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326 pages, Hardcover
First published May 25, 2021
What was the last day you were a child?
"...if you must know, I'm young in Palm Springs. Okay? This is the sad truth for gay men. Forty is ancient in Los Angeles, middle-aged in San Francisco, but young in Palm Springs. That's why I live there."Patrick's pragmatism and hilarity are what made this book special. At least for me. It dealt with a lot. Death of friend, death of a spouse, systemic homophobia but somehow Patrick came out of it laughing. A grieving widower who has just lost his best friend and the mother of his niblings, and months before the death of his--for all intents and purposes-- spouse. Patrick has high key Oscar Wilde energy, except wilder. He has an affinity for the bizarre, like a pink Christmas tree in the summer. But he is dichotomous, with a studied consideration of his surroundings that dares perilous fools to under-estimate him.
"You're forty three!" Maisie bellowed.
"Who are you, the DMV? Lower your voice."
"That's almost fifty!" Grant's eyes grew big.
Patrick took the jab, then closed his eyes and bit his lower lip; the observation was just shy of a hate crime. Do not punch a child, do not punch a child...
Patrick used to like having a sister... Clara was his playmate, she was older—she set the agenda. But she eventually moved on, wanted to do other things. As a teenager she liked reading and, it seemed, just about nothing else. She read a book by Alice Walker about female genital mutilation in Africa and refused to speak to a member of the opposite sex for a month. She read Simone de Beauvoir and fumed about the patriarchy to any male in earshot—even if he were four years her junior.The problem with Clara (and commodified white feminism) is that she never learns, she never listens. At one point Patrick informs her of her veiled homophobia after the death of Joe and she replies with the patriarchal classic hit, "If I said that, I'm sorry..." Patrick observes his sister with almost predatory precision. He infers the grief that is happening in her life that would cause her to threaten the stability of two mourning children whose father is absent for treatment. In the same breath, he threatens to bury her in litigation so deep she wouldn't see the light of day for years behind the paperwork. Patrick was a badass.
You don’t hear me, do you. Every conversation we’ve ever had, you don’t listen. Not really. You look at me. Your mouth stops moving. But the entire time, you’re just waiting until it’s your turn to talk again.And she. still. doesn't. listen.
Guncle Rule number one. Okay? If we must? Cameras are your enemy as much as they’re your friend. Scratch that. That’s Guncle Rule number two. Guncle Rule number one: Brunch is splendid.Almost his entire life is a portmanteau. He lives for brunch, lupper and haruths-- harsh truths.
You know the secret to staying young? Money. Guncle Rule number four. Not so you can carve up your face, mind you; don’t do that. But if you have money, you’re not stressed. Stress is what ages you. And winter and not getting out of your hometown. You guys really should be writing these down.But at the end of the day, this story is about Patrick finding his step. Reclaiming his life and LIVING. You can have all the money in the world and be a tragedy. A mere existence. Even when you have people who would give anything to make you happy.
Turns out it's painful to be loved. Intolerable even, at times.It took two precocious children whom Patrick relates with as equals for him to realise he's been running away. He's been hiding. Chester Bennington sings, It's easier to run; Replacing this pain with something numb; It's so much easier to go; Than face all this pain here all alone . Patrick comes to terms with his grief,
Pain doesn't lift until you feel it.You need to be present in your sadness. There's a quote by Ursula K Le Guin, All of us here are going to know grief; if we live fifty years, we’ll have known pain for fifty years… And yet, I wonder if it isn’t all a misunderstanding — this grasping after happiness, this fear of pain… If instead of fearing it and running from it, one could… get through it, go beyond it. There is something beyond it. It’s the self that suffers, and there’s a place where the self—ceases.
Guncle Rule sweet sixteen: I want you to really live. To live is the rarest of things. Most people merely exist.Oscar Wilde said it first, whom I'd like to believe is our greatest guncle who ever lived.
“Did you know snails can sleep for three years?”But it still took me the longest time to actually like Patrick's character, because he often came across as a superficial, pretentious, Hollywood queen, overflowing with decades of jaded cynicism.
“Did you know that forty percent of icebergs are penguin piss?”
Grant’s jaw dropped. “Is that true?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know?” He mussed Grant’s hair to make it look more stylish.
“Would you like a martini?”
“I’m six.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Why do you like boys?” Grant asked sourly, but with slightly more boredom than judgment.I really loved how helping the kids through the loss of their mother, and temporary absence of their father, also helped Patrick finally come to terms with the long ago loss of his own partner, Joe, which he hadn't forced himself to fully processes.
“I don’t know, why do you like pizza?”
“Because it tastes good in my mouth.”
Patrick wasn’t about to go anywhere near that.
“I'm sorry, I hate to be a pest,” Patrick started.
“Don't listen to him," Maisie interjected. “He loves to be a pest.”
Patrick kicked Maisie under the table, but he also couldn't help but be impressed. If he sent these kids back to Connecticut with enough snappy comebacks to populate a screwball comedy, the summer would not be a waste.