It’s entirely possible I’m not the right reader for *Old White Man Writing*, and I’d like readers of this review to be completely aware of this.

Truthfully, my feelings about this book vacillated as I was reading it. Joshua Gidding self-describes as a “liberal Democrat, who shares, if he cannot fully embrace, some progressive positions.” Right at the start he explains that he’s written the book because he resents the idea that no one wants anymore to hear from someone like him—a privileged white male, that “the day of the straight white male writer, and a fortiori the old straight white male writer, is over.” Because he leads with this, I’m like, fair enough; let’s hear what you have to say. And a lot of what Gidding has to say is from plumbing the depths of his conscience for things that betray his self-identification as a progressive—namely, some quite frankly racist incidents over the course of his life.

This isn’t a bad thing really, to tell readers about these incidents. Like he says, there must be a place for that kind of thing. What really made this tiresome reading for me was that he wasn’t telling it all straight. See, Gidding has an alter ego, Joßche, who interrupts every recollection, and that endlessly. It’s fine that Joßche does this to challenge Gidding to tell a more whole truth, but the degree to which he interjects convinces me to how large a degree Gidding was uncomfortable with exposing himself. And while it’s interesting to have the author be unreliable where Joßche is his truth-telling conscience, I got exasperated at how much Joßche *had* to interrupt. Did Gidding even really want to tell us these stories? Why write the book if the shame was so strong? Would therapy not have been easier? And why should we, the readers, be in the position of confessor? (Particularly irritating as a Black reader, I must say.)

The blurb describes this as an “entertaining, literary, and subversive memoir.” Is this a literary memoir? Yes, it is, and not just because Gidding frequently calls upon his beloved classics for support. Is it subversive? Not really; it’s just an old white guy trying to be. Is it entertaining? Well, yes, if you can skim past all of the annoying interjections from Joßche (which I did, because I had to, to finish the book).

Would I recommend *Old White Man Writing*? Difficult. I gained some insight into some of the things that shaped a man from this culture and generation in that part of the world. Gidding helped me understand some of the reasons he did the (racist) things he did, even if I can’t find it in me to excuse them. I can even extend some empathy towards him for recognising things as racist where others would just excuse them as human or just thoughtless. But… This is a book that really hasn’t added anything to my reading experience, where it might for others.

Thanks to Mascot Books and NetGalley for DRC access.

A good memoir is about the writer, but it also keeps its reader firmly in mind and offers universal takeaways. Gidding's premise that nobody wants to hear from old white men is objectively not accurate - white men still hold most of the power. I chose this book, expecting him to interrogate that premise and come out the other side with new perspective about how he can grow and participate in the world (and especially the literary world, as that is one of his key concerns). Gidding brings up a number of topics, including implicit bias and failure, that give him the opportunity to show us how old white men can contribute to the conversation. Instead, we get an old white man who leans into being an old white man with old white man excuses. A missed opportunity for both Gidding and his reader!

I had high hopes for this book, but unfortunately, it didn’t live up to my expectations. The themes of implicit bias and grief are undeniably important and relevant, and I appreciate the author for starting an important conversation around them. However, the book’s execution left much to be desired. I had a hard time connecting with the characters, who felt flat and one-dimensional. They didn’t engage me emotionally, and their actions often didn’t feel authentic. I found myself not really caring about their journeys, which made it difficult to stay invested in the story.

The writing style also made it challenging to fully immerse myself in the narrative. The inclusion of an “alter ego” voice, which I assume was meant to serve as commentary on the unreliable narrator, ended up feeling more distracting than insightful. It took me out of the story and made the flow of the book feel disjointed. I could understand the intent behind it, but it just didn’t work for me.

As I moved through the book, I found myself growing more frustrated. The middle section, where the exploration of loss and grief was supposed to hit its emotional peak, fell a bit flat. There were some moving moments, but it didn’t have the emotional weight I was hoping for. By the time I reached the conclusion, I was honestly ready to DNF. While the story touched on important topics, it didn’t dive deep enough or offer a strong enough resolution.

I wanted more from this book—more depth in the characters, more clarity in the writing, and more development of the themes it tried to explore. In the end, it felt like a missed opportunity to truly engage with the issues it raised. There were moments of potential, but they didn’t quite come together for me. That's why I'm giving it 1 ⭐.