Dreamer's Daughter: Surviving My Childhood and Raising My Father
Autor Lori Thickeen Limba Engleză Paperback – 2 iul 2026
A daughter’s inspiring memoir of a childhood short on money, but rich in all the rest, and her eccentric and misguided father who fails spectacularly at everything—except being a loving parent.
In a mining town where hope is as tapped out as the gold, a mother abandons her two children, leaving them in the custody of their free-spirited father. Colorful and larger-than-life, Dacker Thicke is a dreamer whose schemes and small businesses never quite pan out. But he’s always chasing the next big thing.
When they lose everything in a house fire, Dacker considers this the ultimate freedom and leads his children on a cross-country road trip that will force them to rely on his wits and dubious judgment. Amid the chaos, Lori must raise herself and her younger brother—and, on occasion, her father. When she strives for independence, she discovers that it’s hard to leave home when home has wheels and keeps following you around.
A coming-of-age memoir, Dreamer’s Daughter is a life-affirming story about forgiving our parents—and ourselves. It’s a celebration of the love we find in even the most unconventional families, and how sometimes we need to leave home to find our way back.
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Specificații
ISBN-13: 9781668204498
ISBN-10: 1668204495
Pagini: 320
Ilustrații: 13 b&w photos t-o; rough front
Dimensiuni: 152 x 229 x 25 mm
Greutate: 0.33 kg
Editura: Simon&Schuster
Colecția Simon & Schuster
ISBN-10: 1668204495
Pagini: 320
Ilustrații: 13 b&w photos t-o; rough front
Dimensiuni: 152 x 229 x 25 mm
Greutate: 0.33 kg
Editura: Simon&Schuster
Colecția Simon & Schuster
Notă biografică
Lori Thicke is a Canadian author, entrepreneur, and philanthropist. She was born in Toronto and raised in a mining town in northern Canada. She earned an MFA in creative writing from the University of British Columbia where she was awarded the CBC Writing Prize for “exceptional promise”. She moved to Paris and founded the largest translation charity in the world.
Extras
ProloguePROLOGUE KIRKLAND LAKE, 1972
By the time we got home to our little farmhouse, the embers were cold, but the smell of smoke still hung heavy in the air. At fourteen, I was no stranger to loss and starting over—you could say it was my family’s normal. Pieces of our life were always dropping away, as if we’d forgotten them someplace. This time was different. Everything had been wiped out at once.
I felt a tug. My father was gathering me and my little brother into his burly, tattooed arms. The three of us were silent—a rare event. I stared at the pile of charred planks until I could make out the clump of metal that must have been our freezer, filled with butcher-paper packets of moose meat, and fish from Kenogami Lake. Beyond, my room with the princess bed was now all cinders and collapsed beams from the attic, where my father and brother used to sleep on mattresses on the floor.
“Maybe we took a wrong turn.” My nine-year-old brother’s voice ached with wanting—wanting to believe that our house was still standing down some other country road. Skinny but with chubby cheeks, he held on to our father like he would crawl inside him if he could. Being younger, he had it harder, but I didn’t try to make him feel any better. I had my own shit to worry about. Like guilt, because more than anything, I’d wanted to get the hell out of Kirkland Lake. My desire alone could have set that house on fire.
The whole place must have ignited as sparks to tinder. Like most homes in the North, it was made of wood; even the red bricks were papered on. We’d been down south when it happened, so the fire had burned undetected. Neighbors raised the alarm only when the flames climbed high enough above the scrub pines to lick the sky like Northern Lights.
Our farmhouse had already gone up in smoke by the time the town’s fire truck peeled out past the Mile o’ Gold.
Suddenly, I heard a crackle. Brad and I jumped back as something settled in the remains of our kitchen. Just the week before, a long wooden table had been right there, its vinyl tablecloth partly melted where someone—probably me—had left a hot pot. Now it was all gone—along with a pile of letters, and one large brown envelope from the insurance company, stamped in red: FINAL NOTICE.
Remind me to pay that, won’t you, Lor?
I hadn’t reminded him.
“Dad, the fire insurance!” I said, like we still had time to pay it.
I watched the realization dawn across his face: No insurance. No nothing.
My father surveyed the pile of rubble and ash that used to be our home and then turned back to us with a bright look in his eyes. He stretched his arms out, thrusting them skyward.
“Well, kids,” he said, “now we’re free!”
Brad and I exchanged a look of panic. Where our father saw free, we saw homeless.
“Come on. Don’t wear that face.” My father poked me with his elbow. “We still have each other. We only lost stuff.”
“But it was our stuff!”
Brad grabbed hold of our father’s hand. I didn’t. I was damned if I was going to admit to needing anyone. I crossed my arms over my chest, resentment growing with every breath of that scorched air.
“So, where are we supposed to live now?”
“Anywhere we want.”
“Sure, Dad.” It seemed so simple, if you could just forget the part about our family having no money.
