What do you do when you're the son of one of the most hated men of the 20th Century? This is the dilemma facing Craig McNamara, son of "the architect of the Vietnam War," Robert McNamara.
So far, this memoir is a bit less than satisfying. You see, McNamara made it a point to separate his family life from his professional life. Over and over Craig says "I don't know what my father was feeling," and "if it bothered him, we never discussed it." Craig spent his childhood in boarding schools for the rich, only seeing his parents on holidays. He was not only not close to his father, it seems he knew him even less than the rest of us because the family studiously avoided discussing "his work."
McNamara was an evil fuck precisely because he knew, early in the War, that the war was unwinnable. He knew he was sending innocent draftees to senseless deaths for no reason. He was a monster of the first tier, and never paid any price for his crimes against humanity.
His son's attempts to come to grips with his father's legacy is heartbreaking, but (at least so far) unsatisfying.