We all know Catholic priests are supposed to be unmarried and celibate, no children. But as it turns out, there's a loophole; if a man is an ordained minister in another faith, and he's married with kids, and he decided to convert to Catholicism--he can become a priest, and stay married with kids.
That's gotta piss off a lot of Catholic-all-the-way priests.
Poet Patricia Lockwood is the daughter of this minority priest, and she has written a memoir about growing up in a Catholic priest's household. But this isn't just about the oddity of growing up as the priest's daughter, although for her, it was just what she knew; it's about her particular father, who's quite a character himself, prone to hanging around the house in his underwear, spending too much money on guitars, and having strong opinions about cats:
"My dad despises cats. He believes them to be Democrats. He considers them to be little mean hillary clintons covered all over with feminist legfur. Cats would have abortions, if given half a chance. Cats would have abortions for fun."
Depending on your sense of humor, that's pretty frickin' hilarious. And yes, it's exactly my kind of humor. I chuckled, chortled, guffawed many times while reading this book. Lockwood has a demented, sharp sense of humor, and she's not afraid to use it.
But she's also a gifted poet (whose poetry I am going to check out very soon), and she's not afraid to take risks. Chapter after chapter of hilarity, mostly focused on the time period when she and her husband moved in with her parents for financial reasons. So much fodder!
Yet halfway through, there's a sharp change in tone, as Lockwood describes her childhood yearning to be a talented musician, a singer, but knowing she doesn't have the skill; but her sister does. I admit one of the great disappointments in my life is not having the skill to be a real musician. I studied piano for many years and sang in the school choir growing up. I could carry a tune, but that was it, and I lacked sufficient prowess on the piano (not to mention a strong sense of rhythm) to succeed there. I've always wished it was otherwise, but if years of piano lessons with strong teachers and hours and hours of practice couldn't get me there, nothing would. So that chapter resonated almost painfully.
In the end, humor aside, Lockwood is also looking at family ties, and what makes a family work, even if it's a weird and somewhat dysfunctional family, and how her upbringing contributed to her own creativity and creative success. I've seen complaints that the book isn't linear enough, but I liked that aspect. If you're in the mood for a memoir that's both darkly humorous and luminously thoughtful, this is the one for you.