Dead Assholes

The complexity of the story of Fun Home makes it relateable to many people who might not have the same experiences, but it also makes it extremely sad.

Alison seems to be grasping at straws to understand her father better. It's true that people are complex and multifaceted and imperfect, and it's also true that she seems at least a little bit aware of her biases (e.g. calling herself out on lack of outrage with father's underage sexual relations). However, the entire structure of the book reveals her to be extremely lost.

She tries to explain her father's death as a suicide in a convoluted attempt at connection. This example itself is sad to me, because it references a lifetime of neglect and apathy, yet the author meets it with hope and delusional trust. I see this with my close relationships as well. I think it's natural and loyal to try to have more grace and faith in those who matter to you even if some of their actions are surprising and questionable. That said, if you need to hope your parents killed themselves for you to make you believe they cared about you at all, chances are they didn't care all that much. 

Even one of their primary connections, literature/reading, was sullied by her father. She explains it a little more sympathetically than I would. Throughout the interactions about readings, Alison's father is condescending, pushy, and overall living vicariously through her education as some sort of weird egotistical validation. I could relate this to my own experiences in the past, where it felt like the "help" of family and friends was a convenient opportunity to simultaneously virtue signal and humble brag. In my mind, she's being used as prop for her dad's self indulgent demonstrations.

There are many more places we could look to for similar messages (outfits, Alison coming out, the house, playing games, etc.) but the story reads like someone who is desperately trying to find meaning and connection in a place where it either doesn't exist, or exists in small enough quantities that it's not worth the heartbreak and effort. And that's a point I want to get at about this book's fundamental messaging.

Let us say that Alison is completely right. His father was a misunderstood soul, whose sexuality made him a victim of his time. He was a passionate intellectual who attempted to connect with his community in the medium he knew best. He was deeply troubled by his own flaws and sought help in the form of therapy. Yet even in this extremely ideal situation, I have a problem with Alison's readiness to welcome him back.

He a neglectful father who doesn't connect with his children until they are sentient enough to worship him and indulge his own interests. He obsesses over and controls every aspect of their house, but ignores the fact that this is a space for more than just him, and his family members are expected to help at the drop of a hat and ignore their own preferences. He has extramarital affairs with teenage boys. He had explosive anger that he took out on and around his wife and children. 

If this were true of anyone other than a close family member, most would immediately cut that person off. In our culture, though, there's a pressure to "be the bigger person" and forgive because "they're your family." I understand. People are more committed and forgiving if they care about someone. People process grief differently, and maybe reflection similar to Alison's is normal. However, I think this book is representative of and contributing to an overaraching theme about family and death. I have a problem with the aspect of our culture that focuses on regret after someone is dead, and then censors and glorifies them posthumously as some symbol of respect and formality. You can't speak ill of the dead, you line up to pay your respects and deliver your tearful eulogies (with the flaws politely omitted). You write books to delude yourself into believing your father was a better man than he was.

If an asshole dies, it doesn't make him a tragic misunderstood victim. It makes him a dead asshole.