sjj169's review against another edition
4.0
This type of book is quickly becoming one of my favorite "genres" to read. Dark, gritty fiction that will either make you think twice about your fellow man or stick your head in that oven. I have an electric oven so that rules that out for me. So I'm just gonna keep on reading em.
This book starts with Patterson going over to a friend's house to go fishing. When he goes to the bathroom he realizes that his good buddy Chase has his wife "hog-tied" in the bathroom. Well, she did piss him off. Patterson steps up and unties and frees said wife...and our story begins.
This book touches on fathers and sons. You have Henry-off the grid type fellow who is estranged from his son Junior. Junior is a tweaker of the degree to which I have no clue how this fucker even speaks or manages to get out of bed. He does that much cocaine and drinking.
Then you have Patterson. He lost his son to death at a early age and releases some of that grief by writing letters to his son.
Once Patterson meets up with Junior I liked him less than I thought I would. Something about that poor guy though kept me turning the pages. My copy of this book was majorly jacked up. Spaces between words and weird symbols for the "th" words. I kept reading it though because it was just that good.
Sometimes I think Henry and Brother Joe have it exactly backward. The question isn't how to live off the grid, it's how to remain tied to it. Most of what you think is your life can be ruptured in an instant. If you don't believe me, ask any prison inmate. Maybe the real question isn't how to make the world forget you, maybe it's how to make it recognize you. Even your parenthood, your right to your own children, can be stripped from you at the whim of a bureaucrat.
Drugs don't pay.
I received an ARC copy of this book from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.
This book starts with Patterson going over to a friend's house to go fishing. When he goes to the bathroom he realizes that his good buddy Chase has his wife "hog-tied" in the bathroom. Well, she did piss him off. Patterson steps up and unties and frees said wife...and our story begins.
This book touches on fathers and sons. You have Henry-off the grid type fellow who is estranged from his son Junior. Junior is a tweaker of the degree to which I have no clue how this fucker even speaks or manages to get out of bed. He does that much cocaine and drinking.
Then you have Patterson. He lost his son to death at a early age and releases some of that grief by writing letters to his son.
Once Patterson meets up with Junior I liked him less than I thought I would. Something about that poor guy though kept me turning the pages. My copy of this book was majorly jacked up. Spaces between words and weird symbols for the "th" words. I kept reading it though because it was just that good.
Sometimes I think Henry and Brother Joe have it exactly backward. The question isn't how to live off the grid, it's how to remain tied to it. Most of what you think is your life can be ruptured in an instant. If you don't believe me, ask any prison inmate. Maybe the real question isn't how to make the world forget you, maybe it's how to make it recognize you. Even your parenthood, your right to your own children, can be stripped from you at the whim of a bureaucrat.
Drugs don't pay.
I received an ARC copy of this book from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.
screamdogreads's review against another edition
4.0
Cry Father is a story of fathers and sons. It's also a story of brutal and unflinching violence fueled by substance abuse. This book sits more towards the extreme end of grit-lit, it's full of bloodshed, bleak situations, death and casual racism. While this makes it a book that won't be for everyone, it's certainly a worthwhile read if you like reading about messed up people doing messed up things.
Whitmer's writing is stunning here. There are these moments of quietness, of actual loveliness, where our main character writes letters to his dead son. These parts break up the unapologetic violence, making those scenes even more powerful. There's a certain... Something about a book like this. It's a special experience, it's a painful, gut-wrenching feeling that makes your heart sink every time you pick it up.
"We're all everything we've lost. Just as my fuckups as a father came, in part, from losses before you. Nothing ends, nothing heals."
Whitmer's writing is stunning here. There are these moments of quietness, of actual loveliness, where our main character writes letters to his dead son. These parts break up the unapologetic violence, making those scenes even more powerful. There's a certain... Something about a book like this. It's a special experience, it's a painful, gut-wrenching feeling that makes your heart sink every time you pick it up.
"We're all everything we've lost. Just as my fuckups as a father came, in part, from losses before you. Nothing ends, nothing heals."
bmgoodyear's review
4.0
My rating: 3.5 of 5 stars
“It’s been a hell of a summer for your drinking.”
“It’s been a hell of a summer,” he says, without looking at Patterson.
Patterson Wells is a tree trimmer in disaster zones and is returning home from a job when he stops off to see his friend Chase. He finds Chase “working on a heap of crystal meth the size of his shrunken head.” He also finds a woman hogtied in the bathtub. He sets her free and leaves Chase to work on his heap of meth but this single incident sets in motion a string of violent events that will leave a horrible and indelible mark on his life.
‘I still feel like I’m telling you stories, like it’s the only thing between you being here and not being here. That’s something I have to hold on to, you being here. If I don’t tell you these stories, I got nothing. if I stop, you’re gone.’
