2026
WISE Score
A gut-punch of poetry and art for any boy or man trying to figure out how to be a human being without the 'tough guy' script.
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Loan Wendling has delivered something that feels like an antidote to the loud, aggressive content currently aimed at boys. It’s a quiet, visual journey through the messy parts of growing up and the even messier parts of being a dad.
It isn't a 'fun' book, but it's a necessary one. If you have a son who's starting to internalize that 'boys don't cry' nonsense, put this on his nightstand. It’s short, punchy, and actually has something to say about the daily labor of being a decent person.
Best for 13 and up. It’s written for the 'Young Adult' crowd, but a mature 11-year-old who likes art and deep thoughts won't be traumatized—they'll just find it a bit heavy.
It swaps out toxic 'tough guy' tropes for emotional honesty and the hard work of fatherhood. It's gritty and real, focusing on redemption and breaking bad cycles rather than just being 'pure.'
The use of 'symbolic through lines' in illustrations and poetic reflection invites readers to look at mundane life—like factory shifts—through a more creative, internal lens.
It's a book, so no hidden chat rooms or microtransactions. Themes of cigarettes and loneliness are handled as part of a mature reflection on life, not glorified as 'cool.'
High marks for emotional intelligence. It explicitly tackles generational burdens and the permission to feel, which is top-tier character development for young men.
If you spend any time looking at what the algorithm feeds teenage boys, you know it’s a relentless stream of "grindset" culture and performative toughness. Loan Wendling has essentially written the exit ramp for that highway. The Man Who Could've Been doesn't try to compete with the loud, neon-soaked bravado of the internet. Instead, it sits in the quiet, uncomfortable spaces—factory floors, late-night shifts, and the heavy silence between fathers and sons.
This isn’t a book about becoming a "top G." It’s about the much harder work of becoming a human. Wendling explores the idea that many men are trained to be "necessary" (providers, workers, stoic pillars) long before they are taught how to be loved or how to express a single honest emotion. For a 14-year-old boy who is currently navigating the pressure to be "cool" or "hard," this book offers a different, much more sustainable blueprint.
If your kid usually treats a book like a chore, don't let the "poetry" label scare them off. Wendling’s style—honed in his previous projects like Tales and Ink and The Ashes—is punchy and visual. This isn't flowery, 19th-century verse that requires a decoder ring. It’s direct. The illustrations aren't just decorations; they are the connective tissue of the book.
The art does a lot of the heavy lifting for the "lonely" vibe the text describes. It makes the book feel more like a high-end graphic novel or an art zine than a traditional poetry collection. This is a huge win for kids with shorter attention spans who still want to engage with something that feels mature and "adult." It’s a physical object they might actually leave out on a desk rather than hiding it under a bed.
There is a specific kind of blue-collar bleakness here that might catch some readers off guard. We’re talking about cigarettes, fluorescent lights, and the "same old hole" of generational stagnation. It isn't "gritty" for the sake of being edgy; it's reflecting a reality that a lot of families recognize but don't always talk about.
While some media geared toward men focuses on the high-stakes glamour of The Spy Who: This Is Not a Kid-Friendly Mission, Wendling is interested in the mundane heroism of just trying to be better than your father was. It’s about the decision to cry or to stay when your instinct is to run.
If your teen responded well to Jason Reynolds or Kwame Alexander—authors who use verse to tell stories about the internal lives of young men—this is the natural next step as they get older. It’s heavier and more contemplative, but it hits that same "I see you" note.
The "friction" here isn't about content warnings or inappropriate scenes; it’s about the emotional weight. This is a "mood" book. It’s what you read when you’re feeling a bit alienated or when you’re starting to realize your parents are just flawed people. If you have a son who is a bit of a thinker, or one who is struggling with the transition from "kid" to "young man," this is a meaningful gift. Just don't expect them to want to talk about it immediately after they finish. Let it sit. The point of the book is that the story is still being written, and they’re the ones holding the pen.
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