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mikepalumbo's review against another edition
dark
sad
tense
medium-paced
5.0
Content Warnings
Graphic: Adult/minor relationship, Classism, Sexual content, Sexual violence, Suicide attempt, Death of parent, Emotional abuse, Sexual assault, Rape, Suicide, Toxic relationship, Pedophilia, and Child abuse
lifewithmisskate's review against another edition
1.0
A well written story, that wasn't worth telling.
sbone's review against another edition
3.0
i like it. it has a good style, with interesting ideas. but he was stuck between storytelling and rambling. i dont mind either but give me a style i can follow thru.
thuglibrarian's review against another edition
5.0
Excellent read about the difficult and sometimes strained father/son relationship. Chris Offutt's father was a well known sci/fi author but was also a writer of porn...lots of it. Even though Chris and his siblings knew what their father wrote, they did not know the exact scope of the amount until Chris goes back to the family home after his father dies to help pack up the home. Chris has written a book that is part memoir, part literary sleuthing (what else did his father write?) and part the story of a adult man attempting to figure his father out. Beautifully written, with sentences that sparkle with life. It's a pulling back of the curtain on what it was like growing up in the hills of Kentucky with a father who was an obsessive writer.
Note: I received a free review copy of this book and was not compensated for it.
Note: I received a free review copy of this book and was not compensated for it.
liralen's review against another edition
4.0
Three days after Dad died, the family convened at the house. The first action each of us took, unplanned, was to slam the back door and stomp around the house—activities forbidden to us, reserved only for Dad. Then we laughed like maniacs, four middle-aged adults at last allowed to behave like children in our own home. (18)
What sticks with me, months after reading this book, is not Offutt's father's job but the way he interacted with his family. This was not a man made for contemporary Western civilization: solitary and suspicious, deeply competitive, resentful of the needs of his family. He also, as it happened, made his living writing science fiction, fantasy, and pornography.
Offutt was not unaware of this as a child; his parents kept their industry—his mother did things like type up the manuscripts—separate from their lives in town, but it was not a secret to the children. But as an adult, after his father's death, Offutt was tasked with handling the hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of books and manuscripts and drafts that his father had amassed over a lifetime.
More than five hundred manuscripts made several uneven columns on a long dining room table, reminding me of architectural ruins. The older drafts were crumbling at the edges. Carbon copies typed on onionskin tore easily. Metal paper clips left rust marks on the pages. I separated them into categories of porn, science fiction, and fantasy, then subdivided those into published and unpublished, short story and novel. Dad didn't date the first drafts, all of which were handwritten, their titles and character names shifting between revisions. (77)
The constant barrage of odd sexual content left me flailing with the knowledge of my father's dedication. This was him—what he enjoyed, what he collected, what he wrote. I was thankful for the utter absence of kiddie porn. My father's proclivities were not the worst. He only liked adult women. It was a cold comfort, like an executioner offering a condemned man an old rope so the bristles wouldn't hurt his neck. (83)
No child pornography, Offutt notes, but everything else. He lists parts of his father's collection and writings at one point in the book, and it's hard to describe except to say that the darker and more twisted it got, the more likely it was that it aligned with his father's interests.
My father often said that if not for pornography, he'd have become a serial killer. On two occasions he told me the same story. One night in college he resolved to kill a woman, any woman. He carried a butcher knife beneath his coat and stalked the campus, seeking a target. It rained all night. No one else was out. He went home soaked and miserable and wrote a story about a man who invented an invisibility serum and killed women at a YWCA. Dad destroyed the manuscript and castigated himself for using invisibility in such an unimaginative way. For me, the crucial element of this story is a man's impulse to tell it to his son. (178)
Offutt goes in from a number of angles, and by doing so he's able to portray a lot of complexity even as he wrestles who his father was and the impact that he had on Offutt's life. It's not all bad, but nor does it sound like an easy, or good, way to be raised.
I would be remiss, though, not to mention Offutt's mother. She too is complicated, standing quietly by her husband's side, supporting his work, supporting him—Offutt describes his father as remaining deeply in love with Offutt's mother throughout their married life—but she is also, in different ways than her children, set free by her husband's death.
