Your Fathers, Where Are They? And The Prophets, Do They Live Forever?
Dave Eggers is one of a rare breed of American writers (perhaps their leader?) capable of capturing complex emotional states with sophisticated bluntness.
His first book, A Heart Breaking Work of Staggering Genius is the part biographical story of a young man coming of age, discovering the world in the company of his younger brother, for whom he has become responsible.
Those states of responsibility and liminal adulthood are picked up again in Your Fathers. The protagonist, Thomas, seeks to orient himself in the world (”I really am a clean cut guy. I’m just stuck in a tight spot right now”) and establish his sense of self by kidnapping a sequence of characters from his childhood who each represent a cut of the many facets of American hero culture; an astronaut; a retired war veteran-senator with no legs; Thomas’s mother; a teacher; a policeman.
As the story unfolds so too do the personal links connecting each of the kidnapped characters to Thomas, the astronaut was a class mate (”You told me one day you were going to go up in the Shuttle. Remember that?”), the teacher his old maths teacher who held ‘sleepovers’ for his students which Thomas’s mother would send him to. By a coincidence the policeman Thomas kidnaps turns out to have been present at the shooting of a disturbed student, a friend of Thomas’s. The plot falls into place around him like so many shackles.
More importantly, Your Fathers is a song to a generation born into peacetime and expectation. A world explored and conquered, a life cheapened and tainted. A generation, perhaps like all other generations, which looks at its forebears and thinks, ‘you must be joking’ but does not know how to change what they see before them. Thomas approaches his fate with a quixotic mix of action and resignation: ”After I took the astronaut, I figured I only have a certain window before I’m caught or found or something else happens to me, so I thought I might as well get it all figured out in one fell swoop.”
Eggers carefully stretches the boundaries between flippancy and premeditation (”You were the guy who came to the house to rewire the phones?”) demonstrating Thomas’s enormous capacity for positive action and crushing it against what on occasion seems like mental illness, but too often presents itself as the manifestation of the selfish modern cult of consumerist self-discovery in which everything, including the lives of others, are fodder to fill a yawning need for validation: ”But just yesterday, with the astronaut, I felt like I was on the verge of something, I was breathing better. And I know you’ll help me even more.”
Your Fathers deals with a very modern strain of issues of the self. A generation of disaffected young people, alienated from their peers, from the structures of social validation, born into expectation and abundance to which they feel an entitlement even when they lack the personal skills to access it. Written entirely in dialogue, it is a book which embodies the dysfunctional intergenerational dialogue that our society of abundance has fostered and created – a fierce, clear window into a world still being created.