2 of 2 people found the following review helpful
on October 13, 1999
Written in the early 70's Mike McGrady's year as a househusband is a hoot. The emerging feminist movement and the confusion that reigned as people scrambled to make sense of the new roles for women and men is delightfully detailed in this loving and honest memoir. If anyone has questions about the way things were before fast tracking, dual income families, and the Internet should try and find this book.
I really enjoyed The Kitchen Sink Papers. It wasn't a big book, yet I dined on it all week. It's been a long time coming across a read as humorous; a read that has helped me finally identify to a sobering default what separates writers from those who've written a book. Writers (like McGrady) can spin a tying shoelace diary into a laced up boot page-turner. He hit all the corners assessing marriage, raising and feeding a family, and not least of all, what it means to work inside the home.
My favorite spots. Him assessing the costs of that hospital stay. A riot. Or was that a ride? The dinner parties and exchanges between guests inquiring about `what he was up to'. The bit on Claudia's visit...now that was just too beautiful of a treat, as well as all the lessons he learned, and parallels concocted revaluing the duties of a homemaker. But where I laughed the hardest, to the point where I thought I'd never stop laughing, and that was him drawing out the laundry detail and that one `red plaid hunting shirt'.
The Kitchen Sink Papers really is a slipping off a bar stool finger lickin' tool.