My Three Dads: Patriarchy on the Great Plains

by Jessa Crispin

Sharp and thought-provoking, this memoir-meets-cultural criticism upends the romanticism of the Great Plains and the patriarchy at the core of its ideals.

For many Americans, Kansas represents a vision of Midwestern life that is good and wholesome and evokes the American ideals of god, home, and country. But for those like Jessa Crispin who have grown up in Kansas, the realities are much harsher. She argues that the Midwestern values we cling to cover up a long history of oppression and control over Native Americans, women, and the economically disadvantaged.

Blending personal narrative with social commentary, Crispin meditates on why the American Midwest still enjoys an esteemed position in our country's mythic self-image. Ranging from The Wizard of Oz to race, from chastity to rape, from radical militias and recent terrorist plots to Utopian communities, My Three Dads opens on a comic scene in a Kansas rent house the author shares with a (masculine) ghost. This prompts Crispin to think about her intellectual fathers, her spiritual fathers, and her literal fathers. She is curious to understand what she has learned from them and what she needs to unlearn about how a person should be in a family, as a citizen, and as a child of god—ideals, Crispin argues, that have been established and reproduced in service to hierarchy, oppression, and wealth.

Written in Crispin’s well-honed voice—smart, assured, comfortable with darkness— My Three Dads offers a kind of bleak redemption, the insight that no matter where you go, no matter how far from home you roam, the place you came from is always with you, “like it or not.”

Genres: Nonfiction, Memoir, Feminism, Essays

236 pages, Paperback

First published August 16, 2022

About the author

Jessa Crispin is the editor and founder of Bookslut.com. Her writing has appeared in The Washington Post, The Chicago Sun-Times, The Guardian and The Toronto Globe and Mail, among other publications.

Reviews

[William2 · Rating 3 out of 5]

A paean to the delights of patriarchy in the American Mid-West. A corker of a cultural history cum memoir.

Written with scarifying honesty, and penetrating insight into our perennially "stuck" national life.

Crispin's voice is funny and cynical, ribald and scabrous. Each sentence jabs like a little pinprick.

It reads like an essential updating of Robert Hughes's Culture of Complaint. And do I sense the influence of Celine?

[Martina Neglia]

Bello 🔪

[JoAnn · Rating 5 out of 5]

This was not what I expected. I mean that in as positive a way as possible. Let's say that the three dads Crispin deep discusses in the book are not the fathers you might assume from the title. This is not a work centered on biological relationships or familial history; it is, rather, a genealogy of our present moment -- Crispin's response -- to the very existential question: What in the biscuits is going on here? (Here being America or 'Murica. Take your pick, it is somewhat fungible.)

Crispin's answer is: No gravy. All biscuits, no gravy. From this reviewer's position, Crispin hits it on the head of the nail pretty dead on. Told from a woman's perspective, the response cannot but factor in gender and sexuality. A person's lens is inevitably shaped by their experience of living within the patriarchy. And that's Crispin's big point IMO: We all live within a patriarchal world and we always have. It is highly likely we always will. Or, at least, those of us alive today always will.

[Side Note: It is likely Crispin wrote the bulk of this book prior to the recent SCOTUS ruling on abortion. It is interesting reading this in the wake of that decision, on the cusp of things going so very sideways. I would have liked to read Crispin's view on that in these pages. Perhaps, next time, eh?]

Crispin's My Three Dads is a long read essay, flowing from one chapter to another like a river, making turns at arbitrary, but logical loci. The book is split, however, into three major parts, one for each "father". Dad One is a figure from Crispin's past, a father figure or an archetype of a male/masculine figure we've all known or read about, the invasive species of man who erases women violently, silently, assuredly, simply through living their own lives. The act of being a man -- in the midwestern definition -- is a violent act toward women. Crispin mulls marriage and children, the banal locale of domesticity as the insidious, quotidian site of patriarchy; here, she admits to its wiles herself. The disguise is love, security, belonging.

