To be sure, this is not a good book. Schmidt overwrites, overanalyzes, and overexplains, providing an effect much like suffocation. Despite being fairly short, this book is a long read--it takes time to slog through Schmidt's self-indulgent excess. He could have excised entire chapters without significantly changing the story. Its sheer, numbing badness makes it easy for me to believe this man is indeed a television writer. Daddy fails as a novel and it fails as erotica.
For what it's worth, I do think this is a memoir, rather than poorly-executed fiction, if only for the rather cynical reason that none of the three main characters changes very much. The elder daughter gains enough self-reliance to hold a job and keep an apartment, but the three of them finish with the intense egocentrism they begin with. As the joke goes, "Truth is stranger than fiction, because fiction has to make sense."