Emma Cline’s second book tackles the complexity of fatherhood and the harm it can leave behind
Daddy by Emma Cline is a collection of short stories from the author of The Girls, Cline’s debut novel. The Girls won the Shirley Jackson Award in 2016 and received exceptional praise from the New York Times for its disquieting prose and darkly seductive insight into a cult reminiscent of the Manson Family. The stories from Daddy aren’t linked together through their narratives, but through the themes of vacant fathers, abusive fathers, and troubled men and women who’ve caused harm to their loved ones or themselves. Most intriguing, Cline doesn’t award any of her characters with a redemption narrative, just a space carved for their abysmal hopes and longings.
In “What Can You Do with a General,” a father bemoans his unappreciative adult children during a Christmas family visit, hinting that they’ve never quite forgiven him for his past abusive transgressions. “A/S/L” features a drug addict who sought companionship in online chatrooms, posing as both a child victim and a pedophile by sending photos of her nude body under the ruse that she was underaged. “Marion” seems to be a precursor for The Girls, a careful toe in the water of the destructive and enchanting nature of female friendships, which Cline seems inclined to visit in her storytelling.
Each story offers insight into a compelling situation of despair and self-destruction, where the character scuttles through the refuse of their rock bottom. Regretfully, each story hinges on the character’s refusal to grow, appreciate anyone around them, or step free of the wallowing pity that now disconnects them from everyone else. Cline pridefully resists direct “telling” in her prose, preferring instead to immerse the reader in unique metaphors and intimate, third-person narration. While it can be fascinating to read a story where the main character lacks insight into their faults and where their ego is so fragile that they cannot confront their wrong-doings directly, by the end of the collection, the constant recycling of this formula weighs the reader down. None of the stories feel resolved, just a blip into a moment of someone else who fades away as soon as you start onto the next one.
At times, the stories centre around abuse or sexual crimes, but Cline’s writing doesn’t come outright and say what has taken place. The #MeToo movement is never directly mentioned, but the stories peter out in the backdrop of unconfirmed but alluded to sexual assaults. Fathers and father stand-ins who have gaslit wives, children, and even employees who’ve relied on them for safety and mentorship are now cut off from their victims and forced to confront the ugliness seeded in the aftermath of loneliness. However, Cline is too fair to keep all of her female characters boxed, little victims, incapable of bad choice or poor consequence. They get to relish in their badness too, although their intrigue is more satisfying for a reader than the male protagonists wind up being. While the male protagonists (featured in six out of the 10 stories) show a disconnect from remorse, the exploration of female victimhood and self-sabotage in the four female protagonists is where Cline’s characterization truly shines.
Daddy may not be for everyone: the stories end abruptly at times and never fully delve into the characters’ seedy pasts; the only thing a reader is ever certain of is that some havoc cannot be unwreaked, and some loss cannot be restored. Cline’s work doesn’t spoon-feed meaning or resolution the way some might prefer, but the stories succeed in making a lasting impression, leaving readers wondering what happens in the fallout of great pain and scandals.