Behind us, the engine of our Volkswagen van was clinking as it cooled down. My father cocked his head in the direction of the sound.
“Lucky we still have our clothes, eh?”
“Yeah, Dad, so lucky.”
He raised his eyebrows at me.
Our things in the van’s back seat were all we had left now; the clothes we’d gone away with, plus some of my books, my brother’s chessboard, and my father’s war medals, saved only by being mixed in with my jewelry. I wished I’d thought to pack my grandfather’s poems. But how could I have known that our house would burn down?
My father shook his thick finger at me. “You worry too much.”
“Well, you worry too little.”
“Dad, Dad!” Brad, his long hair falling over one freckled cheek, was tugging urgently on our father’s sleeve.
“What is it, son?”
“If we don’t live here anymore, how will Mom find us?”
By the time we got home to our little farmhouse, the embers were cold, but the smell of smoke still hung heavy in the air. At fourteen, I was no stranger to loss and starting over—you could say it was my family’s normal. Pieces of our life were always dropping away, as if we’d forgotten them someplace. This time was different. Everything had been wiped out at once.
I felt a tug. My father was gathering me and my little brother into his burly, tattooed arms. The three of us were silent—a rare event. I stared at the pile of charred planks until I could make out the clump of metal that must have been our freezer, filled with butcher-paper packets of moose meat, and fish from Kenogami Lake. Beyond, my room with the princess bed was now all cinders and collapsed beams from the attic, where my father and brother used to sleep on mattresses on the floor.
“Maybe we took a wrong turn.” My nine-year-old brother’s voice ached with wanting—wanting to believe that our house was still standing down some other country road. Skinny but with chubby cheeks, he held on to our father like he would crawl inside him if he could. Being younger, he had it harder, but I didn’t try to make him feel any better. I had my own shit to worry about. Like guilt, because more than anything, I’d wanted to get the hell out of Kirkland Lake. My desire alone could have set that house on fire.
The whole place must have ignited as sparks to tinder. Like most homes in the North, it was made of wood; even the red bricks were papered on. We’d been down south when it happened, so the fire had burned undetected. Neighbors raised the alarm only when the flames climbed high enough above the scrub pines to lick the sky like Northern Lights.
Our farmhouse had already gone up in smoke by the time the town’s fire truck peeled out past the Mile o’ Gold.
Suddenly, I heard a crackle. Brad and I jumped back as something settled in the remains of our kitchen. Just the week before, a long wooden table had been right there, its vinyl tablecloth partly melted where someone—probably me—had left a hot pot. Now it was all gone—along with a pile of letters, and one large brown envelope from the insurance company, stamped in red: FINAL NOTICE.
Remind me to pay that, won’t you, Lor?
I hadn’t reminded him.
“Dad, the fire insurance!” I said, like we still had time to pay it.
I watched the realization dawn across his face: No insurance. No nothing.
My father surveyed the pile of rubble and ash that used to be our home and then turned back to us with a bright look in his eyes. He stretched his arms out, thrusting them skyward.
“Well, kids,” he said, “now we’re free!”
Brad and I exchanged a look of panic. Where our father saw free, we saw homeless.
“Come on. Don’t wear that face.” My father poked me with his elbow. “We still have each other. We only lost stuff.”
“But it was our stuff!”
Brad grabbed hold of our father’s hand. I didn’t. I was damned if I was going to admit to needing anyone. I crossed my arms over my chest, resentment growing with every breath of that scorched air.
“So, where are we supposed to live now?”
“Anywhere we want.”
“Sure, Dad.” It seemed so simple, if you could just forget the part about our family having no money.
Behind us, the engine of our Volkswagen van was clinking as it cooled down. My father cocked his head in the direction of the sound.
“Lucky we still have our clothes, eh?”
“Yeah, Dad, so lucky.”
He raised his eyebrows at me.
Our things in the van’s back seat were all we had left now; the clothes we’d gone away with, plus some of my books, my brother’s chessboard, and my father’s war medals, saved only by being mixed in with my jewelry. I wished I’d thought to pack my grandfather’s poems. But how could I have known that our house would burn down?
My father shook his thick finger at me. “You worry too much.”
“Well, you worry too little.”
“Dad, Dad!” Brad, his long hair falling over one freckled cheek, was tugging urgently on our father’s sleeve.
“What is it, son?”
“If we don’t live here anymore, how will Mom find us?”
Recenzii
“Reminiscent of Jeannette Wall's The Glass Castle, Thicke's memoir of growing up with an absent mother and a father whose promises of better days never materialize is heartbreaking but beautifully told with humour and love.”
— PAULINE DAKIN, bestselling author of Run, Hide, Repeat
“An unforgettable memoir about love, loss, resilience. . . and chasing rainbows to the end of the TransCanada Highway. From a peripatetic father who taught her to dream big and bounce back no matter what, Lori inherited a rich vein of stories, and she’s mined it for pure gold—just what her father always hoped to find. I loved it!”