Mom had lived her entire life in two counties of Kentucky. She'd never lived alone. Three months after Dad's death, the movers transported her possessions to her new home in Mississippi, a few blocks from the Oxford square. For the first time in her life, she was autonomous. Mom promptly bought a new bed and hung her favorite pictures. I'd never seen her so happy. She could sleep as late as she wanted, eat a roast beef sandwich for breakfast, and read in bed. The only rules were hers. She applied for a passport. In the ensuing year, she traveled to Germany, Spain, London, Paris, Prague, California, Texas, and Virginia. (112)
Reminds me of [b:Mama's Boy, Preacher's Son|79198|Mama's Boy, Preacher's Son A Memoir|Kevin Jennings|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1170964698s/79198.jpg|76474] in a way...this question of what lives these women might have lived had they grown up in other places, in different times, with more agency.
I'm not sure if Offutt ever really came to understand his father; I'm not sure I want to either. But he does a pretty bang-up job of tackling hard stuff, un-talked-about stuff, head-on and with nuance.
What sticks with me, months after reading this book, is not Offutt's father's job but the way he interacted with his family. This was not a man made for contemporary Western civilization: solitary and suspicious, deeply competitive, resentful of the needs of his family. He also, as it happened, made his living writing science fiction, fantasy, and pornography.
Offutt was not unaware of this as a child; his parents kept their industry—his mother did things like type up the manuscripts—separate from their lives in town, but it was not a secret to the children. But as an adult, after his father's death, Offutt was tasked with handling the hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of books and manuscripts and drafts that his father had amassed over a lifetime.
More than five hundred manuscripts made several uneven columns on a long dining room table, reminding me of architectural ruins. The older drafts were crumbling at the edges. Carbon copies typed on onionskin tore easily. Metal paper clips left rust marks on the pages. I separated them into categories of porn, science fiction, and fantasy, then subdivided those into published and unpublished, short story and novel. Dad didn't date the first drafts, all of which were handwritten, their titles and character names shifting between revisions. (77)
The constant barrage of odd sexual content left me flailing with the knowledge of my father's dedication. This was him—what he enjoyed, what he collected, what he wrote. I was thankful for the utter absence of kiddie porn. My father's proclivities were not the worst. He only liked adult women. It was a cold comfort, like an executioner offering a condemned man an old rope so the bristles wouldn't hurt his neck. (83)
No child pornography, Offutt notes, but everything else. He lists parts of his father's collection and writings at one point in the book, and it's hard to describe except to say that the darker and more twisted it got, the more likely it was that it aligned with his father's interests.
My father often said that if not for pornography, he'd have become a serial killer. On two occasions he told me the same story. One night in college he resolved to kill a woman, any woman. He carried a butcher knife beneath his coat and stalked the campus, seeking a target. It rained all night. No one else was out. He went home soaked and miserable and wrote a story about a man who invented an invisibility serum and killed women at a YWCA. Dad destroyed the manuscript and castigated himself for using invisibility in such an unimaginative way. For me, the crucial element of this story is a man's impulse to tell it to his son. (178)
Offutt goes in from a number of angles, and by doing so he's able to portray a lot of complexity even as he wrestles who his father was and the impact that he had on Offutt's life. It's not all bad, but nor does it sound like an easy, or good, way to be raised.
I would be remiss, though, not to mention Offutt's mother. She too is complicated, standing quietly by her husband's side, supporting his work, supporting him—Offutt describes his father as remaining deeply in love with Offutt's mother throughout their married life—but she is also, in different ways than her children, set free by her husband's death.
Mom had lived her entire life in two counties of Kentucky. She'd never lived alone. Three months after Dad's death, the movers transported her possessions to her new home in Mississippi, a few blocks from the Oxford square. For the first time in her life, she was autonomous. Mom promptly bought a new bed and hung her favorite pictures. I'd never seen her so happy. She could sleep as late as she wanted, eat a roast beef sandwich for breakfast, and read in bed. The only rules were hers. She applied for a passport. In the ensuing year, she traveled to Germany, Spain, London, Paris, Prague, California, Texas, and Virginia. (112)
Reminds me of [b:Mama's Boy, Preacher's Son|79198|Mama's Boy, Preacher's Son A Memoir|Kevin Jennings|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1170964698s/79198.jpg|76474] in a way...this question of what lives these women might have lived had they grown up in other places, in different times, with more agency.
I'm not sure if Offutt ever really came to understand his father; I'm not sure I want to either. But he does a pretty bang-up job of tackling hard stuff, un-talked-about stuff, head-on and with nuance.
jaclynday's review against another edition
3.0
Unpacking the secrets of our parents through the murky, unreliable lens of childhood and the starker, less forgiving one of adulthood requires a deft hand and Offutt, the author of several other books and screenwriter for True Blood and Weeds, has met the challenge in a big way.
