Nick Flynn's searing memoir, Another Bullshit Night in Suck City, is a book swelling with contradictions. It would be easy to see the book simply as a portrait of Flynn's failure of a father. An alcoholic, ex-con schemer and dreamer, Flynn's deadbeat dad is a rich quarry of idiosyncracies, and Flynn chisels away at the events that left his father such pathetic, forlorn figure.
But, what is more interesting is why Flynn would choose to sift through his father's past in the first place. Flynn's motives prove as complicated and paradoxical as his enigmatic father. At times Flynn seems to devilishly (and fruitlessly) hold a mirror up to his father in hopes that the old man will recoil in horror at the grotesque figure he has become, only to find that Flynn has the mirror aimed squarely at himself. Yet Flynn's conscious choice of working in a homeless shelter makes the chance of bumping into his father more than likely, and he works and waits at the homeless shelter with a mix of anicipation and dread.
But, what is more interesting is why Flynn would choose to sift through his father's past in the first place. Flynn's motives prove as complicated and paradoxical as his enigmatic father. At times Flynn seems to devilishly (and fruitlessly) hold a mirror up to his father in hopes that the old man will recoil in horror at the grotesque figure he has become, only to find that Flynn has the mirror aimed squarely at himself. Yet Flynn's conscious choice of working in a homeless shelter makes the chance of bumping into his father more than likely, and he works and waits at the homeless shelter with a mix of anicipation and dread.
The thread running between him and his father is clearly one he is not willing to sever.
Like all good writers who avoid moralizing and being overly expository, Flynn shows us himself through the blurry lens of his father.
This book is particularly refreshing in light of James Frey's memoir-as-tall-tale "A Million Little Pieces" and Augusten Burrough's memoir-as-induglent-freakshow, "Running with Scissors." When reading these books, I got the sense that I was reading fiction (a feeling that was ultimately founded with Frey's book), but with Flynn's book I never got that feeling.
With homelessness at it's core, there is no need for Flynn to graft exagerration. The book's grim reality of park benches, obscure corners of parking garages, mountains of castoff clothing and the very real threat of freezing to death provides all the gravitas this book needs.
Another Bullshit Night in Suck City is a grim, fascinating and above all, honest book.
Highly recommended
Like all good writers who avoid moralizing and being overly expository, Flynn shows us himself through the blurry lens of his father.
This book is particularly refreshing in light of James Frey's memoir-as-tall-tale "A Million Little Pieces" and Augusten Burrough's memoir-as-induglent-freakshow, "Running with Scissors." When reading these books, I got the sense that I was reading fiction (a feeling that was ultimately founded with Frey's book), but with Flynn's book I never got that feeling.
With homelessness at it's core, there is no need for Flynn to graft exagerration. The book's grim reality of park benches, obscure corners of parking garages, mountains of castoff clothing and the very real threat of freezing to death provides all the gravitas this book needs.
Another Bullshit Night in Suck City is a grim, fascinating and above all, honest book.
Highly recommended
