In the intense still­ness, the deliv­ery­man seemed to delib­er­ate over what to do about the baby mice he had dis­cov­ered nest­ing amongst his Bibles. His expres­sion sug­gest­ed options of poi­son or drown­ing, or per­haps even feed­ing us to a cat. He removed his wilt­ed car­na­tion and loos­ened his pink neck­tie, reveal­ing rolled-up sleeves and a gaunt chest beneath his fad­ed over­alls. As he crossed his arms, two names appeared on his arms: **Car­lene**, inscribed above a black rose, and **Rhon­da**, beneath a heart marked with “Mom”.

As I observed, the let­ters ani­mat­ed them­selves, mor­ph­ing into the like­ness­es of the two bick­er­ing women. Car­lene argued that Rhon­da was to blame for Lester’s per­ceived soft­ness, claim­ing he lacked fight. Rhon­da retal­i­at­ed by blam­ing Lester’s weak father and claimed Car­lene demand­ed every pen­ny he earned from deliv­er­ing Bibles, lim­it­ing his chances to suc­ceed. This gen­er­at­ed a sur­re­al atmos­phere, rem­i­nis­cent of com­ic strips come alive, con­tribut­ing to my grow­ing unease as I recalled my mission—to awak­en Pop­pa.

At that moment, I felt a gen­tle touch from Sam­son, ground­ing me as I acknowl­edged the per­sis­tent bick­er­ing around me. The deliv­ery­man’s jit­tery yet melod­ic voice broke the silence, as he asked what we were doing. Car­lene urged Lester to show back­bone, while she mocked his lack of gump­tion.

I cau­tious­ly stepped for­ward, inquir­ing if he was head­ed to Kansas, explain­ing our need to reach Sali­na. Lester fum­bled his words, seem­ing over­whelmed, giv­ing the impres­sion that he was not quite quick on the uptake. He ulti­mate­ly stat­ed we could not be on his bus, though his fin­ger, point­ing shak­i­ly toward us, sug­gest­ed uncer­tain­ty.

I per­sist­ed, explain­ing that my par­ents were in Sali­na and that he would be help­ing us if he let us ride. Car­lene taunt­ed Lester, claim­ing he would cave in, while Rhon­da lament­ed his timid nature. As I plead­ed with him, it was clear I was push­ing Lester to a break­ing point between com­pas­sion and fear of reper­cus­sions from his boss.

In a moment of hes­i­ta­tion, Lester slumped into a seat, clear­ly wrestling with his reluc­tance. Final­ly, he inquired where we were from, reflect­ing a sur­ren­der of his pre­vi­ous resolve as he faced the inevitable real­i­ty of help­ing us.

In the chap­ter, the pro­tag­o­nist finds him­self in an unset­tling sit­u­a­tion with indi­vid­u­als he per­ceives as cap­tors. A tur­bu­lent peri­od has passed, dur­ing which he has become aware that the bulges under their jack­ets con­ceal weapons. The ordeal is com­pound­ed by the strange atmos­phere of this new envi­ron­ment, which is stark­ly dif­fer­ent from what he is accus­tomed to.

One of the atten­dants, dressed in a white robe, sug­gests that he was part of the Dis­cov­ery Ser­vice, fram­ing his cur­rent cir­cum­stance as a “mis­sion of dis­cov­ery,” a notion he must embrace as part of his role in this brave new world. It presents his predica­ment not sole­ly as cap­tiv­i­ty, but as a task he can approach with agency—he can tack­le it effec­tive­ly or poor­ly.

At the end of a long cor­ri­dor, he arrives at a door lead­ing to a room where an offi­cer awaits. Inside, he encoun­ters a small ghost­ly figure—a girl with black hair and brown skin, her bright pres­ence jux­ta­posed against the dim sur­round­ings. Cap­ti­vat­ed by her ethe­re­al beau­ty and strik­ing fea­tures, he feels a surge of emo­tion, caus­ing him to avert his gaze, uncer­tain if oth­ers also per­ceive her pres­ence or if she exists sole­ly for him.

The offi­cer intro­duces him­self; she is his “bridge” to the future—a cryp­tic yet piv­otal role in his new­found cir­cum­stances. As days stretch into weeks and months, he reflects on the girl’s features—similar yet dis­tinct­ly dif­fer­ent from those of an Inu­it woman he is remind­ed of, adding lay­ers to his per­cep­tion of her. The con­nec­tion he sens­es is com­plex, inter­twined with guilt and a deep-seat­ed long­ing.

