want to go back and re-read The Great Santini, which I didn't enjoy at all the first time, nine years ago, not realizing it was autobiographical. His poor ex-wives and children… but doesn’t this seem to be par for the course for many of the greatest authors to have ever lived? I can’t decide if I should be rating this five stars, so will let it marinate for a while in my mind. If I go to reread, then I’ll know!
April 28, 2020
I have been a huge fan of Pat Conroy's writing for years. I was so saddened by his too early death. I enjoyed this book and did appreciate Mr Mewshaw's writing style but felt very angry. I hope that after my demise, none of my "good friends" would devulge all of my private thoughts and times to the world. I was uncomfortable with the expose' if you will, of Conroy's private life and relationships with his family. I felt that Mewshaw somehow felt "slighted" in his friendship and wrote this or was it written to make money? For the most part, enjoyed the book. Don't respect the author.
May 1, 2019
I'm a huge Pat Conroy fan so of course I wanted to read this. I enjoyed reading about their times in Rome but had to slog through the ending of the book where the author included several emails that Conroy had written to his daughter Susannah. I knew that Conroy was far from perfect and that he suffered permanent psychological damage from his abusive father. I guess I just didn't enjoy reading about it all that much.
July 16, 2019
This memoir was well researched and well written by Michael Mewshaw, who was once Conroy’s closest friend and confidante. It was disappointing to learn that one of my favorite authors was a hard core alcoholic which caused so many problems in his relationships with friends and family members. He also had problems with the truth. Prince of Tides is still one of my favorite books. Recommended for fans of Pat Conroy.
May 13, 2019
Pat Conroy has always been larger than life - his novels full of exquisite detail, particularly around violence. This must have been a painful book for Michael Mewshaw to write about a man he cared so much for and about. His careful and painstaking approach comes through, though, and paints an honest picture of a man who triumphed over all but his memories.
June 26, 2019
An excellent and enlightening read for fans of Pat Conroy. Mewshaw shows his love for Conroy through his honesty. His portrayal of his longtime friend made me both smile and grimace. I was fascinated to hear a different perspective on the same stories I read from Conroy, and appreciated Mewshaw's vulnerability in sharing his story.
October 17, 2019
I have enjoyed every Pat Conroy book I've read. This was a touching memorial from a man who was a close friend for years but fell out of touch. The picture is one of Pat Conroy as a gifted writer, troubled human, poor father, and sad man who never got over the trauma of his childhood. It was very interesting and flowed along easily.
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