Leave out the tragic parts A grandfather's search for a boy lost to addiction

The birth of twin grandsons stirred Kindred's resolve to be an attentive presence in their lives. For a time, it was so, until the twins' parents moved far away. They later divorced acrimoniously and split up the boys. Adolescent drinking exacerbated Jared and Jacob's problems. Jared took off after high school, shunning society's expectations and trappings. Hitching rides on carrier trains, he became "Goblin" and found a community of others like him with names like Stray, Booze Cop, and Aggro. Most days, Goblin drank half-gallons of vodka. Although the family knew that Jared's drinking was out of control, they knew little of his life as a "road dog." After his death, Kindred found some of Jared's friends and pieced together the trajectory of his grandson's life. This is less a memoir than a remembrance told, in part, by those who loved and knew Goblin. Kindred (Sound and Fury), an award-winning sportswriter, departs from his métier, giving readers a clear-eyed and honest account of Jared's choices. Along the way, the author asks hard questions of himself, too. For those affected by family addiction, this might be a welcome read--or it might be too much. Powerful and deeply affecting.

A veteran sportswriter explores his grandson's addiction and how he became "one of those wanderers whose lives are a mystery and a bafflement, an undoable jigsaw puzzle." This is a love letter of sorts, from a grandfather whose work made him a Hall of Fame sportswriter to a grandson who rode trains to a form of freedom until he couldn't ride anymore. Kindred had a soft spot for Jared since his birth, and he watched him grow up as a sensitive kid from a broken home. As he got older, Jared became "Goblin," free-spirited train-hopper who made a life riding the rails, "flying sign" (holding up a cardboard sign asking for money), and abusing alcohol and drugs. Kindred writes with an impressive combination of journalistic detachment and grandfatherly love. He shows genuine curiosity about the ways of the hobo code and growing alarm at the hell through which Jared put his body as his trips to the hospital became more frequent. It's clear the author wanted to help, but he also wanted to understand, partly because that's what his training taught him but mostly because of his genuine love for Jared. Like Kindred, readers may want to reach through the page and tell Jared that he's heading to an early grave, and they will also be fascinated by Jared's viewpoints on various locales--e.g., "New Orleans is heaven for travelin' kids. It's practically illegal to be sober on the city streets, and diners at fancy restaurants hand out their white-box leftovers." Kindred also gets introspective as he traces multiple generations of men in the family, from the author's father, a stoic veteran who died young; to Jared's dad, Jeff, who faced his own pressures as a parent; to Jared, at home only when he's crisscrossing the land in boxcars. The book mostly leaves out the tragic parts, and the author doesn't sugarcoat the protagonist's tale. Kindred approaches a difficult story with love and curiosity rather than sentimentality. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.