Dad Two is the Citizen, in Crispin's case, John Brown, a Kansan historical figure. But again, John Brown is the manifestation -- one of many -- Crispin write about it. She's interested in the archetype again, but again these are men we recognize as living individuals: The White Men Who Feel Their Lack of Control And Lash Out. Politics becomes the platform for these men: the excuse for their rage and the subsequent tantrum. Reading this section was like watching a montage of the American news from the past thirty or so years. Crispin revives Waco, Timothy McVeigh, Nazis, Bolsheviks, bring the conversation to the present with references to unnamed mass shooters. Crispin's point is made visible by the invisible: there's no need to name any of the recent mass shooters of the past twenty years because these perpetrators (typically a man or a boy) are so commonplace as to collate into an archetype of their own.

Dad Three is God, but since that is too multicultural, too broadly applicable as a term, Crispin narrows it in: the Protestant God and, even more specifically, his human mouthpieces, Martin Luther. But this is really a discussion of the Church and the folk version of Christianity as it is practiced in the American Midwest. Crispin lost me a little here, but that may be because I can't relate, having grown up in Asia where religion flavors life in very different ways. That said, having spent a significant amount of my adult life in the Midwest, Crispin's cultural landscape is familiar.

Crispin critiques the patriarchal world we live in, but her point is its all-encompassing presence. The title says this is focused on the Midwest, but really, the world Crispin paints for us is easily recognizable as anywhere else in the United States. The title and structure of the book even performs Crispin's point: the world revolves around man and men and their needs, desires, rages. My Three Dads is a snapshot of what it means to be American -- but, a caveat on that: The people in Crispin's work are white. She doesn't really say this, but she does through silence and implication. The book focuses on the Midwest, after all, and that is the heartland of whiteness, despite the millions of non-white people who reside there now and have historically shaped Americanness. So, let me rephrase: My Three Dads is a snapshot of White Americanness, the kind typically performed, desired, and domiciled in (but not confined to) the American Midwest. But this doesn't mean this is just about or for white people; People of color have to live in a white world, after all. My Three Dads is a worthy expenditure of time for any reader interested in the question: What in the bisuits is goi

[M. Sarki · Rating 3 out of 5]

I fell in love with the writing of Jessa Crispin a few years ago when I was first fortunate to read her book "The Dead Ladies Project: Exiles, Expats, and Ex-Countries." She also wrote the introduction to another great book titled "I Await the Devil's Coming". I even read her rather silly book on Tarot so of course I wanted to read this book described by her publisher as “Sharp and thought-provoking, this memoir-meets-cultural criticism upends the romanticism of the Great Plains and the patriarchy at the core of its ideals.” And it was thought provoking and especially sharp. Crispin is so fucking smart and clever and bitingly honest in her opinions and commentary. But I did have a problem...Please read for free the rest of my review here:

https://rogueliterarysociety.com/f/my...

[J Earl · Rating 5 out of 5]

My Three Dads by Jessa Crispin is just what you expect from a Crispin book, insightful and often uncomfortable truths told in an engaging voice that makes you engage with the ideas.

I found this volume particularly compelling largely because of the interweaving of the personal with the social, cultural, and political. While I would love a full-fledged memoir from her, I think she found the ideal spots to shift from a memoirish tone to a broader analytical tone. In other words, I didn't feel like the personal stories were cut too short and, at the same time, I felt like the cultural criticism sprang naturally from her personal stories.

If reading this didn't make you, in at least a couple of places, uncomfortable then you might not be reading very reflectively. We all share in the ills of our society and there is going to be things here that should make you not only recognize some friends and family but also yourself. We need these moments so we don't just become critics of other people but critics of our societies, and since we're all part of it, we are all partly responsible. What we have or have not done, what we have maintained silence over or acted like it wasn't our problem, or what we actually supported at some time, we have all contributed. The idea is to make more positive and informed contributions moving forward and fewer negative ones based on, often, our ignorance. And reflecting personally as well as pointing fingers outward are essential toward that end.

