Character Analysis: Elizabeth’s Father in It Was an Ugly Couch Anyway

Overview

Elizabeth Passarella’s father is a quiet but powerful presence in her memoir It Was an Ugly Couch Anyway. He died in 2019, but his memory lingers in nearly every chapter—most visibly through the nine‑foot plaid velour couch he bought in 1968. He emerges as a man of strong convictions, deep loyalty, and a protective instinct that sometimes led him to conceal the truth. He was not a natural parent at first, but he became an exceptionally devoted father who showed love through small, consistent actions: blow‑drying his daughters’ hair, saving his couch for years, and quietly sacrificing his own comfort to ensure his family felt safe.

Plot Role

The father’s plot role revolves around two objects and one event: the couch, the station wagon, and the accident at Greers Ferry Lake. The couch is the memoir’s central symbol, and his death in 2019 is the catalyst for Elizabeth’s struggle to let go of it. She skinned the couch to keep the fabric, explaining that she “was very attached to the fabric” because of him. The accident—when he accidentally ran over ten‑year‑old Elizabeth with the station wagon—shapes the family’s narrative. He told everyone the car malfunctioned, but years later Elizabeth learned he had simply stepped on the gas instead of the brake. That revelation forces her to reconsider how much parents hide to protect their children. His presence also appears in the running chapters: he was an avid runner who always hoped Elizabeth would join him, a hope she regrets not fulfilling until after his death.

Motivations and Traits Shown Through Actions

Elizabeth’s father was motivated by a desire to protect, to perfect, and to persist. He matched his turtlenecks to his sport coats, a detail that shows a perfectionist streak. He bought an ugly but extraordinarily comfortable couch and refused to apologize for it—a trait that echoes the book’s theme of authenticity and identity. When Elizabeth and her sister mocked the couch, he predicted, “You’re all going to fight over this couch someday.”

His devotion to his children is clearest in small rituals. He blow‑dried his daughters’ hair every night, using his own Conair dryer and a separate brush. He insisted on being in the delivery room when Elizabeth was born because he had missed her sister’s birth. Though he had initially claimed he did not want children, his everyday actions made his daughters feel “anything but adored.”

The accident reveals a profound protective mechanism. After running over Elizabeth, he immediately sold the station wagon—the evidence of his mistake. He never corrected the “car malfunction” story, preferring to let his daughter believe it was not his fault. Elizabeth interprets this as a father’s choice to “swallow the unsavory details” so the child can move on. That act of silence is both loving and complicated, raising questions about faith and uncertainty: Can we trust the stories we are told?

Chronological Arc

The father’s story in the memoir spans from 1968, when he ordered the couch, to 2019, when he died. Key points:

• 1968: Buys the couch. It lives in various family homes.
• 1970s–1980s: Marries, has two daughters. Elizabeth is born.
• 1987: The Greers Ferry Lake accident. He runs over Elizabeth, hides the truth, sells the car.
• 1990s–2000s: The couch moves to Elizabeth’s grandmother’s cabin, then the attic, then to Elizabeth in New Orleans, then to Connecticut storage.
• 2010s: The couch finally moves into Elizabeth’s children’s bedroom in New York. The father visits and sleeps on it, calling it “the most comfortable bed in the house.”
• 2019: Father dies. Elizabeth becomes emotionally attached to the couch, eventually skins it.
• Post‑2019: Elizabeth learns the truth about the accident from her uncle Max, forcing a revision of her father’s image.

Relationships

With Elizabeth: His most complex relationship. He was a protector who caused harm unintentionally and then hid it. He was a runner who wanted to share that passion; Elizabeth remembers the “feeling of us skimming the lake together, my bare feet on his skis.” After his death, she runs Central Park while listening to worship music and feels his absence, regretting that she never ran with him. She also keeps his dress shirt in her closet until it no longer smells like him. The couch becomes a proxy for their bond: she admits that lying on it made her “feel close to my dad.”

With his wife (Elizabeth’s mother): Their marriage is not narrated in detail, but the father’s initial reluctance to marry is mentioned. The mother is supportive of Elizabeth’s decision to skin the couch, sending a text: “Good for you. Keep the fabric. Toss the couch.” She seems pragmatic, while he was sentimental.

