One of the best things about literary fathers is they make most real fathers look good by comparison. King Lear, for example, wasn’t a great dad. Nor was Duddy Kravitz’s father, or Huckleberry’s Finn’s father Pap, who was a mean drunk. But it was Pap who provided the impetus for Huck to run away. He starts the adventure in motion.

The first page of Jim Harrison’s novel True North contains this line: “My father was so purely awful that he was a public joke in our area.” In Martin Amis’s book Money, John Self’s father Barry invoices him for childhood expenses and takes out a contract on his life. Though it turns out Barry is, in fact, his stepfather (and literary stepfathers are generally even worse than literary fathers). But John’s real father, Fat Vince, is no prize either.

Literature is filled with bad fathers. One reason for this is they are much more entertaining than good fathers. Dramatically, you can only go so far with Ward Cleaver. But Ward Cleaver with a mistress, a drug problem and a gambling addiction could sustain a novel. For every Atticus Finch-style dad (the wise and brave father in To Kill a Mockingbird) there are two Harry Wormwoods (the wildly appalling dad in Roald Dahl’s Matilda).

In my book Mount Pleasant, the central character, Harry Salter, has a problematic father. Dale Salter divorced Harry’s mother, was an epic philanderer, an absent father, and ultimately failed to provide for his family.  Harry resolves to be different when it comes to raising his own son. But he isn’t, he admits, a great father. He is more present than his own had been; he shows up at school plays and hockey games and graduation ceremonies. But he worries that he has been little more than a witness to his son’s development. He hasn’t been a mentor.

Most of us worry that we could have been better fathers, regardless of what we did. You can always have done better. So bad literary fathers provide a certain comfort for many readers: at least we’re better than they are.

But even bad dads have their moments. Dale takes the nine-year-old Harry to a boxing match at Maple Leaf Gardens, the legendary bout between Muhammad Ali and local fighter George Chuvalo. This is the moment Harry remembers, the one perfect expression of a father/son relationship. Though it isn’t enough to balance the memory of his drunken father hitting his mother.

I was blessed with a great father, so he wasn’t any help as a model for Dale Salter. And Dale wasn’t modeled on anyone in particular. But growing up, I observed other fathers: aloof, stern, awkward, vague, alcoholic, distant, funny, nuts. A wide spectrum and a rich source of material.

The original literary Bad Dad, was, I suppose, God. He had a temper, let His son die, abandoned the mother. But He was entertaining and creative and had, apparently, a Plan. So we forgave Him.

In the end, most children forgive their fathers. It is the way of literature and life.

Don Gillmor is the author of the bestselling, award-winning two-volume history of Canada, Canada: A People's History, and two other books of non-fiction, The Desire of Every Living Thing, a Globe and Mail Best Book, and I Swear by Apollo. His debut novel, Kanata, was published in 2010 to critical acclaim. He has also written nine books for children, two of which were nominated for a Governor General's Award. He is one of Canada's most accomplished journalists, and has been a senior editor at Walrus magazine and a contributing editor at both Saturday Night and Toronto Life. He has won 10 National Magazine Awards. He lives in Toronto with his wife and two children.