—That would be horrific.
—Existing beyond thirty-four would be horrific.
—Existing, period—this is what drives men to irrational acts. You know this? I used to worry about something happening to me. That I’d be killed in my sleep by some intruder. That I’d be mugged, maimed, drafted, killed. And then the years went by and none of that happened, and what filled that void was far worse.
—I don’t understand that.
—You don’t know what it’s like to be a man over thirty who’s never had anything happen to him. You spend so many years trying to stay safe, stay alive, to avoid some unknown horror. Then you realize the horror is existence itself. The nothing-happening.
—You were bored.
—I wasn’t bored. I was dying. I am dying. But this week was different. There was alignment and order and a coming-to.
—I don’t know what to say to that.
—You know this land we’re on? Twenty-eight thousand acres of buildings like this. Everything crumbling. They’ve left a thousand of these buildings rotting in the wind. No one has a clue what to do next. This vast military base and it’s just decaying on the edge of the country. There’s no plan for all this. No plan for anything. I found a yearbook for this place—it must have been from the late fifties. Company D, Third Battalion, Third Brigade. And on the cover of this yearbook is a picture of a soldier in a foxhole, watching something explode. They got right to the point: Young men, come and blow things up. It felt right. I felt at home.
—So join the Army.
—Sara, do you ride horses?
—When?
—Anytime.
—Yes.
—On the beach?
—Have I ridden a horse on the beach? Yes.
—Did they let you gallop?
—Did who let me gallop?
—Whoever makes the rules. I don’t know.
—Sure. I gallop.
—You gallop on a horse on the beach?
—Sure.
—Was it good?
—Yes, it’s good.
—It always looked good. Is it hard?
—It takes some practice.
—You learned it yourself?
—I took lessons when I was a kid.
—And they let you gallop then?
—When I was young?
—When you were young.
—Yes.
—I’ve been on horses but we always have to walk around. It’s so meaningless. The horse hates it, and it’s so slow, and we just walk around and everyone sweats. And each time I asked if we could gallop and they always said no, no. Insurance liability, you’ll get hurt, blah blah. But there’s no point in walking around on top of a horse. It gives no pleasure to anyone. The only point is galloping.
—But it takes a while. A lot of practice.
—How long?
—Till they let you gallop? A while.
—See, no one told me that. If someone had explained the steps, I would have had a chance.
—No offense, Thomas, but my guess is you’re inclined toward shortcuts.
—Because I want to get on a horse and gallop?
—Yes. You see something and you want it. But you don’t want to do any of the steps to get there.
—And whose fault is that?
—I’m guessing someone else’s?
—No one told me the steps.
—The steps? No one told you to work hard?
—I had no role models.
—Oh Jesus Christ. Stop.
—So you’re saying it’s about hard work and follow-through and patience and all that shit.
—I guess that’s what I’m saying.
—And what good does that do? You know the astronaut I have over there? Eighteen years of work and preparation and doing all the shit he’s supposed to do, and where is he?
—He’s shackled to a post, I’m guessing.
—Okay, but in general, where is he? He’s supposed to be on the Shuttle, but he’s still picking his ass, waiting to maybe ride on a Russian rocket to some hamster wheel in space. All the things he worked for no longer exist.
—But it would all be better if you could gallop.
—It could be.
—And where would you go?
—I don’t know.
—Thomas, we all get what we work for. Maybe there’s some variation, but still. I worked nine years to be a vet and wanted to work in Boulder. I’m a vet and I work in Monterey. You see what I’m saying? Your friend wanted to be an astronaut and he’s an astronaut. Maybe he’s going on a different spaceship. So what?
—If you knew anything about the Shuttle you wouldn’t say that. There’s a big difference between a reusable spacecraft that can land and maneuver, and a stupid fuck-all stationary space kite like the ISS. Sara, I just want to get something I want. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten any significant thing I wanted. You have no idea how weird it is to envision things and have them come to nothing. No vision has ever come true, no promise has ever been kept. But then there was you, and you were the promise that would obliterate all the disappointments of the past. Everything about you insisted on it. Your color, your hair, the way light projects from every part of you. You were the sun that would burn away all the putrid broken promises of the world.
—I wasn’t that.
—I know that now.
—The helicopters are getting louder. They found you.
—They found us. You know, I really don’t want to be caught.
—Thomas, please let me live.
—I’m not going to hurt you. Wow, they are really getting close.
—Okay. Let’s go.
—What? What do you mean?
—I’m ready. Let’s go. I want to go with you.
—No you don’t.
—I do. I’ve been sitting here thinking, and even while I was denying it to you I was realizing that you’re right. These can’t all be coincidences. An astronaut, a congressman, your mom, me. It all has to mean something.
—It does, right?
—It does. If I say I’ll go with you, you’ll unlock me?
—Of course. I’ll have to have us handcuffed together, though.
—And then what?