I would highly recommend this for readers who want to gain more perspective, and more perspectives into, the norms that maintain society's ills. While those who don't reflect and only blame others will enjoy the book a lot, those who reflect and seek dynamic answers will gain the most from it (while still enjoying it).

Reviewed from a copy made available by the publisher via NetGalley.

[Kennedy · Rating 3 out of 5]

I really liked the first section of the book. The middle was good, but the last part made me feel like I was stupid because I kept asking myself what was going on. This is pretty nitpicky, but Biden didn't fall asleep in a debate, and her equating Trump and Biden irked me. Yeah, neither one was someone to get excited about, but only one of those people tried to overthrow the government. She talks a lot about not liking people who want to burn it all down, but I didn't see a lot of constructive thought about where to go from here. I'd much rather read Jessica Valenti or Rebecca Solnit.

[Kaitlin · Rating 5 out of 5]

My Three Dads was an incisive and engaging read, and one doesn’t need to be from the Midwest for the subject matter to ring true. Definitely more cultural criticism than memoir, Crispin shared personal anecdotes relating to the subject matter without veering into self-obsessed territory. She covered a variety of topics past and present - identity politics, Martin Luther, and beguinages(!) to name a few.

One of the reasons I’m consistently drawn to Crispin’s writing is she knows what she’s talking about. So in this book when discussing things like healthcare, classism, or patriarchy, it’s clear she’s not parroting talking points learned on social media - she has a true understanding. I particularly appreciated the points she made about chosen families not being a stand in for marriage in terms of legal rights and social acceptance, as well as an influx of charities and social media slacktivism not translating to radical changes within our infrastructure. I found myself regularly bookmarking passages I wanted to return to.

My favorite Jessa writing is when she’s at her most searing, and while still remaining incredibly nuanced, this book delivered on that.

[Ruth Garcia-Corrales · Rating 4 out of 5]

My Three Dads, Patriarchy on the Great Plains by Jessa Crispin brings a narrative of the Midwest that reflects not only the religion and its points of control but the reality of the families. Living with a male ghost in her rented Kansas home and trying to work on her garden and finding no rewards on it has her evaluate all her life from the places lived, the men in her life. These three fathers, the intellectual, the spiritual and literal are all being scrutinize and compare with societies in other places and other philosophies. Tons of analogies and interesting opinions.

[Amanda Rosso · Rating 4 out of 5]

Jessa Crispin’s My Three Dads begins with considerable intellectual promise. The early chapters offer a compelling combination of personal narrative and cultural critique, framing alternative paternal figures as a way of rethinking authority, inheritance, and belonging. Crispin writes with precision and a sharp feminist sensibility, unafraid to complicate identity and ideology through lived experience.

However, as the book progresses, the argument loses coherence. The initial clarity gives way to a more fragmentary structure, in which the strength of the conceptual scaffolding begins to erode. While the individual reflections remain engaging, they often feel loosely connected and insufficiently developed. What begins as a provocative interrogation of power, care, and resistance gradually becomes more convoluted and less analytically grounded, especially when she starts comparing events and dynamics without connecting them throughout a grounded analysis.

This is particularly evident in Crispin’s treatment of retributive violence. She argues that violence detached from a clear political system or theory is ultimately unproductive—a stance that risks reducing acts of desperation or self-defense to political inefficacy. While it is important to avoid romanticizing violence, it is equally important to acknowledge that not all violent gestures can be—or need to be—inscribed within a structured political agenda. In some cases, violence emerges not as a calculated strategy but as a response to structural abandonment or prolonged harm. Michel Foucault’s distinction between “making die” and “letting die” is relevant here: state and institutional violence often operates through omission, and responses to such conditions may not align with theoretical frameworks but still carry a form of ethical intelligibility.