His relationship with his father is the nexus of the book, though his mother, siblings, and other people are essential to the story too. His father, under several pen names, started writing science fiction and eventually became a prolific writer of erotic fiction—Offutt describes his father's specialties ranging from outer space porn to Wild West porn.
Offutt, a writer himself, struggles to understand the father of his childhood: a sometimes frightening parental figure, but an intensely focused and dedicated writer. We see the man (and Offutt’s relationship to him) from as many angles as possible, which is maybe the most honest and raw thing about this memoir. It’s difficult to tell two parallel, but often conflicting, stories at once—one of Offutt, one of his dad—and so he tries to valiantly honor the complexity with delving into the many faces and moods of their collective family life. He does not shy away from the darker moments, which he recalls vividly and with great emotion.
One of the great pains of this book is Offutt’s realization that he never knew his father per se, and after his death, was forced to reconstruct him through the various detritus remaining in the house. Hundreds of dusty books later, Offutt concludes that perhaps some people are unknowable except for what we can discover about them on the page. Whether they’re poor clues or difficult clues or not clues at all, it makes no difference to Offutt: it’s all he has to go on and he immerses himself in it.
His relationship with his father is the nexus of the book, though his mother, siblings, and other people are essential to the story too. His father, under several pen names, started writing science fiction and eventually became a prolific writer of erotic fiction—Offutt describes his father's specialties ranging from outer space porn to Wild West porn.
Offutt, a writer himself, struggles to understand the father of his childhood: a sometimes frightening parental figure, but an intensely focused and dedicated writer. We see the man (and Offutt’s relationship to him) from as many angles as possible, which is maybe the most honest and raw thing about this memoir. It’s difficult to tell two parallel, but often conflicting, stories at once—one of Offutt, one of his dad—and so he tries to valiantly honor the complexity with delving into the many faces and moods of their collective family life. He does not shy away from the darker moments, which he recalls vividly and with great emotion.
One of the great pains of this book is Offutt’s realization that he never knew his father per se, and after his death, was forced to reconstruct him through the various detritus remaining in the house. Hundreds of dusty books later, Offutt concludes that perhaps some people are unknowable except for what we can discover about them on the page. Whether they’re poor clues or difficult clues or not clues at all, it makes no difference to Offutt: it’s all he has to go on and he immerses himself in it.
kansass's review against another edition
4.0
"El éxito comercial de las novelas pornográficas estadounidenses tocó techo durante los años setenta, coincidiendo con el periodo más prolífico y más activo de mi padre. Solo en 1972 publicó dieciocho novelas. Papá escribió porno de piratas, porno de fantasmas, porno de ciencia ficción, porno de vampiros, porno histórico, porno de viajes en el tiempo, porno de espías, porno de intriga, porno de zombies y porno de la Atlánida. Una novela del oeste inédita abre con sexo en un granero con la participación de un pistolero llamado Sosegado Smith, sin lugar a dudas, el mejor nombre de un personaje creado por papá. A finales de aquella década, papa afirmaba que había incrementado la calidad de la pornografía estadounidense sin ayuda de nadie. Según sus papeles personales, creía que los futuros estudiosos se referirían a él como ´-el rey de la pornografía escrita del siglo XX.”
Cuando comencé estas memorias nunca pensé que me fueran a emocionar, divertir y sorprenderme tanto algunos momentos que nos describe y presenta Chris Offutt porque no solo nos habla de su padre y de la relación que tuvo con él, conflictiva, de continuo tira y afloja, sino que además estas memorias son una oportunidad perfecta para que el autor, su hijo, se desnudara emocionalmente en muchos aspectos y se enfrentara a esos demonios que llevaba toda una vida intentando expulsar: en Mi Padre El Pornógrafo, no solo conoceremos a Andrew Offutt, sino que también llegaremos a conocer más a Chris Offutt.
"La mayoría de los estadounidenses se criaban en ciudades y suburbios, y le tenían miedo al bosque. Las películas de terror explotaban ese miedo: una persona sola en el bosque, los sonidos de animales nocturnos que no se conocen, el simple pánico a perderse de noche. Mi infancia fue todo lo contrario. La casa me daba miedo, pero el bosque era una fuente de soledad y paz. Vagando por el bosque a solas, aprendí a ver..."
