This piece begs for cheap cracks about squealing like a pig, and idiot children.
In that regard it's hard to top the opening piece here.
The author's a pig and his article squeals like an idiot child.
Christopher Dickey's father wrote Deliverance.
... and the son wrote "Summer of Deliverance" about Daddy ...
Customer Reviews
"never meet the sons of your heroes", November 2, 2005
Reviewer: lightnin_hopkins (Birmingham, Al) - See all my reviews
I think Deliverance is an excellent book, and when I saw this memoir, I couldn't resist giving it the once-over. Much like James Dickey's poetry, which was both introspective and irreverent, this memoir is a mixed bag. Christopher entwines the more well-written of his father's poems with his own memories to create stirring, bittersweet passages. But while Summer of Deliverance begins promisingly, it gradually slips into a low, persistent hum of anger until even poignant recollections seem tedious and shallow. At forty-odd years, Christopher projects his insecurities and anger onto others. He longs to be the battered child he never was: James spoils his son in return for "molding his head," and when daddy's life grows too volatile, Christopher bails out.
The anecdotes about the making of Deliverance pick up the middle of the book. To my chagrin Christopher makes little mention of why Dickey was banned from the set, alluding to some clashes between the big "D" and Burt Reynolds. According to Christopher, James Dickey lost it when his artistic vision was compromised and distorted by Hollywood. Bite the hand that feeds you? Will do.
James Dickey is portrayed as so unwittingly cruel, and so consumed by a god-complex, the reader can't help but feel cheated by Christopher's emphasis on his halcyon days and his trivial upsets that all teenagers experience. These memoirs of the specious Dickey and his social-climbing son, no doubt meant to milk Christopher's association with his famous pop and the bestseller Deliverance (cough *title* cough), are okay. Some of the more revealing passages work, and some may find them memorable, but in the end C. Dickey just isn`t the storyteller D. Dickey was. If you are considering this book, try Philip Roth's Patrimony instead, a superior memoir with a humor and insight that this one can't match.