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Little and Often

A Memoir

ebook
1 of 1 copy available
1 of 1 copy available

A USA TODAY BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR (★★★★)

"Little and Often is a beautiful memoir of grief, love, the shattered bond between a father and son, and the resurrection of a broken heart. Trent Preszler tells his story with the same level of art and craftsmanship that he brings to his boat making, and he reminds us of creativity's power to transform and heal our lives. This is a powerful and deeply moving book. I won't soon forget it." —Elizabeth Gilbert

Trent Preszler thought he was living the life he always wanted, with a job at a winery and a seaside Long Island home, when he was called back to the life he left behind. After years of estrangement, his cancer-stricken father had invited him to South Dakota for Thanksgiving. It would be the last time he saw his father alive.

Preszler's only inheritance was a beat-up wooden toolbox that had belonged to his father, who was a cattle rancher, rodeo champion, and Vietnam War Bronze Star Medal recipient. This family heirloom befuddled Preszler. He did not work with his hands—but maybe that was the point. In his grief, he wondered if there was still a way to understand his father, and with that came an epiphany: he would make something with his inheritance. Having no experience or training in woodcraft, driven only by blind will, he decided to build a wooden canoe, and he would aim to paddle it on the first anniversary of his father's death.

While Preszler taught himself how to use his father's tools, he confronted unexpected revelations about his father's secret history and his own struggle for self-respect. The grueling challenges of boatbuilding tested his limits, but the canoe became his sole consolation. Gradually, Preszler learned what working with his hands offered: a different per­spective on life, and the means to change it.

Little and Often is an unflinching account of bereavement and a stirring reflection on the complexities of inheritance. Between his past and his present, and between America's heartland and its coasts, Preszler shows how one can achieve reconciliation through the healing power of creativity.

"Insightful, lyrical...Little and Often proves to be a rich tale of self-discovery and reconciliation. Resonating with Robert Pirsig's classic Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, it is a profound father-and-son odyssey that discovers the importance of the beauty of imperfection and small triumphs that make extraordinary happen." —USA Today (★★★★)

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    • Library Journal

      March 1, 2021

      The most precious family heirlooms can be everyday items. For debut author Preszler, his father's battered toolbox, full of farming tools and other items, helped him make sense of their relationship. Preszler grew up in rural South Dakota, and his father was a rancher, former rodeo star, and Vietnam vet. The author writes with raw honesty about the closeness he shared with his father as a child, and how they became estranged over the years, moreseo after Preszler's college graduation. The author moved on to run a boutique winery on Long Island. His father battled cancer, probably brought on by Agent Orange exposure. Shortly before he died, he insisted that Preszler take his toolbox. Inspired to build a canoe by the first anniversary of his father's death, Preszler used many of the tools in the toolbox. Life lessons imparted by his father when they were close--an emotional toolbox of sorts--also sustained him during the painstaking work. Alternating details of canoe building with reflections on his past, Preszler finds solace in the art of woodworking. VERDICT A thoughtful and well-written memoir, this book will appeal to readers who have difficult relationships with family and those who find craftwork healing.--Laurie Unger Skinner, Highland Park P.L., IL

      Copyright 2021 Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.

    • Booklist

      March 1, 2021
      Preszler, the CEO of a New York state winery, grew up in South Dakota on a ranch he says was so remote that it was located farther away from a McDonald's than any other ranch in the country! Preszler reports that he had been estranged from his father for 14 years because he was gay when he received a call from his father asking him to come home for Thanksgiving. When he did, he found his father seriously ill with cancer, and, indeed, the man died only weeks later, leaving Preszler, as his legacy, his toolbox. Quixotically--and perhaps as a tribute to his father--Preszler decided to construct a canoe in his living room using his father's tools. The balance of the book charts the course of the construction, which Preszler is determined to complete by the anniversary of his father's death. His well-written story, which contains flashbacks to his youth, is low key but charming and not without some suspense (Will he finish in time?). Ultimately it's a tale as well crafted as the beautiful canoe.

      COPYRIGHT(2021) Booklist, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

    • Kirkus

      March 1, 2021
      A prodigal son's homecoming, just in the nick of time. Preszler left home on a South Dakota ranch as soon as he could, earning a doctorate in plant science and finding work as an oenologist in New York. Things come tumbling down quickly in this fine memoir. Summoned to his remote hometown--so remote, as measured by geographers, that it boasts the greatest distance from a McDonald's in the continental U.S.--to attend to a rough-edged father, a former rodeo star, who was dying of cancer, he found surprising moments of reconciliation. His father, to his astonishment, asked him about his boyfriend. "I was shocked," Preszler writes. "In my thirty-seven years, my father had never asked me about a relationship of any kind, with men or women, romantic or platonic." When the author expressed further shock at this gesture of sympathy, his father gently replied, "If my son is hurtin' I oughta know." After his father died, Preszler inherited a toolbox full of implements he didn't know how to use. Seeking simplicity, he emptied his house of all its "materialistic clutter." "The only things of sentimental value I saved," he writes, "were my father's toolbox, the taxidermied duck, and some old family photo albums." In the place of the former furnishings came sawhorses and piles of lumber. Working with each tool in its place and learning as he went along, he handcrafted a canoe. Childhood pains, the romantic heartbreaks of early adulthood, the devastation of forested places due to climate change: All come under scrutiny as Preszler movingly chronicles his single-minded pursuit to build something that "contained every scrap of love that I had ever lost or found." Thanks to his labors and self-education, the author not only found reconciliation with the past, but also emerged as a fine boatbuilder whose work is prized by collectors today. Woodworking meets bridge-building, and sorrow meets understanding in this impeccably written, loving memoir.

      COPYRIGHT(2021) Kirkus Reviews, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

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