You ever drove past a car crash and slowed down to see as much of the grisly details as possible before continuing on?
It’s perfectly normal. You get this cocktail of guilt, schadenfreude, elation because you’re still alive, and a sliver of terror because whoever was in that car, that could be you in five minutes, or tomorrow, or next year.
That’s what peering into the life of this protagonist is like. The things he appreciates turn sour. The things he takes for granted are taken from him.
Loss, and the accompanying sense of nihilism, is such a prominent element of the human condition today in western society. We’ve become growth obsessed, and it is easy to bow out, or to forget that many are struggling just to keep their heads above the water.
Water, the source of life, a source of death, the source of currents both gentle and tumultuous. Pardon this seeming digression. I’ll circle back to where I left off. But this theme is important.
Our protagonist works for a company that sells artisanal water, and he’s barely making ends meet. He has a few strands of support left, but they all seem illusory. Everyone is disconnected and alone, going through the motions of human connection without much substance, all symptoms of systematized life in our late capitalist society. Professional expectations, expectations about how we are supposed to act in the world (void of emotion and passion) have been internalized, have bled over into our personal lives.
Water is the source of our character’s livelihood, and it is also the source of his hope. It sustains him throughout the story, no matter how dismal things may seem.
The character attempts to self-initiate rebirth, tries to reinvent himself. Is he successful? That depends on the reader.
For me this is a story about resilience, about coming to grips with the fact that the world makes no sense, and in the grand scheme of things it probably means little to nothing.
Yet we must persevere.
And though we can cognitively say, “this means nothing” on a visceral level we cannot stop ourselves from feeling that this-the events in our lives-mean EVERYTHING.
How do we cope with this paradox in the face of subjective tragedy?
This book provides us with one solution.
This is America as it currently exists. Where hope is a resource hard to come by and everything falters and fails. Where we have been relegated to meager dreams, and even those dreams seem out of reach. A land where, while we still desperately cling to those dreams, our most fundamental needs as humans slip through our fingers.
Some of this book was so true and real that it stung. It’s heavy and bittersweet, and I just want to give the protagonist a hug, a few bucks, and the spot on my couch. But I know if I saw him walking down the road, without this glimpse into his life, I would probably look at the wreck he is and feel all the things I mentioned above (guilt, schadenfreude, etc.), and then I would keep driving.
And so I finished the book also feeling shame, because I have felt his pain, but I have also been the source of equal pains for others, and I have bore witness to such pain in others and have not reached out.
As such, this book is, above all things, humanizing and humbling.