Cuando su padre muere, Chris Offutt de alguna forma hereda y se hace responsable de la obra de su padre, 800 kgs de una obra pornográfica y de ciencia ficción además de cartas y ensayos, porque a eso es a lo que se había estado dedicando Andrew Offutt durante décadas, a escribir porno como un poseso, con la colaboración de su sumisa esposa que la ayudaba a mecanografiar sus escritos. En un hogar donde el padre estaba prácticamente desaparecido recluido en su despacho escribiendo, un lugar sagrado al que nadie se le estaba permitido entrar, Chris Offut y sus tres hermanos aprendieron todo un código de conducta para no molestarle, motivo por el cual, Chris Offutt se liberaba deambulando por los bosques de Kentucky. Durante estas memorias hay momentos a flor de piel cuando el autor cuenta escenas familiares, en un hogar donde sus padres estaban prácticamente ausentes y él como mayor de sus hermanos ya había adquirido la responsabilidad de tener que cuidarles durante largas temporadas en las que sus padres asistían a Convenciones.
“Para ahorrar dinero mis padres dejaron de contratar a gente que se quedara con nosotros. A los doce años me dejaban al mando cada vez que iban a congresos. Mi hermano tenía nueve años, y mis hermanas, ocho y siete. Las instrucciones eran sencillas: dar de comer al perro, no correr dentro de casa y sobre todo, no decir a nadie que mamá y papá no estaban. Por la noche, preparaba la cena y acostaba a mis hermanos asegurándoles que todo iba bien. Cuando se quedaban dormidos, me sentaba a solas en la casa y me inquietaba. Tenía miedo de que mis padres no regresaran nunca. Me preocupaba como ibamos a conseguir comida y que sucedería si la electricidad se iba durante una tormenta. Me asustaba perder a mis hermanos, ser incapaz de cuidar de ellos.”
Chris Offut imagino que debía saber que para los lectores iba a ser difícil empatizar con Andrew Offutt, no solo por su personalidad egocéntrica y cruel en muchos aspectos, y porque se hacía patente que en sus escritos las mujeres no salían muy bien paradas, y sin embargo, se las arregla de maravilla para entenderle en la medida de sus posibilidades y para que el lector no acabara odiando al pornógrafo, todo lo contrario. El retrato que hace el hijo de su padre, ambos escritores, con todo lo que esto conlleva, convierten estas memorias en algo mucho más complejo de lo que parece a simple vista porque a través de su padre, es hoy Chris Offutt quién es. Andrew Offutt fue una personalidad muy compleja y sin embargo, su hijo consigue que podamos acercarnos a él y respetarle. Maravilla. La traducción es de Ce Santiago.
"A pesar de mi repulsión, sentía una compasión horrorizada por cualquiera que viviera con semejante imaginería como actividad diaria. Que se tratara de mi propio padre lo empeoraba. No coleccionaba aquellos libros: los hacía. Allí estaba el libro que llevaba dentro a todas horas, lleno de dolor y sufrimiento. Yo no tenía ni idea de lo desgraciado que había sido en realidad."
https://kansasbooks.blogspot.com/2022/03/mi-padre-el-pornografo-de-chris-offutt.html
Cuando comencé estas memorias nunca pensé que me fueran a emocionar, divertir y sorprenderme tanto algunos momentos que nos describe y presenta Chris Offutt porque no solo nos habla de su padre y de la relación que tuvo con él, conflictiva, de continuo tira y afloja, sino que además estas memorias son una oportunidad perfecta para que el autor, su hijo, se desnudara emocionalmente en muchos aspectos y se enfrentara a esos demonios que llevaba toda una vida intentando expulsar: en Mi Padre El Pornógrafo, no solo conoceremos a Andrew Offutt, sino que también llegaremos a conocer más a Chris Offutt.
"La mayoría de los estadounidenses se criaban en ciudades y suburbios, y le tenían miedo al bosque. Las películas de terror explotaban ese miedo: una persona sola en el bosque, los sonidos de animales nocturnos que no se conocen, el simple pánico a perderse de noche. Mi infancia fue todo lo contrario. La casa me daba miedo, pero el bosque era una fuente de soledad y paz. Vagando por el bosque a solas, aprendí a ver..."