With the couch: He personified it. He checked on it “like a parent checking on a kid at college.” He was thrilled when it went to Elizabeth’s children’s room. The couch was an extension of his personality—durable, comfortable, unapologetically ugly. It symbolized his belief that substance matters more than appearance.

Key Decisions and Consequences

The most consequential decision was his silence about the accident. After his death, when Elizabeth learns the truth, she feels her heart fall: “I wasn’t interested in revising any memories of him.” She must now reconcile the protective father with the flawed human being. That shift ties directly into the book’s exploration of letting go and grief: letting go of perfect memories is as hard as letting go of a couch.

Theme and Symbol Connections

The father is the human anchor for several thematic threads:

• Letting Go and Grief: His death initiates the central conflict of the memoir. Elizabeth’s inability to discard the couch mirrors her inability to release him. She skins the couch but keeps the fabric in a bag, “awaiting its resurrection.” The couch becomes a tangible piece of grief.

• Authenticity and Identity: The father never pretended to like anything other than what he liked—the ugly couch, specific turtlenecks, jazz. He modeled a stubborn authenticity that Elizabeth eventually learns to embrace (e.g., her decision to quit Vogue and write honestly about incontinence and faith).

• Community and Interdependence: The couch traveled through many homes—grandparents’ cabin, parents’ attic, Elizabeth’s apartments. It connected generations. The father’s willingness to let the couch live wherever it was needed shows an understanding that objects, like people, belong to a community.

• Faith and Uncertainty: The father’s hidden error invites a theological reading. Elizabeth reflects that God is always looking for lost people, even when they do not know they are lost. Her father was lost in his own way, but he never stopped looking for connection—through the couch, through running, through his daughters.

The couch itself is the most potent symbol. Its velour fabric, soft and durable, represents the father’s love: ugly on the surface but deeply comforting. When Elizabeth cuts it into scraps, she is performing a kind of ritual preservation, keeping his memory tactile.

Book‑Specific Questions and Answers

1. Why did Elizabeth skin her father’s couch instead of reupholstering it?

She considered paying $5,000 to reupholster but decided the plaid velour was the part she was most attached to. Without the original fabric, the couch would not hold the same memory. Also, her sister pointed out that an reupholstered couch would still be low and hard to stand up from, so financial and practical reasons combined with sentiment.

2. What does the couch symbolize in relation to Elizabeth’s father?

The couch symbolizes her father’s presence—his taste, his durability, his quiet love. It is also a symbol of grief: she cannot throw it away because it feels like throwing away him. After she skins it, the fabric scraps become a kind of secular relic, “awaiting its resurrection.”

3. How did the 1987 accident affect Elizabeth’s perception of her father?

For decades she believed the station wagon malfunctioned, a story that allowed her to view her father as blameless. When she learned he simply stepped on the gas instead of the brake, she had to re‑evaluate him as a fallible human being. She also felt compassion for his guilt, imagining how terrified he must have been pulling her out from under the car.

4. What role did running play in their relationship?

Her father was an avid runner who always hoped Elizabeth would run with him. She hated exercise for most of her life and began running only during the pandemic. At the Central Park reservoir, she listened to worship music and felt his absence keenly, regretting the missed chance. Running becomes a way for her to connect with his memory and with God.

5. How did the father’s claim that he didn’t want children shape Elizabeth’s own feelings about motherhood?

She heard the family story repeatedly—that he did not want to get married or have children—yet she felt “nothing but adored.” This contradiction taught her that stated intentions do not determine reality. It allowed her to later admit that she sometimes thinks she’d be just as satisfied without children, because she knows that desire is not fixed. The father’s transformation from reluctant parent to devoted dad gave her permission to embrace ambivalence.

Conclusion

Elizabeth’s father is a subtle character who rarely speaks directly in the memoir, yet his influence permeates every chapter. Through the couch, the accident, his love of running, and his quiet devotion, he embodies the book’s central tension: how do we hold on to loved ones after they are gone, and when is it time to let go? Elizabeth’s answer is messy—she keeps scraps of velour in a bag—but it honors the man who taught her that what looks ugly at first can be the most comfortable place in the world. For a deeper look at how these themes play out in the final pages, see the ending explained and the full questions and answers guide.