Author Pat Conroy’s first work of fiction, the
thinly-disguised autobiography The Great
Santini (1976), solidified his place as a writer of Southern literature.
Briefly, this novel tells the story of a young man growing up with an abusive
Marine fighter pilot father, an undereducated mother from a poor southern
background, and six younger siblings whom he sought to protect from their
father’s wrath. The story so parallels Conroy’s life that it might have
included the old Dragnet disclaimer: “The story … is true. Only the names have
been changed.”
In The Death of
Santini, Conroy brings a sort of closure to the story of his relationship
with his father, Don. From a perspective of 30+ years after the first Santini
book, Conroy chronicles life in this incredibly dysfunctional family, laying
open wounds that have scarred the family forever. Most enlightening for me were
two parts of the story. First, the role that love continued to play in a family
that had every right to hate. Conroy could have turned his back on his father
and left him to spend his retirement and last years alone. Instead, he tells of
having morning coffee every day with his father, during which they sparred
verbally over their past transgressions. It was a form of blood-letting that
helped mend their relationship, to the point that Don regularly joined his son
at book-signings.
The second is Conroy’s startling realization that inside him
lurks the same Santini beast, and it is not far from the surface. He came to
acknowledge his violent nature and struggled, sometimes unsuccessfully, to
control it.
The Death of Santini
hit the shelves more than 15 years after the passing of the real Santini, Don
Conroy. Some wounds take a long time to heal.
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