Too Far Gone
You may have heard the phrase ”tipping point” used to reference situations where something passes a point where stability is lost and a system changes rapidly until it finds a new equilibrium, or final resting place. This implies that there is no going back, or at least it would take a titanic amount of energy to reverse the processes set in motion. There is no way but forward, into an unknown and unstable future.
Jess Walter suggests this very state with the title of his novel, and no doubt invites the reader to determine whether So Far translates to Too Far. Of course he doesn’t explicitly state what is close to or beyond the tipping point, but the implications are pretty clear.
Probably the most succinct statement of the dire state of the world comes from the grandfather’s musings about overtly corrupt and incompetent politicians, blatant untruths swallowed whole by masses of people, senseless violence perpetrated against strangers as performance art, and of course his own profession’s hunger for all the gory details that they will amplify to maximum effect. We can argue with none of what he believes, and accept his decision to escape all the madness, even if we would not choose that for ourselves.
The novel portrays that decision not as a heroic crusade for truth and righteousness, but as a retreat from a battle lost. Ironically, the militant religious sect that appears to be actively training for the last great battle do more harm than good. They are the ones guilty of violent crimes, unable to control the fear and loathing that is their stock in trade.
Fighting invariably leads to anger and injury. Clearly the violence and abuse of power that led us to this crisis will only push us over the cliff, a juggernaut out of control. Yet impotence doesn’t seem like a noble response. The grandfather cannot just mutely allow his grandchildren to be kidnapped, partially due to his own animosity towards his son in-law.
The resulting chain of deeds and misdeeds craft a good story, but one with a bitter aftertaste. All is not right with the world. None of the big problems have been solved. Not even the little problems go away. The situation just morphs into a different form, perhaps somewhat less dysfunctional, but by no means resolved. There are no assurances of a happily ever after, and in fact indications that the wrongdoers may escape punishment, and confusion will plague even the next generation.
While Jess Walter does not go so far as to predict the destruction of civilization, the ”End Times” of the paranoid pastor, he does not offer much in the way of hope. Are we to interpret the granddaughter’s loss of religious faith as a positive sign? The situation seems ambiguous, subject to further development. Will she be crushed by a chimeric first love? We don’t know, and neither does her boyfriend.
The grandfather’s return to society seems more like abandonment of his higher ideals than a noble self-sacrificing bid to help raise the grandchildren. His role is limited in that sphere, his daughter still fiercely resentful of interference, while condemning him of neglect. Without her therapist, she must slowly work through her own ghosts and neuroses from the past.
We must make do with what is left once the dust settles. What can we salvage from the collapse of the family structure? What opportunities exist for a retired journalist, refugee from a dying trade? What possibilities for love may be found in the same old junk drawers? Where do we even begin to look for new drawers to search?
Neither Jess Walter nor his characters know the answer. Perhaps there is no answer, no way to right the leaning tower, nothing any of us can do. Maybe we just put up with the incessant pollution our cell phones feed us, trying to mask the smell and taste with cute cat videos. Take the bad with the trivial. The problem is, this is no spoonful of sugar, and it doesn’t help the poison go down.
Ultimately, how can a thinking person survive such a predicament? This is the new evolutionary challenge of our species. Maybe those on the tails of the probability curve will drop off the edge of the world. Maybe they will get pulled back into the one-sigma group, lobotomized for their own good. Either way, it doesn’t seem very hopeful.
Of course, that depends upon your own belief system. Maybe you regard everything that is happening as merely cyclical, repeated endlessly through time, in each era decried by prophets to be the end of the world. Maybe you are right, and can sleep at night knowing that even though it appears to be out of control, it has all happened before and will no doubt happen again. While that fatalist outlook may offer comfort, it is no better than any other popular philosophy. If it makes you feel better, do it.
Whatever scenario you choose, it will not be pretty. Perhaps, more than anything, that justifies the uncomfortable and dissatisfying conclusion to So Far Gone.