Nonetheless, and this is perhaps the most valuable outlet of this book, what remains deeply compelling throughout is Crispin’s willingness to be vulnerable. The book extends a generous invitation to those who feel misfit, insecure, excluded, or ambivalent—those who do not find easy answers in either mainstream culture or radical circles. There is an honesty in the way Crispin refuses to sanitise her politics, to wash her hands of mistakes or contradictions. She does not advocate for moral or ideological purity; instead, she insists on the necessary imperfection of political practice and of human relationships. This refusal to disavow complexity gives the book a distinct ethical weight, even when its arguments falter.

My Three Dads remains an interesting and, at times, incisive book. But its later sections feel less rigorous, both in argument and in structure. While Crispin’s voice is still forceful and her positions rarely conformist, the overall trajectory of the book is uneven. The initial strength of her analysis is not sustained throughout, and the result is a work that provokes, but only intermittently convinces.

[Miranda · Rating 4 out of 5]

If you believe the dominating U.S. culture is not always right and not always sane, and that we’re all a victim of some form of patriarchy, then this book is your jam. If you’ve never read another book by Jessa Crispin, this book is also for you; it stands alone, but it may make you want to pick up the rest of her books. I really enjoyed that this book challenged my thinking about the U.S. that I grew up in. I was not sold on the book at first, because I didn’t really understand the point of the ghost scene, but it grew into an interesting commentary on patriarchy, family, community, violence, capitalism, religion, politics, consumerism, and how it goes to navigate it all as a single person, as a related family, and as a family that is made. It seems to be a very feminist book, which may scare off some readers, but in fact it tackles situations many people deal with, like oppression by those with political power or wealth, and how society shapes what roles men, women, and children must play. Though the personal narrative focuses on the Midwest, I think Crispin discusses themes familiar to all of us across the U.S. as she intertwines her personal experiences with those of the nation at large. This book gets you caught up in the narrative, in a good way, by sprinkling in discourse on current events and historical events we can all remember or we’ve all been exposed to through media like the Branch Davidians in Waco. It also so elegantly transitions from Crispin’s personal story to her thoughts on the larger context of society. I felt so much when she discussed how easily we brush off terrible acts of violence between family members and communities and when she deliberated on the role of marriage and family connections. I will give a content warning on discussion of themes such as family homicide, abuse, and domestic terrorism.

[Cynthia · Rating 1 out of 5]

I wish it were possible to give a book 0 stars.

Crispin's second memoir (on what grounds, I wonder — how much life has she lived, to write out two entire memoirs?) spins wildly through a range of topics, from true crime to Wicca to abolition. It wheels from topic to topic, barely dashing off an incoherent argument before arriving upon the next one, all painted with the author's seeming disdain for humanity writ large (except, of course, for her precious nuns — untouched by the fetters of capitalism and the strictures of hierarchical religion, apparently, though that is patently false). I can't even argue with most of her points because they're not wrong, just articulated in such an irritating way that they become hard-to-swallow despite the fact that I actually agree with her on a lot (but not the religion section, or the race section). Reading this book does not provide you with any factual enrichment (horrifying lack of citations or actual bibliography) and her opinions try to be shocking while actually falling flatter than an armadillo on the interstate during rush hour.

In short. Don't read this book, save your eyeballs and read something, anything else. Maybe try something by Paul Farmer, who, unlike what Crispin portrays in this book (which is also, can I just add, hugely Eurocentric and written from the perspective of someone who seemingly has no comprehension of how people who are not white feel about the world), was convinced that cynicism in the face of worse problems than anything Crispin has ever faced in her life, never lost sight of the beauty of the world and humanity, and the value of preserving that beauty. At the end of the day, Crispin is moaning about the world diverging from the way she sees that it should be, without much of any idea of how to fix it. Other than accepting death, apparently.