More­over, the nar­ra­tive hints at themes of divine inter­ven­tion, as the thoughts drift toward the nature of God’s will and mer­cy. The pro­tag­o­nist believes that it is by divine prov­i­dence that he is linked to this girl, sug­gest­ing a pur­pose to their con­nec­tion that tran­scends his cur­rent plight. Ulti­mate­ly, the chap­ter clos­es on an ambigu­ous yet poignant note, where the char­ac­ter nav­i­gates feel­ings of redemp­tion, fate, and the intri­cate inter­play of mem­o­ry and desire.

“Every­where, Nowhere: 1952–1968” unfolds the evolv­ing sto­ry of Addie and Luc, a nar­ra­tive begin­ning with a premise as unas­sum­ing and tran­sient as sex. This phys­i­cal con­nec­tion, ini­tial­ly dis­missed by Addie as a fleet­ing engage­ment, unex­pect­ed­ly trans­forms as Luc re-enters her life, emerg­ing as though from nowhere amid the vibrant back­drop of autumn. His return marks the begin­ning of irreg­u­lar yet grad­u­al­ly more fre­quent vis­its, weav­ing him­self into the fab­ric of her exis­tence against a mon­tage of sea­sons and emo­tions.

Addie attempts to estab­lish bound­aries, a series of small promis­es aimed at pre­serv­ing her emo­tion­al detach­ment: not to bask in his embrace, not to share her sleep, not to indulge in any feel­ings beyond the phys­i­cal­i­ty of their encoun­ters. How­ev­er, these inten­tions crum­ble under the weight of their grow­ing inti­ma­cy. What begins as mere phys­i­cal attrac­tion evolves into a con­nec­tion that tran­scends the ini­tial sim­plic­i­ty of their rela­tion­ship.

The nar­ra­tive cap­tures this pro­gres­sion through poignant mile­stones — shar­ing meals, danc­ing, and ulti­mate­ly, being togeth­er — each a ten­ta­tive step deep­er into a rela­tion­ship that defies Addie’s attempts at emo­tion­al reser­va­tion. The pas­sage of time, from one sea­son to the next, from one year to a new one, and even as one decade fades into anoth­er, mir­rors the deep­en­ing of their bond. Luc’s requests evolve from sim­ple acts of com­pan­ion­ship to a plea for a more pro­found con­nec­tion, sym­bol­iz­ing their tran­si­tion from an ephemer­al fling to some­thing indef­i­nite­ly more sig­nif­i­cant.

Through the lens of Addie’s expe­ri­ences, the chap­ter del­i­cate­ly explores themes of long­ing, resis­tance, and the even­tu­al sur­ren­der to a con­nec­tion that sur­pass­es ini­tial expec­ta­tions. The sto­ry, set against the chang­ing sea­sons, encap­su­lates the essence of human emo­tion and the unpre­dictabil­i­ty of rela­tion­ships, por­tray­ing how what begins as “only sex” can evolve into some­thing unex­pect­ed­ly mean­ing­ful.

In the heart of New York City on May 15, 2014, Addie decides to bring an ancient tab­by cat home from the book­store where Hen­ry works, mark­ing the begin­ning of a deep­er con­nec­tion between her and the life she inter­twines with Hen­ry’s. This act of kind­ness towards the cat, named Book, sym­bol­izes Addie’s long­ing for com­pan­ion­ship and per­haps an attempt to bring some joy into Hen­ry’s life. Book adapts quick­ly to Hen­ry’s nar­row Brook­lyn apart­ment, an indi­ca­tion that despite changes, there can be a sense of belong­ing and home.

A ten­der moment unfolds on the couch as they bond, but it is inter­rupt­ed by Hen­ry’s attempt to cap­ture it with a Polaroid cam­era. These attempts fail repeat­ed­ly, pro­duc­ing images that miss the essence of Addie; her vis­age is either dis­tort­ed, absent, or turned away as if the cam­era can­not tru­ly see her. This phe­nom­e­non puz­zles Hen­ry, push­ing him to try cap­tur­ing her image mul­ti­ple times unsuc­cess­ful­ly, con­fronting the tan­gi­ble impos­si­bil­i­ty of the sit­u­a­tion with each attempt.

