Even before I opened The Dismal Science by Peter Mountford, I wanted to share it with my dad. The main character, Vincenzo, is an economist and vice president at the World Bank. My dad is a forest economist who’s worked for USAID and spoken at the UN. Kismet, right? As I delved deeper into Mountford’s wry humor and brilliantly aware look at the world of an economist, I got closer and closer to ordering a copy for my dad for Father’s Day. It reminded me so much of him and the things he’s taught me that wanted him to share this book with me.

And then I realized he already had.

Art Imitates Life

Because what I loved about the book, aside from the re-immersion into the world of economics (for a brief few years I thought I’d go into International Political Economics and work at the World Bank), was that I felt closer to my dad while reading it. Mountford’s portrayal of a man testing the boundaries of his career as he jumps into a midlife crisis felt very real and very personal. It brought back all kinds of memories of when my dad’s career took a sharp left turn. Vincenzo is sick of being told what to do by the administration so he pushes back and ends up jobless (despite several attempts by colleagues to get him to save himself). My dad pushed up against his own administrative constraints as he battled with an unreasonable dean and ended up an independent consultant (which is when the really interesting work began).

All the while Vincenzo is battling with his college-aged daughter over her vision of who he should be. My dad was battling with teenaged me (okay, I may have been battling with him) over, well, everything.

Flexibility of Thinking

“‘Any good economist knows how to read the data in a way to get a favorable result'” – Peter Mountford, The Dismal Science

Sometimes I think having a background in Economics is a curse. It’s also a crazy blessing. What my dad taught me is that economists have this amazing ability to pull back and view the entire world as a game with rational actors behaving in their own best interests. If the game pieces (people) aren’t behaving the way you think they should, then the model is wrong and you go and reassess your parameters. This flexibility of thought is the most amazing resource for a writer and I think Mountford (whose father is also an economist) must have benefited from the same education because there’s an openness about this book and the possible results that arrange themselves in front of Vincenzo.

But the thing is that Economics is also the opposite of Creative Writing in a lot of ways. It’s creative all right (see openness of possible results), but the best books create a sense of deep empathy that’s missing from the (dismal) science of behavior. I’m not saying empathy is missing in economists, but I do think that for men like Vincenzo and my dad, operating at the level of the intellect in ignorance of their sweet hearts is what causes their breaks.

You see, my dad the academic is probably also the biggest softie on the inside that I’ve ever met. But something about the combination of the generation he was born into (men will be Men) and life with his father made my dad think he needed to hide all those feelings. (It’s actually a family thing my cousin was just in town and the phrase she used most often was “have FEELINGS about” which is the perfect way of showing exactly where my generation of McKettas is in the struggle to integrate our intellects with our hearts as we earn more graduate degrees than I can count while learning that it’s okay to cry at least occasionally).

I don’t know if it’s Mountford’s wonderful sense of empathy or his clean reportage that let me get so deep into Vincenzo’s crisis, but The Dismal Science is both deeply human and intellectual in the most wonderful ways.

Breaking to Build

“When Leonora called fifteen minutes later, she was rapturous, beginning: ‘Oh my fucking God, Dad, what did you do?!’ He hadn’t heard her sound so pleased with him in years. In fact, he couldn’t remember a time that she’d sounded so pleased with him.” – Peter Mountford

Vincenzo’s break may in part be caused by seeing for a moment his life through the eyes of his daughter, Leonora as she asks him how he’d feel if she protested in front of his office. I don’t know if daughters really have that kind of power, but I think we do, and I’ve often felt like my dad’s touchstone. After Vincenzo goes off the deep end, he meets up with Leonora again for another check-in, he realizes how much she admires this new turn he’s taken.

I don’t know that my dad has ever had that aha! moment where he gets insight into how much I admire him. Our nonfiction relationship is more complicated. We commiserated once about an Econ professor we’d both had, but I don’t think I ever told him I considered going into IPE. And when he’s shared his deepest feelings with me, I’ve probably been in reactive “Let me be a kid” mode. But I know where my dad comes from and as much as I brag about his forays into the Khyber Pass with USAID, his visits to Afghanistan and the Philippines, or his testimony before Congress, what I am most proud of are the moments where he lets the world see his incredibly caring heart. It takes a lot of work to break out from our collective McKetta Intellectual Shield and share your FEELINGS. It’s messy and it hurts (and sometimes feels like you’re inside Garden State). Worst of all, it’s imperfect.

Screw that. BEST of all it’s imperfect. Because it’s human. Because it’s the closest any of us can be to Baba–my grandmother who we all deified because she was kind, gentle, and caring–the woman who we knew we didn’t have the courage to be.

The Art of Imperfection

I’ve had a very imperfect year. I’ve been really busy with a lot of important things. I’ve made new connections and leveled up on the career ladder (in more than one career path). But I’ve neglected the people who make me feel human. And although I wanted desperately to send my dad a copy of this book, I was worried he’d see in that some sort of impugning of his human side. So instead I sent him nothing this Father’s Day–in a year when I think he could most use my admiration and love.

So here it is, Dad. This is your Father’s Day gift. I read a book that reminded me so much of you for exactly the opposite reasons you’d think. Instead of the “failure” you remember, it reminded me of your courage and your sweet heart. It reminded me that you are more Baba than you’ll ever know. It’s not an easy road, but it’s a rewarding one. And if you choose to continue following it, know that I’m looking up to you along the way.

What We Read into Books

There is so much more to The Dismal Science than Vincenzo’s career suicide and his relationship with his daughter. Some people might relate deeply to his relationship with Walter or the ebb and flow of his libido. You might rejoice in his willingness to throw politics aside and end up embroiled in new politics in a third world country. The art of what Mountford has done with this book is to create one gorgeous story with multiple entry points. You can see how it sucked me in. I’ll be interested to see how it reads from your point of view.

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