I’ll be doing my first reading from “The Lost Night: A Daughter’s Search for the Truth of Her Father’s Murder” this Wednesday, August 3rd at 7 p.m. at A Clean Well Lighted Place for Books in San Francisco. Click here for details, or here for the full list of my readings and appearances.
Saw your review in the NY Times.
“Identify don’t compare” they tell us in 12-step programs. Right. My father wasn’t murdered, he died of a cerebral hemhorrage caused by intense vaginal stimulation with a woman to whom he was not married. He was 54. I was 10. I became my father’s son before I ever knew the true circumstances, especially the identity of the woman: a family friend. There is some degree of feeling haunted, or like living in a version of the House of Atreus where cannibalism and murder have been replaced by adultery.
But we survive. That is the miracle: the daily miracle or reprieve, if you like, from the hash or sour mash we made of our lives, from the haunted houses we lived in. They are still there. I am still looking for a way to shape my father not simply via poetry (yes I have, and published) but no via truth of how he lived and died and what it did to his wife and son. A tall order but doable.