[Susan · Rating 3 out of 5]

I've been a fan of Crispin's writing and was a regular listener to Public Intellectual, but the past three years have been hard on all of us and forced many of us to interrogate our prior assumptions, winding up "politically homeless" as a result. While there are some strong sections in this book, particularly early on, I feel like Crispin is also struggling with her prior assumptions but not quite ready to abandon them or to seriously re-assess her hard-won worldview, and this makes for a number of convoluted passages.

As to this sentence on page 67-- "Neo-Nazis have a great sense of community, as do anti-vaxxers and militias"--OOF. Someone needs to send her a copy of "Turtles All the Way Down."

Also, after reading this Naomi Wolf piece--https://naomiwolf.substack.com/p/the-...-- I feel it applies to this book. In many ways Crispin is writing as if it is still 2019, pretty much ignoring the past few years. From Wolf:

The courageous non-writers have stepped in to tell the truth, because the famous writers, for the most part, can’t.

Or won’t. Or, for whatever reason, didn’t.

This is because the public intellectuals are by necessity, for the most part, AWOL to the truth-telling demands of this time.

You cannot be a public intellectual whose work is alive, if you have participated in manufacturing, or even accepting quietly, state-run lies.

[Marozzi · Rating 3 out of 5]

Di solito quando un libro mostra il cimento personale di qualcuno con le questioni più grandi (come Dio, patria e famiglia) quel qualcuno ha un nome altisonante. Si va in cerca dell'esperienza personale dei grandi per vedere come si sono posti davanti alle cose della vita, per curiosità o in cerca di ispirazione.
Perciò è strano leggere un memoir di Jessa Crispin che parla di lei e di Dio e patria e famiglia.
Certamente vuol dare una lettura femminista o post femminista di tutto questo.
Ma mentre penso questo penso anche che Crispin voglia ribaltare questa abitudine a leggere i pensieri degli altri e mostrare come confrontarsi con il senso e la profondità della vita, del pensiero, del credere o non credere sia una cosa che tutti possiamo fare. Che valga la pena di condividere i risultati con i nostri simili e che un bel tuffo nel SENSO sia una via d'uscita per la superficialità alla quale sembrano condannarci i tempi, i social, il contesto.
E invece possiamo semplicemente andarcene.

[Jim Jones · Rating 3 out of 5]

Crispin’s book starts strong—an incident from her childhood, a neighbor family killed by her music teacher, begins a long mediation on patriarchal violence, especially in Kansas. She does a brilliant job of connecting the Kansas-born spawned violence of John Brown and Timothy McVeigh. Then she turns to religion and Protestantism being a tool of capitalism and connecting the cult of Mary to pre-Christian female religions and medieval nuns living an earlier form of feminism and I begin to think maybe she’s bitten off more than she can chew. There are a lot of ideas in this book, and some good points about how history, place, and upbringing shape us, but I found my interest waning by the end of it.

[Tyler McGaughey · Rating 2 out of 5]

Some genuinely provocative thinking here but also a tiring amount of first-draft sentences, leavened with a thread of 'woman behaving badly' material that reads like tepid Fleabag. It's difficult for me to suspend the disbelief of being in the presence of a superior intellect when I read someone whose view of arts criticism is (and I quote) "the coastal elites drinking their martinis or chablis or whatever while snobbishly stamping GOOD or BAD on individual units of cultural production, versus all of these heartland mouthbreathers going to the cineplex to watch Die Hard 15: O Death Remove Thy AR- 15 anyway." Sorry but, like, think harder.

[John Dolan · Rating 4 out of 5]

Supposedly about Crispin’s three spiritual fathers, it is about a great deal more (as is usual with her work). I especially enjoy her occasional rants. Beautifully written, captivating, and full of humor and acute, thoughtful observations. If you haven’t yet tried Jessa Crispin, you really should. I’m anxiously waiting for her next book – whatever it’s about.

