Nick Rips’s son had always known him as a conservative midwesterner, dedicated, affable, bland to the point of invisibility. Upon his father’s death, however, Michael Rips returned to his Omaha family home to discover a hidden portfolio of paintings — all done by his father, all of a naked black woman. So begins Michael Rips’s exquisitely humane second work of memoir, a gloriously funny yet deeply serious gem of a book that offers more than a little redemption in our cynical times.
Rips is a magical storyteller, with a keen eye for the absurd, even in a place like Omaha, which, like his father, is not what it &first appears to be. His solid Republican father, he discovers, had been raised in one of Omaha’s most famous brothels, had insisted on hiring a collection of social mis&fits to work in his eyeglass factory, and had once showed up in his son’s high school principal’s of&fice in pajamas. As Rips searches for the woman of the paintings, he meets, among others, an African American detective who swears by the clairvoyant powers of a Mind Machine, a homeless man with &five million dollars in the bank, an underwear auctioneer, and a &flying trapeze artist on her last sublime ride. Ultimately, Rips &finds the woman, a father he never knew, and a profound sense that all around us the miraculous permeates the everyday.
Nick Rips’s son had always known him as a conservative midwesterner, dedicated, affable, bland to the point of invisibility. Upon his father’s death, however, Michael Rips returned to his Omaha family home to discover a hidden portfolio of paintings — all done by his father, all of a naked black ...