
                         Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: SATURDAY, September 4, 1993                   TAG: 9309240362
SECTION: EXTRA                    PAGE: B12   EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: JOE KENNEDY STAFF WRITER
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Medium

'LETTERS' IS A TURNOFF

I picked up Kent Nerburn's book because I noticed it was praised in the Utne Reader, a magazine of reprints from the alternative press. I hoped it would be a warm, entertaining collection of wisdom-filled writings that might shed some light on another father's relationship with his son.

Instead, it is a solemn treatment of such weighty topics as ``Strength,'' ``Work,'' ``Possessions,'' ``Money and Wealth,'' ``Drugs and Alcohol,'' ``Women and Men'' and ``The Mystery of Sex.''

These are important subjects, and Nerburn says many valuable things, and even some original things, about them. But his manner is a turnoff. It's not paternal, it's pontifical. No boy of mine would last more than five minutes under these pronouncements, and few other boys would, either, I suspect.

Consider this chapter opening:

``Money rules our lives.

``You can say it doesn't. You can rail against it. You can claim to be above it or indifferent to it. You can do all the moral and intellectual gymnastics that you will. But when all is said and done, money is at the center of our very claim to existence.

``Yet money is not of central importance. It has nothing whatsoever to do with the lasting values that make life worth living.''

All true. But not very riveting, and far from charmingly stated. Maybe Nerburn, a sculptor, spends too much time alone in his studio. Maybe he is overly serious by nature. All I know is, more than once I wanted to say, ``Lighten up, will you? The kid's gonna have enough trouble without your raining on his parade.''

This is not a man's letters to his son, unless that son happens to be 35 years old.

Instead, these are letters to other middle-aged guys trying to figure out the mysteries of life after half a lifetime of living. They are Nerburn's letters to himself, an introspective, utterly humorless accounting of the conclusions he has reached.

Those conclusions are uniformly admirable, clearly transmitted and, I suppose, profound, if not new. I actually profited from his examination of money and wealth, and wished someone had explained them to me when I was, say, 16. But I wouldn't have listened then, just as most young people won't listen now.

Nerburn should know that readers don't want edicts, they want stories. They don't want ponderousness. They want warmth. A little self-deprecation, a bit of irreverence, and this book would feel a lot friendlier. In this form, it lacks humanity. A boy needs to know his old man is human.

``Letters to My Son''

By Kent Nerburn. New World Library. $14.95.

by CNB