Addie empa­thet­i­cal­ly indulges Hen­ry’s per­se­ver­ance despite know­ing the futil­i­ty of his efforts. The failed attempts not only high­light the super­nat­ur­al ele­ment of Addie’s exis­tence but also reflect on the tran­sient nature of mem­o­ry and pres­ence. The frus­tra­tion and melan­choly grow with each failed pho­to, yet this exer­cise brings them clos­er, reveal­ing the depth of their con­nec­tion beyond the visu­al or the tan­gi­ble.

When Hen­ry final­ly hands the cam­era to Addie, urg­ing her to try, there is a shift in per­spec­tive. With Hen­ry’s guid­ance, Addie cap­tures a mean­ing­ful pho­to of the scat­tered Polaroids around her feet, sym­bol­iz­ing her pres­ence in a life com­posed of fleet­ing moments and inter­ac­tions. Despite the inabil­i­ty of the cam­era to cap­ture her as peo­ple typ­i­cal­ly see them­selves, this moment sig­ni­fies a real­iza­tion for Addie that there are oth­er ways to leave a mark, to be remem­bered, and to mat­ter.

This chap­ter not only explores themes of vis­i­bil­i­ty, mem­o­ry, and exis­tence but also del­i­cate­ly unfolds the intri­cate dynam­ics of Addie and Hen­ry’s rela­tion­ship through the sim­ple act of try­ing to cap­ture a moment, empha­siz­ing the notion that some con­nec­tions are beyond what the eye can see or the cam­era can cap­ture.

Hen­ry’s dri­ve back home encap­su­lates his com­plex rela­tion­ship with the con­cept of home and his fam­i­ly, man­i­fest­ing his antic­i­pa­tions and anx­i­eties about a typ­i­cal Strauss fam­i­ly din­ner. The jour­ney from New York City to New­burgh marks not just a phys­i­cal tran­si­tion away from the famil­iar­i­ty of the city but a psy­cho­log­i­cal prepa­ra­tion for the famil­ial dynam­ics that await. Henry’s reflec­tive voy­age under­scores his sense of iso­la­tion and dif­fer­ing iden­ti­ty with­in the fam­i­ly struc­ture, char­ac­ter­ized by dis­tinct per­sonas: David the pil­lar, Muriel the tor­na­do, and Hen­ry him­self, the ghost. This antic­i­pat­ed gath­er­ing in New­burgh, laden with expect­ed famil­ial roles and inter­ac­tions, sets the stage for an evening Hen­ry dreads, yet inevitably par­tic­i­pates in.

Upon arrival, how­ev­er, the antic­i­pat­ed dynam­ics are star­tling­ly absent. The famil­ial recep­tion breaks from the tra­di­tion of cri­tique and expec­ta­tion that Hen­ry braced for, intro­duc­ing an under­cur­rent of warmth and accep­tance that feels both alien and exhil­a­rat­ing. The absence of judg­ment and the pos­i­tive affir­ma­tions from his fam­i­ly mem­bers gen­er­ate a sur­re­al atmos­phere for Hen­ry, con­trast­ing sharply with his expec­ta­tions. This dif­fer­ence is punc­tu­at­ed by the nuanced accep­tance of his cur­rent life choic­es, includ­ing his man­age­ment of a Brook­lyn book­shop and his past schools and career paths. His family’s sup­port, seem­ing­ly unhin­dered by the unspo­ken yet per­va­sive dis­ap­point­ment Hen­ry usu­al­ly per­ceives, intro­duces a pecu­liar light­ness to the evening.

The inter­ac­tion dur­ing and after din­ner reveals a side of his fam­i­ly that Hen­ry is unac­cus­tomed to—a sin­cer­i­ty and sup­port­ive­ness that ques­tion the authen­tic­i­ty of the expe­ri­ence, giv­en its devi­a­tion from the norm. This din­ner har­bors con­ver­sa­tions devoid of the usu­al crit­i­cisms or advice, replaced instead by gen­uine inter­est and encour­age­ment. Even Muriel’s dis­sent­ing voice lacks its usu­al con­de­scend­ing edge, reveal­ing a pro­tec­tive con­cern for Henry’s happ­pi­ness. This shift in fam­i­ly dynam­ics, although unset­tling for Hen­ry, also offers a glimpse into an alter­na­tive famil­ial rela­tion­ship based on mutu­al respect and under­stand­ing.

