The Man Who Loved Children by Christina Stead

All the time I was reading this book I was as sick as a dog with the flu. I pretty much stayed in bed for six days--I would read a little, fall into a fever sleep, wake up and read, fall asleep again, and so on. Consequently, part of what I remember about the book may have been dreamed. It seems to me that the plot was surreal and dream-like, yet with characters so real that I longed to commit bodily harm upon their persons, to pinch and pummel them and slap their faces. I can't remember ever before having such a visceral response to a novel. I will certainly need to read this again at some time when my facilities are intact.

This is the story of a dysfunctional family with parents who hate each other with an unequaled passion. The father is one of the most unusual and uniquely drawn characters I have ever encountered. He is supremely and steadfastly self involved and self satisfied, fancying himself the perfect father, husband, employee, despite all evidence to the contrary. He habitually speaks to his children in a kind of baby-talk, humorous country-bumpkin language, which he obviously considers to be supremely clever and endearing. He speaks of himself in third-person, variously calling himself "poor little dad" and "Sam the Bold." The mother refuses to buy into Sam's fantasy of himself. She alternately refuses to speak directly to him or launches into hysterical tirades, aimed not only at her husband but also at her hapless children.

The story conclusion is perhaps inevitable, but it is also infuriating.

These characters seem at once so exaggerated and so real. The sad truth is that I know someone who could have served as a model for Sam--someone so completely self involved that he considers himself the perfect example of mankind; someone who habitually speaks of himself in the third person; someone who ignores actual facts when they conflict with his view of himself. In this man's case, the wife does buy into the whole illusion, so marital strife is absent. But the children have still suffered.

This is a pitiful review because it is too filled with my personal reflections. It is the best I can do right now.

This novel is included in the Time's Top 100.