Nonfiction | May 10, 2012
My Father’s Women
When I drove my sisters back to town from the lawyer’s three days after our father’s death, it took a while for us to arrive at the subject of his women. The lawyer had given us a rundown on the will—no surprises, 20 percent to each of us, a little more to his final companion and a little less to his two stepdaughters from his second marriage. We knew that his estate, which included a parking lot in a commercial district in Tokyo as well as a summer house near Mount Fuji, was considerable. Yet none of us had any idea where the right documents were, and for some time our conversation shuttled from where to look for them to what kind of service to hold to how to clear the house of its clutter to when to see the body and how best to lay it to rest.
This essay is not currently available online.
If you are a student, faculty member, or staff member at an institution whose library subscribes to Project Muse, you can read this piece and the full archives of the Missouri Review for free. Check this list to see if your library is a Project Muse subscriber.
Want to read more?Subscribe Today
SEE THE ISSUE
Oct 30 2018
Afternoon with a Corpse
I skimmed the first two paragraphs of the fine print, then skipped the rest to sign at the bottom. The contract got me a membership in the gym and a
Oct 30 2018
You instantly wake. Sit up in immediate terror to a tiny swirling couple in spectator brogues kicking the inside walls of your heart to a frantic big-band beat that undeniably
Jul 24 2018
The Loneliest Moon
One of the most pernicious stages of insomnia is when it becomes an opponent. You want to outfox, outflank, outsmart it (lots of adversarial synonyms go through your head at