The evening cul­mi­nates in pri­vate moments between Hen­ry and his fam­i­ly mem­bers where per­son­al top­ics, such as his breakup with Tabitha, are broached with a del­i­cate mix of con­cern and respect. The dis­cus­sions with his par­ents and the qui­et inter­ac­tion with Muriel on the porch high­light a fam­i­ly moment untaint­ed by the weight of expec­ta­tions or past dis­ap­point­ments. The shared moments of vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty and con­nec­tion under­score a poten­tial for a deep­er, more mean­ing­ful famil­ial rela­tion­ship, dis­tinct from the accus­tomed ten­sions and crit­i­cisms.

How­ev­er, the evening’s warmth and accep­tance, jux­ta­posed with Henry’s inher­ent skep­ti­cism, under­score a pal­pa­ble dis­so­nance. The gen­uine con­nec­tions and pos­i­tive affir­ma­tions from his fam­i­ly mem­bers stark­ly con­trast with Henry’s expec­ta­tions, leav­ing him to nav­i­gate this unchart­ed emo­tion­al land­scape. The chap­ter intri­cate­ly explores the com­plex­i­ties of fam­i­ly dynam­ics, iden­ti­ty, and the search for accep­tance, encap­su­lat­ed in a sin­gle evening’s gath­er­ing that simul­ta­ne­ous­ly chal­lenges and affirms Henry’s per­cep­tions of his famil­ial role and indi­vid­ual iden­ti­ty.

In the heart of New York City on a chilly evening in March, Addie finds her­self amidst a din­ner par­ty that feels refresh­ing­ly nor­mal. She is caught between Hen­ry and Elise, bathed in the warmth of casu­al con­ver­sa­tion, laugh­ter, and the del­i­cate dance of new rela­tion­ships. This set­ting pro­vides a momen­tary escape from her usu­al­ly com­pli­cat­ed exis­tence, allow­ing her to believe, if only for a moment, that she too could lead a sim­ple life. Her inter­ac­tions flow effortlessly—from dis­cussing art with Bea, mus­ing about Paris with Josh, to engag­ing in wine talk with Elise—while Hen­ry’s gen­tle touch under the table adds a lay­er of inti­ma­cy to the evening.

How­ev­er, the har­mo­ny of the night is con­trast­ed by Rob­bie’s pal­pa­ble dis­con­tent. Despite Josh’s flir­ta­tious efforts, Rob­bie’s rest­less­ness is unmis­tak­able, mir­ror­ing a ten­sion that Addie rec­og­nizes all too well. This ten­sion peaks when Elise briefly leaves the table, only to return with a for­got­ten mem­o­ry of Addie’s name, high­light­ing a pecu­liar aspect of Addie’s reality—her exis­tence is eas­i­ly for­got­ten by those around her.

Ban­ter ensues about birth­days, par­tic­u­lar­ly Bea’s mys­te­ri­ous birth date, lead­ing to a play­ful debate on the essence of such cel­e­bra­tions. This sparks a minor con­fronta­tion when Rob­bie mis­tak­en­ly calls Addie “Andy,” expos­ing a fun­da­men­tal curse she bears—one that pre­vents oth­ers from remem­ber­ing her.

The evening takes a turn when Rob­bie, over­whelmed by emo­tions and per­haps jeal­ousy, storms off for a smoke, mark­ing the begin­ning of the end for this idyl­lic night. Addie decides to leave, part­ing with a fleet­ing kiss to Hen­ry, feel­ing the inevitable lone­li­ness as she steps out into the cold. Sur­pris­ing­ly, Hen­ry fol­lows, lead­ing to a can­did con­ver­sa­tion on their stoop about friend­ship, love, and recog­ni­tion. Addie learns of Rob­bie’s unre­quit­ed love for Hen­ry, a love acknowl­edged by Hen­ry but unrec­i­p­ro­cat­ed. In this moment, Addie reflects on the com­plex­i­ties of human con­nec­tions, the pain of unre­turned love, and the tran­sient beau­ty of a night spent in the illu­sion of nor­mal­cy.