Wells has become a man without a purpose, ambling through life, after the death of his son. In order to ease the pain of his absence he writes in a journal, pretending that he’s telling these stories to his son. These stories succeed in also providing Patterson’s back story and the sequence of events that brought him to this point in his life. When the writing doesn’t quite work to put him at ease he reaches for the bottle which happens more often than not. Not being comfortable with his solidarity, he becomes friends with a drug runner by the name of Junior that gets him far more trouble than he could have ever guessed. What proceeds is extreme gratuitous violence all conducted through the haze of massive amounts of drugs and alcohol.
‘The thought that he’ll probably end up facing a murder charge if he is pulled over does occur to him, but there’s no stopping it. Turns out there’s no better medicine for heartache than surviving a murder attempt and stealing a car.’
If you’re able to see past the violence (serious, there’s a shit ton of it, including animal violence for those that like to be warned) and not let it blur your vision, you’ll find there’s a captivating and well-written story of a man without anything to live for buried beneath it all. This is one for all southern gothic/country noir fans; fans of Donald Ray Pollock, Cormac McCarthy and Daniel Woodrell.
I received this book free from Edelweiss in exchange for an honest review. This does not affect my opinion of the book or the content of my review.
“It’s been a hell of a summer for your drinking.”
“It’s been a hell of a summer,” he says, without looking at Patterson.
Patterson Wells is a tree trimmer in disaster zones and is returning home from a job when he stops off to see his friend Chase. He finds Chase “working on a heap of crystal meth the size of his shrunken head.” He also finds a woman hogtied in the bathtub. He sets her free and leaves Chase to work on his heap of meth but this single incident sets in motion a string of violent events that will leave a horrible and indelible mark on his life.
‘I still feel like I’m telling you stories, like it’s the only thing between you being here and not being here. That’s something I have to hold on to, you being here. If I don’t tell you these stories, I got nothing. if I stop, you’re gone.’
Wells has become a man without a purpose, ambling through life, after the death of his son. In order to ease the pain of his absence he writes in a journal, pretending that he’s telling these stories to his son. These stories succeed in also providing Patterson’s back story and the sequence of events that brought him to this point in his life. When the writing doesn’t quite work to put him at ease he reaches for the bottle which happens more often than not. Not being comfortable with his solidarity, he becomes friends with a drug runner by the name of Junior that gets him far more trouble than he could have ever guessed. What proceeds is extreme gratuitous violence all conducted through the haze of massive amounts of drugs and alcohol.
‘The thought that he’ll probably end up facing a murder charge if he is pulled over does occur to him, but there’s no stopping it. Turns out there’s no better medicine for heartache than surviving a murder attempt and stealing a car.’
If you’re able to see past the violence (serious, there’s a shit ton of it, including animal violence for those that like to be warned) and not let it blur your vision, you’ll find there’s a captivating and well-written story of a man without anything to live for buried beneath it all. This is one for all southern gothic/country noir fans; fans of Donald Ray Pollock, Cormac McCarthy and Daniel Woodrell.
I received this book free from Edelweiss in exchange for an honest review. This does not affect my opinion of the book or the content of my review.
alexcarbonneau's review against another edition
4.0
First of all, this novel ain't for the faint of heart. It is pure grit, violence, and anti every clichés you can think of.
The author made damn sure to strip his novel bare of any polished stuff, pre-chewed setups and threw every Big5 publisher molds in a pit, spit on 'em and set fire to the whole damn thing.
Let me be crystal clear. Benjamin Whitmer writes to another level of grit. There's grit, and there's Ben-Whitmer-Grit, with a freaking huge Capital G.
I first heard of Whitmer with an essay he wrote that David Joy shared on social media. An essay about unlikable/unlovable characters. Cry father helped me put some meat on the whole concept. It also helps the belief that I have that not anyone can write Grit like Whitmer and Joy do. You can spot a fake wannabe a thousand miles from here, someone who just wants to add fucks and meth and damn and coke and whiskey to his/her word count and therefore creates a very cliché canvas. Ben Whitmer sure ain't one of those. To paraphrase a review I read about another book recently, he belongs at a table where few gets to sit. Cormac, Woodrell, Joy, Ron Rash, William Gay, Pollock and Larry Brown.
Will wait impatiently for the next one, and in the meantime, Pike is at arm length.
The author made damn sure to strip his novel bare of any polished stuff, pre-chewed setups and threw every Big5 publisher molds in a pit, spit on 'em and set fire to the whole damn thing.
Let me be crystal clear. Benjamin Whitmer writes to another level of grit. There's grit, and there's Ben-Whitmer-Grit, with a freaking huge Capital G.
I first heard of Whitmer with an essay he wrote that David Joy shared on social media. An essay about unlikable/unlovable characters. Cry father helped me put some meat on the whole concept. It also helps the belief that I have that not anyone can write Grit like Whitmer and Joy do. You can spot a fake wannabe a thousand miles from here, someone who just wants to add fucks and meth and damn and coke and whiskey to his/her word count and therefore creates a very cliché canvas. Ben Whitmer sure ain't one of those. To paraphrase a review I read about another book recently, he belongs at a table where few gets to sit. Cormac, Woodrell, Joy, Ron Rash, William Gay, Pollock and Larry Brown.
Will wait impatiently for the next one, and in the meantime, Pike is at arm length.
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