It seems like I’ve been talking about Alternadad forever. I’m a long time Neal Pollack fan from his McSweeney’s days. I read his blog daily. When the “hipster parenting” backlash followed shortly on the heels of his book, I was in Neal’s corner. Well, I finally got around to actually reading the book.

Alternadad Cover

I now feel qualified to comment on what this book is and what’s it not. It is a memoir of author’s Pollack’s decision to get married, have a child (Elijah), and what parenthood is like for a big-city-livin’ thirty-something new dad. Regardless of what has been suggested elsewhere, the book does not advocate using your kid to showcase how cool you are or suggest that bringing your kid to an indie rock concert is a good idea. (In fact, bringing his son to the Austin City Limits Festival is showcased as a singularly bad idea in the book.)

As I’ve detailed at length elsewhere on this blog, I’ve identified on a personal level to Pollack’s writing about family life. We both married in our thirties, we each had a child in our mid/late thirties, we like the music, we live in transitional neighborhoods in urban areas, … the list goes on. I think there are some universal experiences that come with that general background.

I’ve been a cheerleader for this book mostly because I was looking forward to someone telling “our” story. Lest you think that this review is going to be all rainbows and unicorns, I’ll point out that there were several points where I had to question whether we were actually on the same team, Pollack and I.

There are more than a few areas in the book where image does seem to be overly important. During birthing classes, Pollack stops wearing ironic t-shirts after the first few meetings because no one notices. There is a rant about NPR churning out over-ernest and “aware” chai latte drinkers. And then there was this passage about the inhabitants of the Hyde Park neighborhood in Austin, Tx - the neighborhood next to Pollack’s:

…they hadn’t sullied their souls by making money in bad ways. These were academics, environmental engineers, or, at worst, marketing consultants. They listened to Fresh Air and subscribed to The New Yorker. Well, so did I, but unlike me, they actually liked those things. It was very hard to have a conversation.

Um, I’m thousands of miles away from Austin, but that actually sounds just like my neighborhood. I like Fresh Air. I actually seek it out. I’m not a chai latte drinker (but Mrs. Cayenne is). Who cares? Wouldn’t “writer” be in that same list?
An especially large faux pas occurs when Pollack describes how amazing the punk band Gold Blade sounds by stating that it was “as though the Clash had stepped through a time portal, minus political pretension.” What do you do with that? The Clash are pretentious? I’m speechless. The music bona fides are in serious question here.

So yeah, I can see how Pollack could be off-putting to some. That said, Pollack is at his best when he tells emotionally challenging stories about his family that are somehow humorous at the same time. A highlight of the book is Chapter 7, which details “peenie-gate.” Peenie-gate pit Pollack’s non-Jewish wife against Pollack’s Jewish family and thousands of years of Jewish tradition over whether or not to circumcise his son. Everyone survives the ordeal. Other stand out vignettes: the challenges of finding a suitable pre-school, the balancing act of urban living, and the new hoops children add to marriage. As a special bonus: My favorite diaper rash ointment of all time, Boudreaux’s Butt Paste, is featured in a hilarious scene.

I had hopelessly high expectations for this book. Parts of it are genius, and parts are the mundane experiences that happen to everyone who has ever had a child. I’d recommend it if you fit the demographic. Don’t let the ring through the duck’s bill scare you off. Pollack is not a pierced and inked punk rocker, no matter how the marketing team tries to package it. He’s just a guy who loves his wife and son, and that comes through regardless of the posturing.