In Paris, France, on July 29, 1719, Addie lux­u­ri­ates in the hid­den plea­sures of a marquis’s city house, savor­ing the rar­i­ty and deca­dence of choco­late, among oth­er stolen lux­u­ries. As nobles busy with their social engage­ments, the house offers Addie a secret refuge and a taste of a life far removed from her own sim­pler exis­tence. She rev­els in the anonymi­ty and the ghost-like exis­tence that allows her to explore lives she could nev­er lead, amidst the opu­lence and pri­va­cy of the unfa­mil­iar.

Her soli­tary indul­gence is inter­rupt­ed by an eerie, famil­iar presence—Luc, the enig­mat­ic fig­ure who grant­ed her immor­tal­i­ty in exchange for a curse to be for­ev­er for­got­ten by those she meets. Their reunion is charged with ten­sion and unspo­ken his­to­ries, a mix of defi­ance and res­ig­na­tion mark­ing their exchange. Luc, embody­ing both temp­ta­tion and tor­ment, pro­pos­es a din­ner with­in the illu­sion of nor­mal­cy their pecu­liar rela­tion­ship can muster, manip­u­lat­ing real­i­ty to suit the whims of their encounter.

Din­ner unfolds as an elab­o­rate per­for­mance, ser­vants mov­ing as if under a spell, pro­vid­ing a feast that accen­tu­ates the sur­re­al qual­i­ty of Addie and Luc’s inter­ac­tion. The set­ting, rich with the trap­pings of priv­i­lege, becomes a stage for their com­plex dynam­ic, a taut dia­logue under­scored by the pow­er strug­gle and deep-seat­ed emo­tions between them. Addie grap­ples with her feel­ings of anger, betray­al, and the flick­ers of long­ing for con­nec­tion, all while nav­i­gat­ing the unset­tling real­i­ty Luc crafts around them.

As the evening pro­gress­es, a deep­er explo­ration of iden­ti­ty and desire is revealed through their ban­ter, each prob­ing the oth­er’s vul­ner­a­bil­i­ties and con­vic­tions, Addie dar­ing to ask Luc’s true name—a sym­bol of pow­er and a con­ces­sion she seeks. Luc’s response, a mix of eva­sion and chal­lenge, deep­ens the mys­tery sur­round­ing his nature and inten­tions.

Ulti­mate­ly, the chap­ter is a vivid por­tray­al of Addie’s tumul­tuous journey—her quest for auton­o­my, her con­fronta­tion with the con­fines of her wish, and her con­tin­u­ous strug­gle against the bind­ings of Luc’s gift-curse. The opu­lent back­drop of the marquis’s house serves as a stark con­trast to the inter­nal bat­tles and the ethe­re­al, haunt­ing exchanges between Addie and Luc, cul­mi­nat­ing in a com­plex dance of manip­u­la­tion, resis­tance, and the relent­less pur­suit of some­thing just beyond reach.

In the mys­te­ri­ous woods of Vil­lon-sur-Sarthe, France, on July 29, 1714, Ade­line finds her­self dis­ori­ent­ed and alone after an encounter with a stranger that left her untouched but altered. Pre­vi­ous­ly yearn­ing for a life beyond her des­tined mar­riage to Roger and the con­fines of her vil­lage, she now sens­es an eerie change. Despite feel­ing phys­i­cal­ly unchanged, a fore­bod­ing sense sets in as she real­izes her sur­round­ings are silent, the vil­lage fes­tiv­i­ties ceased, and dark­ness envelops her home­com­ing.

Upon return­ing home, the dread with­in Ade­line sharp­ens as her fam­i­ly does not rec­og­nize her, react­ing with fear and dis­be­lief to her pres­ence. In a shock­ing turn, her moth­er per­ceives her as a stranger, or worse, a threat, lead­ing to Ade­line’s har­row­ing real­iza­tion that some­thing pro­found and unset­tling has altered her real­i­ty. Des­per­ate­ly attempt­ing to prove her iden­ti­ty proves futile; her voice fails her when try­ing to speak her name or fam­i­ly name, leav­ing her iso­lat­ed and in despair.

