The gay son of a conservative and fervently evangelical mother in West Virginia lays bare an existence where "mothers told their sons that there were certain lines that could not be crossed" in No Son of Mine. After his mother's death, Jonathan Corcoran asks what a fair recounting of a relationship filled with as much damage as love looks like, expressing the dissonance of being both beloved and repeatedly rejected by his mother. Corcoran's mother first uttered the word "gay" during a conversation that occurred early in his relationship with his now-husband, Sam, asking a question she'd steadfastly avoided, then immediately disowned Corcoran once he confirmed his identity. Though some readers may interpret Corcoran's admission that "she always came back, and I always relented" as some universal truth about how disagreements can't keep families apart, Corcoran is braver and more honest than that. He acknowledges what his mother gave him but holds her accountable for what she took, continuously recasting their relationship in the light of the life he built, an effort that shouldn't have had to be as difficult as it was.
This memoir feels intentionally unresolved; rather than attempting a complete linear narrative, it's a snippet from Corcoran's life, written from a singular point in time. He looks back at the past while struggling forward with what he has to offer to himself, to Appalachia, to his mother's memory, and to the world. In accessible and painfully lovely prose, Corcoran wrestles with the truth and fallibility of memory. Although his scars move with him from place to place, he recognizes that he also carries the love and support that has allowed him to survive. --Kristen Coates, editor and freelance reviewer