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The Theft That Got Me Here
Themes
Key
LitCharts assigns a color and icon to each theme in Things We Didn’t See Coming, which you can use to track the themes throughout the work.
Morality and Survival
Apocalypse vs. Routine
Body as Currency vs. Body as Liability
Wealth, Privilege, and Value
Care and Companionship under Crisis
Summary
Analysis
When they return to the house, Liz has broken a stool and stuffed some bedsheets in the fireplace, her attempt at making kindling for a fire. Jenna looks at her mother “the way a ship looks down at its anchor,” while the narrator searches for paper. Eventually, he finds old photos, and he doesn’t even look at them—he stopped hesitating to burn other people’s photos long ago.
Fire, a source of cozy comfort in the first chapter, has now become an essential means of staying alive. The narrator’s belief that Jenna sees her mother as an “anchor” is perhaps a projection of his own view that other people only pose dangerous obstacles, and his willingness to burn old photographs reflects this pessimistic view of relationship.
Themes
While Liz makes jokes about the wine (“sorry, it’s not chilled”), Jenna leaves. Liz explains that Jenna doesn’t drink, and she feels guilty about leaving her daughter to be the sober one. The narrator assesses that Liz and Jenna were once well-off, though that is obviously no longer the case. When the narrator asks Liz how much she thinks the bottles of wine are worth, she is confused by the question.
In different ways, both Liz and the narrator cling to old ideas about how society should work: Liz jokes that the wine is not “chilled” as it should be, while the narrator focuses on traditional ideas of monetary value and worth even though he has nothing to eat.
Themes
Suddenly, a stampede of deer runs up the hill—the deer could kill them, but fortunately, they don’t seem to notice the two naked humans. The narrator and Liz finish rinsing off (she even gargles to get the stringy rat out of her teeth), and they return to the house. Before they sleep together, the narrator convinces Liz that she needs to leave; once she agrees, he congratulates himself on helping these women be “saved.” During the sex, the narrator notices Liz close her eyes.
It is telling that just as Liz and the narrator are about to act on their most bodily, animal instincts with each other, they encounter a stampede of deer; all of these creatures are, after all, just doing what it takes to survive. The fact that Liz closes her eyes suggests that she is imagining herself having sex under other circumstances (in the same way that the narrator often dissociates through troubling times).
Themes
The narrator encourages Jenna to go to higher ground, but Jenna refuses: her mother is 46, over the cutoff for “building.” Secretly, the narrator hopes to persuade Jenna to leave—without her daughter Liz will starve, and he can come back and steal the wine. Jenna, haunted by the memory of her father’s abandonment, hesitates, even when the narrator remarks that Liz is “leaving […] with every drink.” The two walk home in silence, and the narrator realizes how good he is at persuading people to leave the things they love.
A few moments ago, the narrator reflected on the comforts of sex. But if bodies can sometimes bring pleasure, Jenna’s anxiety about her mother’s old age—rendering her too frail for this mysterious, government-driven “building”—shows that bodies can also be a source of vulnerability. The narrator’s efficient critique of Liz’s drinking once again links survival not to care-taking but to self-protection and solitude (an attitude reflected in his own lonely life).
Themes
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The narrator finds some bark from ash pines, and he instructs Jenna to fill a plastic string bag—right next to “where the bullets are” in his sidebag—with bark. Jenna is slow to catch on to the manual labor involved in gathering bark, explaining that she prefers to keep a diary of everything that is happening around her, rather than working (like the narrator) or escaping with drink (like Liz). The narrator, frustrated, muses that “she’s exactly the kind of romantic that’s got no instinct to make it,” though he still wants to kiss her.
Previously, the narrator told Jenna and Liz that his horse ran off with all of his ammunition; now, readers learn that the narrator is lying (though Jenna and Liz are still in the dark). While the narrator reduces sex to bodily contact in his mind, he now asserts that Jenna’s “romantic” views of the world get in the way of the practical skills needed to “make it” under such harsh conditions.
Themes
They eat the rat in silence. While they chew, the narrator thinks about a recent sexual encounter with a woman who refused to evacuate. She said she was waiting for her husband, though the narrator does not think such a husband ever existed. That night, the woman had asked the narrator to stay, and they’d slept together; the next morning, she abandoned her house, without taking any items. This story gives the narrator new confidence that he can get Liz and Jenna to leave.