[Audrey Jane · Rating 5 out of 5]

Wow!!! What can I say about this insightful stream of consciousness book. Crispin is so relatable and put into words many things I’ve been feeling about community, power/punishment, money, etc, I feel she deserves to be more famous but want to know what she would think about being more famous. this really resonated and felt appropriate for our time

[Emma Sullivan · Rating 5 out of 5]

I think about this book ALL THE TIME. Especially regarding eschatology (why we’re hung up on the end of the world, why many faith leaders/believers egg on judgement day/why believing that this world is the false world hurts us all)

I regret not bringing this book with me abroad. I think about it once a week at least.

[Shelby · Rating 3 out of 5]

My Three Dads is a memoir/ cultural criticism of the patriarchy of the Great Plains by Jessa Crispin. She starts off with a comical story of Charlie the ghost haunting her house, and then gets serious when talking about her three "dads". The first dad is Joseph Pianalto, a teacher and someone Jessa looked up to as a child. One day Mr. Pianalto killed his whole family and then himself, and no one knows why. The second father is John Brown, an American abolitionist and historical leader for Kansas. The third father is Martin Luther, a seminal figure in the Protestant Reformation. In the end, she talks about how she escaped the hold that the patriarchy of the Great Plains had on her.

"When you come from Kansas, you rarely pick up a book about Kansas. You don’t see your small-town life reflected back to you, unless it’s turned sentimental."

What Jessa Crispin writes of the Kansas setting is true. I was drawn to this book because I'm from a small town in Kansas. It's true that Kansas is "traditional, conservative, godfearing, and industrious." Unfortunately, that's where the good parts of Kansas stop. I had no idea when I picked this up that the entire book was just going to shit on Kansas. Sometimes I felt connected to this story, and sometimes I felt like I was reading the ramblings of a woman scorned. There was lots of swearing, complaining, and ranting. I felt like she was talking at me, and I didn't mind until I realized there were no solutions other than to leave Kansas. My Three Dads doesnt follow a specific timeline of her life. The passages jump from one topic to the next barely connecting, but with excruciating detail. This book made me realize that I've walked by the John Brown mural in the Topeka, KS statehouse several times and never thought about it's meaning. In school we are taught that John Brown led anti-slavery volunteers through Bleeding Kansas preceding the Civil War (basically a back and forth massacre on the Kansas/Missouri border over slavery). Now, I'll never unsee him as an corrupt murderer. The first and second parts with Mr. Pianalto and John Brown were informative and interesting, but she lost me with Martin Luther. Despite this, I appreciated reading something about my home state even if Kansas got hella roasted.

[Liz · Rating 3 out of 5]

I can’t argue with anything Crispin writes here about the damage men inflict; it’s her lack of solutions that made me put the book down. No more other-izing people without getting to the heart of the matter, which is that damaged people usually cause more harm to others.

[Jenny · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.25 I always find the author's books interesting, but this one felt a little all over the place. Also, the negativity level seemed a bit high and it was hard for me to read between what sounded like a lot of complaining and dissatisfaction.

[Erika Jost · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is excellent. A primal scream about living here and now, articulated with wisdom, humor, style, and earnest feeling.

[Peter Landau · Rating 5 out of 5]

It’s always a pleasure to read anything by Jessa Crispin.

[McKay Nelson · Rating 4 out of 5]

Jessa is so smart. And often pisses me off, but I loved this and keep thinking about it.

[Sarah · Rating 5 out of 5]

One of my fave books read in 2023. I’d read anything Jessa wrote

[Aisha · Rating 4 out of 5]

longform jessa is a treat

[Violeta · Rating 4 out of 5]

author is bold and awesome at going from the particular to the general in ingenious ways. very captivating and raw memoir of an observant person

[Mengzhen Markland · Rating 4 out of 5]

Super thought-provoking and really interesting. Great food for thought, and although the author didn't really pose that many solutions for the problems she was talking about, I don't think that was the point of this book. I saw this more as the author's reflection of different aspects of her life and that definitely added a lot to the experience.