A series of stories about different fathers. A more positive reader would perhaps pick up on the children's ability to survive but I found the author's view, that non-abusive fathers are extremely rare, depressing, disturbing and repellent.
Age of childish games and childish terror. But time doesn't stop, it runs on. And games become part of life, terror a palpable net of fine filaments, spiders' webs, a shiny edifice of resentment. But to tell the truth it was not always resentment because sometimes he tried to love him. He would shuffle very slowly down the passage murmuring, He loves me, he loves me, he loves me; and arriving at the far end of the passage, as if the hypnotic power of repetition had finally brought illumination, he would conclude, Then I do too.