"Pops: Fatherhood in Pieces," by Michael Chabon

This post is for Father’s Day today. Happy Father’s Day, everyone who is a father, stepfather, grandfather, uncle, or in any way in a father-like role, and to those who love and are loved by them. I have a very good impression of the writer Michael Chabon, who lives in Berkeley and therefore seems like a kind of neighbor; although I haven’t met him (I once briefly met his wife, a well known writer herself – Ayelet Waldman), I have only heard good things about him. But the fact is that I haven’t read much of his fiction. It is work that I can see in the abstract is very good, but I just don’t relate to. Too male? Too magical/fantastical? I don’t know exactly why, but despite trying a few times, I just haven’t connected to his fiction. However, I do like his nonfiction, especially essays, when I occasionally run across them. I just finished his recent very short collection of essays, “Pops: Fatherhood in Pieces” (HarperCollins, 2018), and enjoyed it. The books starts with a compelling essay, “The Opposite of Writing,” which tells of the author's encounter, early on in his career, with a famous male writer (I wish I knew who!) who told Chabon that he would have to choose between writing and having children, and advised him not to have children. He said that each child would subtract a book from a writer’s lifetime production. This is quite interesting to me, because women writers and readers have discussed this topic -- whether one can be a writer and a mother -- for many, many years, but we usually hear that male writers who are fathers are able to take the time they need for their writing, mostly because they often have a wife or other partner or family member to do most of the childrearing and even to financially support the male writer, in many cases. I am a little torn about this discussion, as on the one hand I admire a male writer who grapples with these issues and doesn’t treat them as women’s issues only, but on the other hand I feel a bit like he is appropriating an issue that women writers have long discussed, and not acknowledging a kind of male privilege he has in the whole discussion. However, I have had the impression, even before reading this book, that Chabon is a dedicated and evolved father, so it is not surprising that he didn’t have to think long before deciding that he didn’t buy the older writer’s reasoning, and that even if he had, he would have chosen to have children. He went on to have four children and publish 14 books. He has some fun, in this essay, with speculating about whether, if he had not had his children, he would have published 18 books. Of the other essays in this collection, the most striking one is “Little Man,” about Chabon’s son Abe, who is fascinated, almost obsessed, with fashion, dresses with flair, and seems not to care that he is out of step with his middle school classmates. Chabon supports his son’s passion by accompanying him to Paris Men’s Fashion Week, where Abe feels he has found his people. The other essays are mostly about the author’s children and such topics as grappling with racism and with sexism. Chabon also writes about baseball and his mixed feelings about his son’s playing in Little League. The book ends with a touching essay on Chabon’s own father and their relationship.