Priestdaddy: A Memoir Paperback – Import, 1 May 2018

The book is written so well it's as if I'm living their life with them and it really makes you feel part of them as a whole.

I came to read Patricia Lockwood through the London Review of Books, having enjoyed some of her short pieces there. As a recovering Catholic, whose family moved constantly through my youth, I immediately identified with her goofy upbringing - though mine was perfect in every way. The memoir is written with real affection, especially toward her mother and siblings, and frustration reserved for her father, the priest. There's no evidence of priestliness anywhere to be found, except perhaps in his emergency responses to parishioners' calls to bless the dead and dying. Grandiosity and baroque undress are his specialties. The author's memoir is suffused with great tales of growing up on the move, not having any sense of permanence or long-term friendships. Moreover, she observes, she can't identify herself as an individual until she becomes an adolescent, at which time the leering male world takes notice. Then, she's treated as a feminine creature with limits imposed by men. The reader's window into that part of her life, along with her reflections on what might have been if she had not been hurt or wounded by anger, make the book worth the read. Ms. Lockwood is a thoughtful writer whose prose is intelligent and mellifluous without posing. Now and then, she riffs on a topic and the writing really takes off. Fair enough that her reflections include characterizations of Emily Dickinson, whose isolation and sense of self frame her poetry.I may have assigned half a star extra for the lovely final chapter, in which she reflects on the tenuousness of family and love and mortality. The only defect of the memoir, in my mind, comes when she diverts into important social and political matters such as feminism, only to smother her writing with thoughts common to the topics at hand. There's no gold there, but there's plenty in her father's monstrance or in the sunlight in Key West or in her mother's love. I could have stayed with this family a while longer. And did I mention that it's barking mad funny? Well, it is.

Often like poetry prose, Patricia Lockwood has a great turn of phrase and the warmth and love with which she writes is a joy to read. In a world where everything is polarised, it is wonderful to read someone writing about family she profoundly disagrees with in a way that is well-rounded, charming and loving. You feel like you’re sharing your own family’s stories when reading those of her unusual tribe. A wonderful book.

Le premesse erano buone ma il tutto è raccontato in modo confusionario con parole che sembrano accostate a caso. Il suo padre, prete, sembra un maschilista, bigotto testa di cavolo, odioso in ogni episodio descritto, anche se non credo fosse quello l'intenzione della scrittrice

Her memories, humor, and insights are wonderful, but her language is like no other I have read. I read slowly and recursively so I could taste all of her words completely and relive being startled by their rightness.

This is the most astonishing, glorious book I’ve ever read. It’s full of amazing images, extremely wise observations, lilting language, and ... there are whole chapters that make you laugh. But then, Patricia Lockwood is a poet blessed with a truly crazy family, including a father who became a Catholic priest after marrying and having five children with his red-haired wife of Irish descent. There are bits to make you angry too. I stopped reading to give a silent ear-bashing to those who defend paedophile priests when she discussed that issue. And what’s not to love about the image of her husband Jason wearing silver knee-high boots to school till the age of eight? The quirkiest, most profound, most lyrical book ever. “Awesome “, as people used to say relentlessly, and which she reminds us of.