When you read a short description of Steven Rowley’s book, The Guncle, you might be forgiven for thinking you’ve read this book, or a version of this book before. It appears to fit into the category of “(Nicer) Scrooge Story Without the Ghosts and the Christmas Trappings”, where the main character is a seeming curmudgeon or difficult person who is redeemed and revealed to be a much better person by reason of encountering another family or children and spending time with them. There’s nothing wrong with this category; Frederik Backman has done very well by playing with it for years. It’s just that The Guncle isn’t one of those books, not by a long shot.
Upon the death of his sister in law and his brother’s going into rehab for a drug addiction, Patrick, a gay former situation comedy star who has been living in isolation in Palm Springs, is induced to take on his brother’s two children, Maisie and Grant, while their father is in rehab. Sounds like the trope, doesn’t it? And while it is a heartwarming story of family, and dealing with grief, it transcends the stereotype mostly because of the kind of character Patrick is.
To put it simply, he’s wonderful. As a patron said when I asked her about the book (before I read it myself), “He’s the guncle we all wish we had.” He doesn’t start out the book as seemingly misanthropic or difficult; he’s clearly different from the norm, but he’s charming and funny and you find it difficult to imagine that someone like Patrick has actually isolated himself (though there are reasons, and you learn them over time).
His first reaction, when his brother asks him to take the kids, is to refuse, loudly and clearly. He’s not interested in children, not even his niece and nephew, and he believes he has no idea how to take care of them or how to deal with their grief at their mother’s death. In fact, the impetus for his changing his mind and taking the kids is the intervention of his bossy sister, Clara, who announces that it’s ridiculous for someone like Patrick to look after these children when she has great amounts of experience, having parented her stepchildren. It’s so perfect that Patrick would get his back up and decide to take the responsibility just because his sister gets on his nerves; anyone who has adult siblings can relate.
And, despite his lack of experience with children in general and with these kids in particular, Patrick does an excellent job of taking care of Maisie and Grant. He makes mistakes, of course, but the kids are generally willing to cut him a break or two, and an uncle who lets them wear what they like, who swims with them in his pool every day and takes them frequently to the dinosaur park, not to mention making Christmas in the summer, even exchanging presents with them and putting up a pink Christmas tree, is worth cultivating, especially since they don’t have a lot of alternatives at this stage of their lives.
They’re grieving and so is Patrick. Patrick was friends with their mother, Sara, before she ever met and married Patrick’s brother, and he is as heartbroken by her death as the kids are, as his brother is. He’s also carrying the grief from the death, years before, of the man he loved, Joe (who sounds, from Patrick’s memories, like a great person). That loss largely drove Patrick out of Hollywood, out of the industry, and into relative isolation. Patrick has little experience dealing with grief, and a great deal of experience avoiding dealing with it, but somehow he manages to find ways to reach Maisie and Grant, even when they’re behaving their worst, and the three of them begin to heal together.
Of course Patrick, and his relationship with Grant and Maisie, is the heart of the book, and I would probably read anything in which he was a main character, but I would be remiss if I didn’t mention some of the other delightful and well realized characters populating the book. Clara, the sister, is almost a stereotype, playing the part of the person who tries to take the children away from Patrick (this is not the main plot, in case you’re worried about cliches), but even she turns into a full-fledged person and not a cartoon villain. Patrick’s delightful neighbors, JED (what Patrick calls a “throuple”, a threesome of gay men who live together), his new agent, whom he keeps referring to by the names of various mountains (her real name is Cassie Everest — this is Patrick’s sense of humor), and Emory, Patrick’s new friend (who might turn into more) are fun every time we encounter them.
Yes, it’s a heartwarming book in which all the characters get a chance to change and grow, but don’t worry — there’s nothing saccharine about it, because there is no way in this world that Patrick would ever allow a book starring him to be anything saccharine. If you’re in the mood for a fun read with lovable characters and great heart, definitely check out The Guncle.