In order to succeed as both an evacuator and a thief, the narrator depends on other people’s abandoning their own principles (much as he has let go of his earlier rule-abiding ways). It is possible that the moment of sexual chemistry that the narrator shares with Liz makes him think that she, like the other evacuee, can be persuaded to leave.
Themes
The worst part of the narrator’s job is persuading people to leave their homes. Though some people in his line of work try to be empathetic, the narrator prefers to be direct, handing out relocation vouchers and meds and moving on. The narrator feels that his efficiency is respectful, but many of the people he talks to still treat him with rage, cursing at him or threatening violence. “When it all gets to be too much,” the narrator explains, he passes the time by “conjuring sunny days, warm meals, people happy to see me.”
The narrator’s commitment to efficiency could be read as callous, but he hints at another reasoning—if he is separating people from their homes, not to mention their possessions, how could he ever pretend to know or empathize with their pain? There are two other details to catch: first, the narrator’s mention of medicine hints at the widespread health crises this flooding has caused. And second, the narrator’s imagined “sunny days” are an important recurring motif.
Themes
The narrator has been traveling for months in the rain. He rides on a rain horse, specifically trained to withstand endless downpours and to stay calm during lightning storms. But the narrator reflects that he has not gotten such training, and the dampness is starting to wear on him. Still, this is his job: he works with Land Management to scour valleys and other low areas for people who have yet to evacuate, in an attempt to protect them from the impending floods (and the stampedes of animals those floods cause).
Just as in the previous chapter, the narrator does not offer any context to explain how society transitioned from a drought-ridden, Barricaded state to this new era of floods. Crucially, though, this flooding already feels humdrum, proving just how quickly society can adapt—since we last saw the narrator (seemingly only a few years ago), new government positions and special rain horses have already been developed.
Themes
The narrator suggests going outside to find some food. The house has top-flight rain gear, which means that the original owners can’t have left too long ago. Liz stays behind because she is too out of it; she teases the narrator that he shouldn’t have sex with Jenna “unless she wants!” Jenna doesn’t want to have sex with the narrator, and he reflects on the intimacy he’s shared over the last few years, all of it with women who knew they had no other choice of partner.
The transactional way that Liz, Jenna, and the narrator discuss sex demonstrates how the recent crises have impacted even the most intimate forms of human contact. Instead of being motivated by attraction or love, the narrator and Liz both seem to understand that sex has become more about necessity—a trade of pleasure and comfort—than desire.
Themes
Liz wonders why the narrator, who works with Land Management, is helping them instead of shooing them away. The narrator just keeps cooking, finding salt and pepper and roasting the rat in the fire. Liz reveals that she used to be a nurse, and that if the government discovers her skills, she will be put to work dealing with mass death—which she cannot bear. The narrator helps Liz take off her rain clothes, and a mutual attraction courses between them, though Liz is twice his age.
Working for the government would undoubtedly provide Liz with the food and dry lodging she so desperately craves. But as before, Liz is unwilling to put her physical survival over the mental toll that working so close to so much death would take on her.
Themes
The next day, the narrator suggests a forage before everybody leaves. Liz comes along, walking fast and asking questions about the different plants. Halfway through the walk, Liz shoots the narrator in the leg, telling him to “stay away from us.” The sound of the gunshot starts another stampede, and the narrator blames himself (“this is what I get for lying”). He also wonders what it will take for Liz and Jenna to abandon each other, to finally become “survivors.”
Though the narrator has abandoned the strict moralism of his youth, he still clearly has a sense of karma, feeling that he has been punished for being dishonest. As he reflects on Liz and Jenna’s relationship, the narrator once again links survival and abandonment.
Themes
A few hours later, the narrator is awakened by a woman and her daughter, each wearing frayed party dresses. Both of them look like they haven’t eaten in weeks, and they are shifting uncomfortably. The older woman, wielding the kitchen knife, accuses the narrator of trespassing. The narrator smells alcohol on her breath, and he reflects that people out here no longer go to church like they used to (since the churches have all closed).
Again, objects associated with luxury (the party dresses) or comfort and delight (an expensive kitchen knife) now signal danger and discord. The narrator’s reflection that people no longer go to church hints that he is probably on the rural side of the Barricades (if they still exist), as he earlier made clear that rural areas were much more Christian.