— PLUM JOHNSON, bestselling author of The Trouble with Fairy Tales
“It’s funny and sad in equal measure, but above all, it’s loving.”
— CEA SUNRISE PERSON, bestselling author of North of Normal
“The best memoir I’ve read this year! This book brims with hope and heart.”
— JANET SKESLIEN CHARLES, #1 bestselling author of The Paris Library
“Captivating and beautifully written, Dreamer’s Daughter invokes the bittersweet drama of being raised by a loving father who was always willing to stake his family’s future on the next big idea. Lori Thicke grew up fast and took notes. If you loved The Glass Castle, you need to read this book.”
— JESSICA WAITE, bestselling author of The Widow’s Guide to Dead Bastards
“Memoirs are at their best when real life defies belief. Lori Thicke’s story of raising her dangerously optimistic father begins with the family house burning down - which would be too perfect a metaphor for a novel. Heart-breaking, hilarious, and beautifully written.”
— MARK LEIREN-YOUNG, winner of the Leacock Medal for Never Shoot a Stampede Queen
“An exquisitely written, thoroughly engrossing coming-of-age memoir. Dacker Thicke, sweet-natured schemer, takes his place in literature’s pantheon of impossible parents. By turns heart-wrenching and hilarious, Dreamer’s Daughter is a powerful exploration of class, gender roles and the ageless obsession with striking it rich.”
— JAKE LAMAR, award-winning author of Bourgeois Blues and Viper’s Dream
“With clarity and grace, Lori Thicke traces the aftershocks of a father’s love - intense, unstable, and never safe - as she gathers the scattered pieces of a life built, burned, and rebuilt again. A voice you won’t forget and a story you’ll carry with you.”
— LESLIE BRADFORD-SCOTT, author of The Liar’s Playbook
“One of the most beautiful portraits of love I’ve ever read, about a man who gave his daughter everything he had: his flaws, his mistakes, and his dreams. Lori Thicke writes with truth and grace and immense empathy. Her story went straight to my heart and made me call my own father.”
— YARA ZGHEIB, author of No Land to Light On
“Compassionate, poignant, and surprising, this is a welcome addition to the shelf of memoirs about complicated parent-child bonds.”
— Publishers Weekly
— PAULINE DAKIN, bestselling author of Run, Hide, Repeat
“An unforgettable memoir about love, loss, resilience. . . and chasing rainbows to the end of the TransCanada Highway. From a peripatetic father who taught her to dream big and bounce back no matter what, Lori inherited a rich vein of stories, and she’s mined it for pure gold—just what her father always hoped to find. I loved it!”
— PLUM JOHNSON, bestselling author of The Trouble with Fairy Tales
“It’s funny and sad in equal measure, but above all, it’s loving.”
— CEA SUNRISE PERSON, bestselling author of North of Normal
“The best memoir I’ve read this year! This book brims with hope and heart.”
— JANET SKESLIEN CHARLES, #1 bestselling author of The Paris Library
“Captivating and beautifully written, Dreamer’s Daughter invokes the bittersweet drama of being raised by a loving father who was always willing to stake his family’s future on the next big idea. Lori Thicke grew up fast and took notes. If you loved The Glass Castle, you need to read this book.”
— JESSICA WAITE, bestselling author of The Widow’s Guide to Dead Bastards
“Memoirs are at their best when real life defies belief. Lori Thicke’s story of raising her dangerously optimistic father begins with the family house burning down - which would be too perfect a metaphor for a novel. Heart-breaking, hilarious, and beautifully written.”
— MARK LEIREN-YOUNG, winner of the Leacock Medal for Never Shoot a Stampede Queen
“An exquisitely written, thoroughly engrossing coming-of-age memoir. Dacker Thicke, sweet-natured schemer, takes his place in literature’s pantheon of impossible parents. By turns heart-wrenching and hilarious, Dreamer’s Daughter is a powerful exploration of class, gender roles and the ageless obsession with striking it rich.”
— JAKE LAMAR, award-winning author of Bourgeois Blues and Viper’s Dream
“With clarity and grace, Lori Thicke traces the aftershocks of a father’s love - intense, unstable, and never safe - as she gathers the scattered pieces of a life built, burned, and rebuilt again. A voice you won’t forget and a story you’ll carry with you.”
— LESLIE BRADFORD-SCOTT, author of The Liar’s Playbook
“One of the most beautiful portraits of love I’ve ever read, about a man who gave his daughter everything he had: his flaws, his mistakes, and his dreams. Lori Thicke writes with truth and grace and immense empathy. Her story went straight to my heart and made me call my own father.”
— YARA ZGHEIB, author of No Land to Light On
“Compassionate, poignant, and surprising, this is a welcome addition to the shelf of memoirs about complicated parent-child bonds.”
— Publishers Weekly