When I was a little kid, I used to secretly think my dad was a spy. He tromped off every morning with a silver lunch pail for a place called work. It didn’t take me long to realize, my dad was just a working Joe trying to earn a living and support his ever growing family. Ian Morgan Cron’s title grabbed me right away.There are some memoirs that read like school book reports and are as dull and as 25 year old house paint, and then there are refreshing, literary chronicles like Cron’s. Imagine if Lee Child wrote a memoir with the bold-faced honesty of Marr Carr. His unique metaphors will be stolen by writers for years to come. He writes about his infatuation with the rituals of the Catholic Church so vividly, I could smell the incense, see the stained glass and feel my knees hurting.
He writes about the anguish of enduring his father’s alcoholism with biting clarity that will sear your eyes. Ian’s brilliant account is both tragic and insightful. A must-read for anyone trying to walk the razor-thin edge of faith and fate.
Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher through the Amazon Vine
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