My Losing Season
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Product Description
In 1954, in Orlando, Florida, nine-year-ancient Pat Conroy learned the game of basketball. Orlando was another new hometown for a military kid who had spent his life transferring from one home to another; he was yet again among strangers, still looking for his first Florida friends, but when the ‘new kid’ got his hands on the ball near the foul line of that unfamiliar court, the course of his life changed dramatically. From that moment until he was twenty-one, the future leader defined himself through the game of basketball. In “My Losing Season”, Conroy takes the reader through his last year playing basketball, as point guard and captain of The Citadel Bulldogs, flashing back constantly to the drama of his coming of age, presenting all the conflict and like that have been at the core of his novels. He vividly re-makes his senior year at that now-legendary military college in Charleston, South Carolina, but also tells the tale of his heartbreaking childhood and of the wonderful series of events that conspired to rescue his spirit. With poignancy and humour Conroy reveals the inspirations behind his unforgettable characters, pinpoints the emotions that shaped his own character as a young boy, and ultimately recaptures his passage from athlete to writer.
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The review of My Losing Season in the New York Times Book Review gets this book absolutely right. That is, the book is just unadorned dreadful.
Reader’s Rating: 1 / 5
If you like to read page after page of dribble, dribble, shoot, then you will like this book. If you are not interested in the details of basketball, then you better save your money. Pat Conroy has run out of steam and needs to place the theme of his father and basketball to rest. He has gone from an brilliant writer to a sell-out looking to make a quick dollar on a book that could have been written on a piece of toilet paper. Sorry, but the facts are the facts.
Reader’s Rating: 1 / 5
chens and kwan, do not even reflect about reading it!
laaaaaaaaaaate
Reader’s Rating: 1 / 5
books made into movies. He doesn’t like his coach. But, his coach seems to be a excellent guy who is dealing with a bunch of spoiled brats and Pat Conroy seems the most spoiled of all. I agree with the reviewer who said he won’t read anymore Pat Conroy books. His themes are permanently the same and they are all self-pitying. He’s become a one trick pony and I’m tired of the trick. Read his two first books and skip the rest.
Reader’s Rating: 1 / 5
This is a very disturbing book. Conroy has already told some of these tales through his fiction, but here the varnish has been removed, and we see the vicious cruelty of his demeaning father, his dishonest and petty coach, and his malicious college, The Citadel. Conroy tells these tales convincingly and describes the results of this cruelty on him and his siblings, teammates, and fellow cadets as “ruined” lives. Remarkably, he says that he “likes” his father, his coach, and his school and seems to judge that their viciousness somehow strengthened persons they affected.
On one level, this can be read as an extraordinarily forgiving. On another, it can be seen as yet another effect of the cruelty, that even after all these years, Conroy continues to want to be accepted and esteemed by his tormentors. Where it gets particularly twisted, but, is in his conclusions about the Vietnam war. Although he acknowledges that the United States was incorrect to be involved there, he considers the American participants as “heroic.” He especially esteems a ex- teammate whose plane crashed and who was marched many miles to a prison camp; the real heroes, whose actions he describes but rumor has it that does not see, are the man’s Vietnamese captors, who nurse back to health the man who had been trying to kill them and then protect him against the citizenry that wants to kill him. Is it more heroic to save one’s one life or the life of an enemy?
Conroy is rightly horrified by an anti-war speaker’s recommendation that American soldiers in Vietnam should kill their officers, but he expresses no similar horror for their killing of the Vietnamese soldiers, guerrillas, and civilians. Despite the fact that he believes the United States had no business there, Conroy writes that “I wish that I had entered into the Marine Corps and led a platoon of Marines in Vietnam. I want to reflect I would have trained my Marines well and that the Vietcong would have had their hands full if they entered a firefight with my men.” So Conroy wants to exorcize his personal demons, inflicted upon him by brutal military men and institutions, by killing people who do not deserve it.
Like Conroy, I have stood at the Vietnam Memorial and wept. I have seen in the polished stone of that wall my reflection interrupted by the names carved in the wall and recognizable the metaphor; I am incomplete because of these deaths. But I had another result as well: I wondered why the wall isn’t several times longer so that it can also contain the names of the Vietnamese dead, persons men, women, and children who were killed in our names and whose loss also diminishes us.
Conroy has no distress acknowledging the humanity of his opponents on the basketball court. Why is it so tough for him to honor and respect the Vietnamese?
Reader’s Rating: 2 / 5