—We run to the shore and to the boat.
—What about the others?
—They’ll be fine.
—Are there really others?
—Of course. Six of them.
—Will you let me see them?
—No. Why?
—If I’m going off with you, I need to make sure you haven’t harmed anyone.
—You don’t trust me. And there’s no time.
—I do trust you.
—We don’t have time to go visiting everyone. And you don’t want to meet my mom. She wouldn’t believe we were together anyway.
—So we don’t visit your mom. Just let me see the astronaut.
—No. He’s a phony. I already said good-bye to him and everyone else. I’ll let you see the congressman.
—Okay. Let’s go.
—So I unlock you and we go and see the congressman and you come with me?
—If we get away.
—What do you mean, if we get away?
—They’re so close. We’ll have to hurry. And you’ll have to let me run free, too. If we’re handcuffed we’ll be too slow.
—But then we might get separated.
—No we won’t.
—Oh no. You’re trying to get away.
—No.
—From me!
—No, I just think we’ll be faster that way.
—I don’t think you believe in me.
—I do. Of course I do.
—I don’t think you believe in any of this.
—I do. I do. But we should go. I want to go together.
—Oh god.
—What?
—You’re trying to trick me.
—I’m not.
—All this time I’ve been so direct with you. I’ve to
ld you what I believed should happen. I’ve told you what I want and what would be best for both of us. I’ve offered you the chance to be part of something like destiny, and you’re just trying to slither out of it.
—Thomas. I just think we should go.
—I’m not going with you. Oh shit, you just murdered me.
—No. Thomas.
—You’re just like Kev. You seem like these paragons of virtue and heroism but in the end you just want to stay alive. You don’t want to be part of anything extraordinary.
—Don’t hurt me now.
—I’m not going to hurt you.
—Promise me.
—Forget it. I’m leaving.
—And I’ll be safe?
—To what end?
—To keep living.
—That’s my point. That’s not enough.
BUILDING 53
—Congressman?
—They’re all over the place, kid. Don’t you see? Stay away from the windows.
—Are you okay?
—I’m fine. But you’re as good as dead. Stay low, and close to me.
—That’s okay. I can stay here.
—At least stay low. Stay alive.
—You know, you’re my only friend. My only living friend.
—What about the astronaut?
—He’s no astronaut. Not my kind of astronaut. And every other light has gone out. You see how dark it is out there? But I think you and I are the same. You’re the man I’d like to be.
—Missing two limbs.
—It doesn’t matter. You’re the only person I’ve ever known who means what they say.
—Okay.
—You’re like a father to me.
—Thomas, please keep your head away from the windows.
—Sorry. Do you know that no man has ever given me advice like you have? Listened to me like you have?
—That can’t be. At your age? How old did you say you are again, son?
—Thirty-four.
—Christ on a cracker.
—There are millions more like me, too. Everyone I know is like me.
—I thought you were twenty-five. God help us.
—Like I said the other day, if there were some sort of plan for men like me, I think we could do a lot of good.
—You talking about your canal again?
—A canal, a spaceship. A moon colony. Maybe just a bridge. I don’t know. But the walking around, sitting, eating at tables … It doesn’t work. We need something else.
—What do you want to build? The world’s already built.
—So I just walk around in an already-built world? That’s a joke.
—That’s the joke you live in.
—But that’s a perfect inversion of why I exist. I’m the guy who you send to dynamite the mountain to make way for the railroad. I’m the guy who gallops through the West with a load of dynamite to blow the fucking mountain.
—To clear a path.
—For the railroad. Right. I was supposed to be that guy.
—It’s too late for that. Two hundred years too late.
—I showed up two hundred years late for the life I was supposed to live.
—I hear you, son. I truly do.
—Do you? Does anyone else?
—I don’t know.
—What they don’t realize is that we need something grand, something to be part of.
—And the Shuttle was that for you?
—I don’t know. Maybe the Shuttle was some dumb fucking space glider. But now it’s dead and Don’s dead and Kev is chained to a post. Fuck it. And you know what’s really pathetic about Don being shot by twelve cops in his backyard? It meant nothing to no one. He was no martyr, he died for no ideals. And the only thing worse than the silencing of a martyr, a real martyr—someone with dangerous ideas—is silencing someone who has nothing at all to say. Don wasn’t opposed to anything but himself.
—I’m sorry about all this, Thomas.
—But this’ll keep happening. You know that, right? If you don’t have something grand for men like us to be part of, we will take apart all the little things. Neighborhood by neighborhood. Building by building. Family by family. Don’t you see that?
—I believe I do.
—Who says we don’t want to be inspired? We fucking want to be inspired! What the fuck is wrong with us wanting to be inspired? Everyone acts like it’s some crazy idea, some outrageous ungrantable request. Don’t we deserve grand human projects that give us meaning?
—Thomas, there’s a light under the door. I believe they’re here.