Themes
After dinner, Liz grabs the driest sheet and tells the narrator she wants to go take a shower (“the last thing I want to do is get wet,” he jokes, “but the laster thing I want to do is not get laid”). Liz is smiling as they undress, though she cannot stop shivering. Her body is “deflated” from lack of food, but it still provides the narrator some warmth.
The narrator’s sense of humor plays an important role not only in his own sense of mental normalcy, but also in the book’s commitment to depicting disaster as routine and everyday. Still, even in more cheerful moments, the reminders of starvation and pain are never far, as can be seen in Liz’s “deflated” body.
Themes
The daughter searches the narrator’s possessions, finding his ID and his pistol. When the daughter, in her frenzy, breaks a glass, the narrator realizes that the house doesn’t actually belong to these women. The narrator explains that his horse ran off with the bullets, and he means no harm; he merely wants shelter and food. The women then calm down and introduce themselves as Liz (the mother) and Jenna (the daughter).
Instead of being an invader in these women’s home, the narrator realizes that they all have more in common than it might initially seem—all of them are at the mercy of this storm, forced here by circumstances out of their control. Perhaps the (obviously wealthy) original owners of the house could afford to hide out someplace more secure.
Themes
While Jenna mopes, the narrator is able to find and spear a rat—the other piece of their meal tonight. As they walk back, Jenna can barely hide her disgust. Wistfully, she remembers how there used to be a meat, a vegetable, and a starch at every meal. Slowly, the variety lessened, and then they ran out of food entirely.
Just as the narrator focuses on the quotidian details of his new life, Jenna’s longing for a balanced diet shows that the smallest routines can be the hardest things to lose.
Themes
The narrator wants some of the alcohol Liz is drinking, so she leads him to a decadent wine cellar. He also sees that Liz has set up mattresses in the basement. Liz explains that though it is the dampest part of the house, it is also the only place where she can escape the omnipresent sound of the rain.
Between the alcohol and the incessant storms, Liz’s logic seems to be failing, as she chooses to stay right in the dampest area of the house. Liz’s sleeping spot also suggests that she is prioritizing mental comfort (silence) over physical well-being.
Themes
The job doesn’t pay very much, but the real perk is that the narrator is (implicitly) allowed to take whatever he wants from the abandoned homes. In fact, the reason he has a horse instead of a car is because depriving him of an automobile is the only way the government can limit his theft. Most of the time, the narrator is able to do his job in peace, though he carries a gun just in case.
As a boy, the narrator did not want to break any rules—but given how society has changed, now rule-breaking (especially theft) is effectively government-sanctioned. The fact that the narrator carries a gun suggests that the increased violence evident in the last chapter has not yet subsided.
Themes
After a while, the rain eases up, and the narrator is able to start walking again. As he goes, he imagines being discovered by a country woman, around his age and eager to help. She takes care of him, using the right medicines and dry towels. “This woman, she’s so glad to see me,” the narrator imagines. “She’s waited patiently through all these months of hunger and rain for me to crawl ashore.”
Liz and the previous female evacuee turned to fantasy to make it through dire circumstances, and the narrator now follows suit. Crucially, despite the emphasis he places on splitting off and surviving alone, the narrator craves companionship, even suggesting in this fantasy that reaching this imaginary partner would be like coming “ashore” from the flood.
Themes
The narrator enters the A-frame house, which was once beautiful: he notices fake-rustic quilts and expensive appliances, plus the remnants of tennis courts outside. There is nothing to eat, though, so the narrator uses one of the kitchen knives to cut into the fancy sofa, and he eats some pieces of foam.
Even as the world seems to grow unrecognizable (the valley flooding), material remains like the tennis courts and the appliances link this new landscape to our familiar one. This passage is laden with details that point towards the irony of capitalism: the narrator destroys a fancy couch to eat its foam, admiring expensive fake-rustic quilts even as reality itself has become much more “rustic.”
Themes
It’s almost evening now, and the narrator is navigating a flooding valley to get to a giant A-frame on top of a hill. Suddenly, his horse bucks, spooked by some unknown thing; though she’s never jolted before, she runs off. The narrator is left stranded with only a water bottle and his sidebag, as the horse was carrying all of his pills (plus the jewelry and batteries he had stolen).
The contents of the narrator’s sidebag suggest both that he is suffering from the same rain-related illness that others are—and that despite his dire circumstances, his money-oriented thieving has not stopped.
Themes