Faced with rejec­tion from her par­ents, who deny her very exis­tence and view her as a curse, Ade­line is force­ful­ly removed from her home. Dis­traught, she seeks solace and answers from Estele, an old woman knowl­edge­able in the mys­tic arts and old gods, whom Ade­line has known all her life. Yet, the same pat­tern of dis­be­lief and rejec­tion unfolds, push­ing Ade­line deep­er into the void of her new, soli­tary exis­tence.

Ade­line’s plea for help to Estele ini­tial­ly appears to break through, hint­ing at a sliv­er of recog­ni­tion, but swift­ly shut­ters as Estele retreats, fur­ther cement­ing the grav­i­ty of Ade­line’s altered state. The bewil­der­ing encounter marks the begin­ning of Ade­line’s real­iza­tion of the deal’s con­se­quences she made in dark­ness, leav­ing her name­less, unrec­og­nized, a stranger even to her­self. As the chap­ter clos­es, Ade­line con­fronts the vast, unknow­able dark of the for­est alone, echo­ing her plea to the unseen stranger, mark­ing the start of her jour­ney through a world where she exists yet is unseen, known yet unknown, present but per­pet­u­al­ly lost.

Chap­ter X of “The Com­ing Race” explores the social struc­tures and gen­der dynam­ics of the nov­el­’s advanced under­ground soci­ety, focus­ing par­tic­u­lar­ly on the roles and per­cep­tions of men and women (referred to as Ana and Gy-ei respec­tive­ly). In this soci­ety, gen­der equal­i­ty is not just an ide­al but a con­crete real­i­ty, with both men and women enjoy­ing the same rights and respon­si­bil­i­ties from child­hood through adult­hood. Ear­ly on, both gen­ders are engaged in sim­i­lar work and activ­i­ties, includ­ing the tasks asso­ci­at­ed with the com­mu­ni­ty’s defense. Inter­est­ing­ly, this cul­ture views women as being inher­ent­ly stronger and more capa­ble in cer­tain aspects, espe­cial­ly in mat­ters requir­ing phys­i­cal strength and intel­lec­tu­al rea­son­ing.

The Gy-ei, or women, are described as phys­i­cal­ly robust and intel­lec­tu­al­ly astute, often out­per­form­ing their male coun­ter­parts in both phys­i­cal endeav­ors and in the mas­tery of vril, a mys­te­ri­ous ener­gy or pow­er that can be used for both cre­ation and destruc­tion. Despite this appar­ent advan­tage, there’s a strong cul­tur­al empha­sis on coop­er­a­tion and har­mo­ny between the sex­es, under­pinned by his­tor­i­cal lessons learned from times when the bal­ance of pow­er had led to social upheaval.

One of the most sig­nif­i­cant reflec­tions of gen­der dynam­ics in this soci­ety is the approach to mar­riage and courtship, where agree­ments are bound for a peri­od of three years with the option for renew­al or dis­so­lu­tion. This sys­tem, along with the rare prac­tice of polygamy, forms the back­bone of their famil­ial struc­tures and under­scores a val­ue sys­tem where per­son­al choice and mutu­al respect are para­mount. Notably, the Gy-ei have the cul­tur­al­ly unique role of being the ini­tia­tors in roman­tic rela­tion­ships, a prac­tice they defend with fer­vor and log­ic, argu­ing that as the more emo­tion­al­ly invest­ed gen­der, women should right­ful­ly pur­sue the objects of their affec­tions.

Addi­tion­al­ly, a his­tor­i­cal anec­dote reveals a time when the mis­use of the Gy-ei’s supe­ri­or abil­i­ties in con­trol­ling vril led to a sig­nif­i­cant soci­etal shift, empha­siz­ing a col­lec­tive deci­sion among the Gy-ei to refrain from abus­ing their pow­er, rein­forc­ing the theme of moral and social respon­si­bil­i­ty that tran­scends indi­vid­ual capa­bil­i­ties or gen­der roles.

Through these var­i­ous facets of gen­der inter­ac­tion and soci­etal norms, “The Com­ing Race” offers a thought-pro­vok­ing exam­i­na­tion of equal­i­ty, pow­er dynam­ics, and the con­structs of gen­der roles, sug­gest­ing a soci­ety where bal­ance, respect, and the acknowl­edg­ment of indi­vid­ual strengths and vul­ner­a­bil­i­ties cre­ate a cohe­sive and enlight­ened com­mu­ni­ty.