Synopsis From Dust Jacket:Jonah Keller moves to New York City with dreams of becoming a successful playwright, but for the time being he lives in a rundown sublet in Bushwick, working extra hours at a restaurant only to barely make rent. When he stumbles upon a photo of Richard Shriver—the glamorous Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright and quite possibly the stepping-stone to the fame he craves—Jonah orchestrates their meeting. The two begin a hungry, passionate affair.
When summer arrives, Richard invites his young lover for a spell at his sprawling estate in the Hamptons. A tall iron fence surrounds the compound where Richard and a few of his close artist friends entertain, have lavish dinners, and—Jonah can't help but notice—employ a waitstaff of young, attractive gay men, many of whom sport ugly bruises. Soon, Jonah is cast out of Richard's good graces and a sinister underlay begins to emerge. As a series of transgressions lead inexorably to a violent climax, Jonah hurtles toward a decisive revenge that will shape the rest of his life.
This was not an easy book for me to read, nor is it going to be an easy review to write. Before I start sharing my thoughts on Yes, Daddy by Jonathan Parks-Ramage, I want to lead off with some of my own background to give you an idea of why this book was such a hard one to get through — though I’m so damn glad I did. I’m saying all this because I’m going to talk about subjects that aren’t always easy to read or listen to, so I want to give you an out before continuing. I’ll just be hitting the highlights of my past as they pertain to this book, but there will be no graphic descriptions. If you want to skip that part and go straight to my thoughts on the book, feel free to start after the first three paragraphs.
When I was in Head Start, I had a babysitter who molested me and some of the other kids in her care. The rest of my childhood went like this: a woman tried to get me into her car; a man followed me into a public restroom and tried to get me to open the stall door; an old man I’d just met started rubbing my shoulders and back; a couple who befriended me kept talking about taking me to California to “make a lot of money”; and a boy my age kept trying to pull down my pants for months because he thought I was stuffing them. All of that happened before high school.
As an adult, I lived through two rapes — both by the same man, a few years apart. Later, an ex-boyfriend began dating my rapist and called me a liar when I told him why their relationship hurt me so much. I’ve had my drink spiked twice. I’ve had my butt and crotch grabbed more times than I can count — by both men and far too many women. I’ve been made to feel like all I was worth was what was between my legs. I’ve been given nicknames that referred only to my anatomy, and because I’m a man, I was expected to be flattered by it. I laughed along and let it happen, all while my self-esteem sank lower and lower. I’ve been stalked, choked, and hit. I’ve pretended it didn’t matter — that the harm didn’t last — but it did.
I tell people I’ve been single and celibate for almost two decades now by choice, and for the most part, that’s true. Mostly, it’s because I haven’t put myself out there or met anyone who made me want to change that. But the truth is, I also don’t fully trust myself to make the right decisions when it comes to men. I’ve accepted things I never should have, all because I needed to feel like I was worth something.
I knew going into Yes, Daddy that it would be a difficult read — that it would stir memories and emotions I’ve mostly dealt with but will never completely escape. I don’t remember how I first heard about it, but I do remember reading reviews and realizing that, painful or not, I needed to read this book. I won’t say it was a transformative or cathartic experience, but it did help me process some of the lingering guilt I still carry.
I don't think it's possible to put into words how this book made me feel. I had to put it down for days at a time before I was emotionally ready to pick it back up. The fact that a book so beautifully written can capture such horrific trauma, guilt, and survival is beyond me. The author’s command of language is a true pleasure to experience, and I hope he continues to write.
Jonah, like too many of us, grew up in a world that devalues his life simply because he’s a gay man. He was raised to believe that who he is makes him an abomination, that he has no value to society — and though he survived his childhood, the emotional scars remain. Unfortunately, those scars leave him vulnerable to manipulation by a man who knows exactly how to push the right buttons to trap him in a situation with no easy escape.
Because of the way Jonah sees himself, he falls for Richard’s charm, words, and gifts. He believes the promises, even when they’re never kept. He ignores the warning signs because he wants to believe this older, powerful man truly cares for him. When you’re starved for affection and validation, you’ll do whatever it takes to maintain the illusion — even when it’s falling apart.
I’m not going to go into what Jonah endures; right now, I don’t have the mental strength to put myself back in those pages. Instead, I want to focus on Jonah’s strength — the way he ultimately finds the courage to break free from his abusers. It’s not easy; it’s messy and painful. But he gets out. And by the end of the book, there’s the beginning of something like peace, thanks in large part to finally receiving the love and acceptance of his father — a need that, I think, drove many of his earlier choices.
Jonah, even at his lowest, is a character I absolutely love and relate to in ways I’ve never experienced with another character. I admire him deeply for seizing back his power and beginning to build a healthier life. He’s not perfect — none of us are — but pointing out his flaws here would feel too much like victim-blaming, which I find abhorrent, especially having experienced it myself.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to read this book again, but it’s one that will remain on my shelves for the rest of my life. It’s a story that demanded to be read, and I’m glad I listened. This book means more to me than I can ever truly express. I think anyone who has lived through abuse will find something in Jonah’s journey that resonates — something that might help them feel seen, or a little less alone. While this is a story told through a gay lens, and there are dynamics unique to our community, I don’t think you need to be a gay man to connect with Jonah’s pain or his strength. Yes, Daddy is a book for anyone willing to sit with the rawness of survival and the possibility of healing.