—Of course they are. You can tell them you’re here. I’m done.
—You want me to call out?
—Go ahead.
—We’re in here! Everyone’s safe.
—God, that sounds really horrible, doesn’t it? Nothing in the world sounds worse than that, to be here and safe. Say it again. I don’t think they heard you.
—We’re in here and we’re safe.
—Jesus Christ. That is the saddest thing I ever heard.
Acknowledgments
Thank you Vendela. Thank you Toph and Bill. Thank you Vidas and Neumanns. Thank you Clara Sankey, Andrew Leland, Daniel Gumbiner, Jordan Bass, Sunra Thompson, Sam Riley, Laura Howard, Andi Winnette, Casey Jarman, Jordan Karnes, Brian Christian, Gabrielle Gantz, Dan McKinley, and Ian Delaney. Thank you Andrew Wylie and Luke Ingram. Thank you Jenny Jackson and all at Knopf and Vintage. Thank you Peter Orner, Tom Luddy, JD, Peter Ferry, Enid Baxter Ryce and Walter Ryce, and Em-J Staples.
BOOKS BY THIS AUTHOR
FICTION
Your Fathers, Where Are They? And the Prophets, Do They Live Forever?
The Circle
A Hologram for the King
What Is the What
How We Are Hungry
You Shall Know Our Velocity!
NONFICTION
Zeitoun
FOR YOUNG READERS
The Wild Things
MEMOIR
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dave Eggers is the author of nine books, including most recently The Circle and A Hologram for the King, which was a finalist for the 2012 National Book Award. He is the founder of McSweeney’s, an independent publishing company based in San Francisco that produces books, a quarterly journal of new writing (McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern), and a monthly magazine (The Believer). McSweeney’s also publishes Voice of Witness, a nonprofit book series that uses oral history to illuminate human rights crises around the world. Eggers is the cofounder of 826 National, a network of eight tutoring centers around the country, and ScholarMatch, a nonprofit organization designed to connect students with resources, schools, and donors to make college possible. He lives in Northern California with his family.
www.mcsweeneys.net
www.voiceofwitness.org
www.826national.org
www.scholarmatch.org
www.valentinoachakdeng.org
About This Guide
The questions, discussion topics, and other material that follow are intended to enhance your group’s conversation about Your Fathers, Where Are They? And the Prophets, Do They Live Forever?, Dave Eggers’s captivating new novel that follows a distraught young man who takes desperate measures to reconcile his frustration with our government and with his own life.
About This Book
In a barracks on an abandoned military base, miles from the nearest road, Thomas watches as the man he has kidnapped wakes up. Kev, a NASA astronaut, doesn’t recognize his captor, though Thomas remembers him. Kev cries for help. He pulls at his chain. But the ocean is close by, and nobody can hear him over the waves and wind. Thomas apologizes. He didn’t want to have to resort to this. But they really needed to have a conversation, and Kev didn’t answer his messages. And now, if he can just stop yelling, Thomas has a few questions.
As Your Fathers, Where Are They? And the Prophets, Do They Live Forever?
proceeds from this riveting opening, Dave Eggers poses fundamental questions about the value of national pride, religion, family, and self-worth. Formally daring, this blistering novel becomes a portrait of one man, unhinged, and our current position as a nation.
Question & Answer
1. How does the all-dialogue structure enhance the disorientation one feels upon entering the novel? How is the book similar to and different from a traditional play?
2. Thomas compares his capture of Kev to the government’s clandestine capture of enemy combatants for interrogation (this page). What does this tell you about Thomas’s attitude toward government policies? Do political beliefs drive any of his other kidnappings, or are there other factors at play?
3. Although Thomas exudes confidence in his scheme from the start, his perspective can easily be called “unreliable.” How does the dialogue structure highlight when he can and cannot be trusted? What is the effect of this characterization coming both directly—through Thomas’s words—and indirectly—through the words of others?
4. What are the values that Thomas admires most in himself and others? Are these consistent with his own behaviors, in the past, present, and what he imagines for his and others’ futures?
5. Compare how Thomas greets and explains the situation to each of his captives. What does his tone at the beginning of each new chapter foreshadow about their relationships and how history will unfold?
6. How would you describe the humor in the book and its effects on you, the reader, the characters, and plot? Does laughter enhance or alleviate the reader’s unease throughout?
7. What makes Marview, a place that Thomas describes as “forgotten … anything near it … toxic and dead (this page),” an ideal setting for what occurs in the novel? Consider, too, what its name suggests about the kind of experience one might have there, and whether the novel fulfills that implication.
8. How does Thomas’s conversation with Mr. Hansen introduce the idea of a very wide spectrum of guilt and sympathy for individuals? Where does each of the characters in the book fall on this spectrum, and does this change at all over the course of the novel? Is the set of captives somehow representative of the different degrees that one might have sympathy for or ascribe guilt to someone else, or do they tend to extremes?