I recently wrote a review of Heart of Darkness in which I remarked on how tricky it is to rate classics. Rating memoirs is even more difficult. How are you supposed to evaluate someone’s lived experience when you’ve only encountered it secondhand? 

 

I may have been a bit harsh on Conrad, who obviously wrote Marlow with his experiences in the Belgian Congo in mind, but this memoir feels much more intimate and recent. Because, well, it is. 

 

To begin, I believe that all men should read this book. It's a text that we all can learn from, but the lessons it offers about masculinity and manhood aren’t the typical hustle culture or bro-like nonsense. J.R. struggles with loss, heartbreak, fear, and shame—and learns how to address those challenges as a fully formed adult, rather than an underdeveloped peddler of alpha mindsets. J.R.’s fear of success and his tendency to hold himself back from moving forward is something I can relate to personally—not to mention his experiences with romantic love. 

 

Thematically, a passion for words and writing is woven throughout the book. Expression is key. The dialogue moves seamlessly from discussing Socrates, Shakespeare, and Fitzgerald to crass barfly speak, beautifully illustrating that language is an egalitarian endeavor. It doesn’t belong to one class or educated group; it’s the great unifier. 

 

Overall, the pacing feels a bit fast, with a resolution that comes abruptly—but perhaps that’s the point. This isn’t supposed to leave the reader feeling warm and happy. It’s meant to instill a sense of resolve—to face fears and keep moving forward. 

 

A wonderful book, a challenging read, and ultimately, a look in the mirror.