Featherhood

It must be so hard to write a memoir: you need an interesting life story; sensitivity to those you’re writing about; and you need to connect to your reader. This reader, old and crotchety, found none of those in this book. I had hoped for more magpie; instead it was more (much more) about mental illness and generational trauma, but, see above. I was never able to relate to the narrator; instead I found myself wondering about his ability to connect with others. I could not understand the relationships.

Biggest and happiest takeaway: a newfound admiration and respect for David Gilmour, the author’s adopted father. Yes, that David Gilmour. I had never known anything about him as a person, only loved his music, and now, wow, what a beautiful patient giving human being he is (independently confirmed). For this reason alone I am glad to have finished: it lightens my heart to learn of kind decent people like that, particularly when they’re famous artists.