Cuando su padre muere, Chris Offutt de alguna forma hereda y se hace responsable de la obra de su padre, 800 kgs de una obra pornográfica y de ciencia ficción además de cartas y ensayos, porque a eso es a lo que se había estado dedicando Andrew Offutt durante décadas, a escribir porno como un poseso, con la colaboración de su sumisa esposa que la ayudaba a mecanografiar sus escritos. En un hogar donde el padre estaba prácticamente desaparecido recluido en su despacho escribiendo, un lugar sagrado al que nadie se le estaba permitido entrar, Chris Offut y sus tres hermanos aprendieron todo un código de conducta para no molestarle, motivo por el cual, Chris Offutt se liberaba deambulando por los bosques de Kentucky. Durante estas memorias hay momentos a flor de piel cuando el autor cuenta escenas familiares, en un hogar donde sus padres estaban prácticamente ausentes y él como mayor de sus hermanos ya había adquirido la responsabilidad de tener que cuidarles durante largas temporadas en las que sus padres asistían a Convenciones.
“Para ahorrar dinero mis padres dejaron de contratar a gente que se quedara con nosotros. A los doce años me dejaban al mando cada vez que iban a congresos. Mi hermano tenía nueve años, y mis hermanas, ocho y siete. Las instrucciones eran sencillas: dar de comer al perro, no correr dentro de casa y sobre todo, no decir a nadie que mamá y papá no estaban. Por la noche, preparaba la cena y acostaba a mis hermanos asegurándoles que todo iba bien. Cuando se quedaban dormidos, me sentaba a solas en la casa y me inquietaba. Tenía miedo de que mis padres no regresaran nunca. Me preocupaba como ibamos a conseguir comida y que sucedería si la electricidad se iba durante una tormenta. Me asustaba perder a mis hermanos, ser incapaz de cuidar de ellos.”
Chris Offut imagino que debía saber que para los lectores iba a ser difícil empatizar con Andrew Offutt, no solo por su personalidad egocéntrica y cruel en muchos aspectos, y porque se hacía patente que en sus escritos las mujeres no salían muy bien paradas, y sin embargo, se las arregla de maravilla para entenderle en la medida de sus posibilidades y para que el lector no acabara odiando al pornógrafo, todo lo contrario. El retrato que hace el hijo de su padre, ambos escritores, con todo lo que esto conlleva, convierten estas memorias en algo mucho más complejo de lo que parece a simple vista porque a través de su padre, es hoy Chris Offutt quién es. Andrew Offutt fue una personalidad muy compleja y sin embargo, su hijo consigue que podamos acercarnos a él y respetarle. Maravilla. La traducción es de Ce Santiago.
"A pesar de mi repulsión, sentía una compasión horrorizada por cualquiera que viviera con semejante imaginería como actividad diaria. Que se tratara de mi propio padre lo empeoraba. No coleccionaba aquellos libros: los hacía. Allí estaba el libro que llevaba dentro a todas horas, lleno de dolor y sufrimiento. Yo no tenía ni idea de lo desgraciado que había sido en realidad."
https://kansasbooks.blogspot.com/2022/03/mi-padre-el-pornografo-de-chris-offutt.html
an_enthusiastic_reader's review against another edition
3.0
Chris Offutt's father was a tyrant. This memoir is about Andrew Offutt with his obsessive need to control his environment, his wife, his kids. His writing (porn, sci-fi, and fantasy) come before everyone, no matter how much neglect is heaped upon his family. When Andrew dies and Chris is left to deal with almost-one ton of archives, he is affected by his memories, his shames, and especially his real love for his dad. This is a complicated relationship, the pure focus of the book. It's telling that Chris does not name his siblings or wife or children--they remain ciphers; instead, the full aim of the narrative is the ever-unresolved father/son conundrum.
tpanik's review against another edition
4.0
If The Glass Castle (Walls) and The Tender Bar (Moehringer) had a baby, it would be this book. Offutt's isolation, as both a child and an adult, saturates these pages. You can tell, as you read, that each word took EFFORT to summon, to process, to frame-- and still there are things, perhaps intentionally, perhaps subconsciously, left unsaid. He tells us just enough, making this a worthy addition to the memoir genre.
(Note: If you're reading this book for salacious chapters of pornography, you will be disappointed. It is a memoir first and foremost, about the impact of an ill suited parent. Offutt's dad could have had any profession and still been a failure as a father).
(Note: If you're reading this book for salacious chapters of pornography, you will be disappointed. It is a memoir first and foremost, about the impact of an ill suited parent. Offutt's dad could have had any profession and still been a failure as a father).