Death be not proud

I do love bummer books, but even I side-eyed myself for picking up a memoir by a man whose 17 year-old son died of brain cancer. This seemed to be a one-way ticket to tears. But once I started actually reading it, it became quickly clear I was unlikely to actually cry. It's a sad book, because any book about a teenage boy developing cancer and dying is going to be sad. But the way John Gunther writes isn't especially emotional. He was already a successful author, having written a travelogue about Europe and was working on another one about the United States. He and his wife Frances, a fellow journalist, brought up their son, Johnny, in privileged, educated circles in Europe and the northeast. Despite Gunther's origin in the Chicago area, this book feels very upper-crust New England-y. He speaks very little about his feelings or his fears as Johnny goes through periods of recovery and regression, but his pride in his son, both in his character and accomplishments, shines through brightly. Gunther paints a portrait of a thoughtful, high-spirited young man, whose incredible intelligence was matched only by his fierce determination to fight on for his future even as his health declined. It was obviously a work inspired by tremendous love and loss. But he never invites the reader in to his emotional landscape, so I never found it tugging my heartstrings until the end. Gunther concludes the book by sharing some letters and diary entries from Johnny both prior to and during his illness, and then Frances writes a few pages herself. I wish the whole book had been written by her. It was heart-felt and devastating. But with this book, one of the first grief memoirs, his parents created a testament to their son that will live in long after anyone who knew him, and that is a profound memorial in and of itself.