JONATHAN ABERNATHY YOU ARE KIND

What would happen if, instead of taking a person’s soul, a Faustian bargain actually revealed it?

The opening of McGhee’s debut novel finds the eponymous Jonathan Abernathy in a dreary waiting room, and the sharp-tongued narrator tells us it’s his “spiritual cousin: chairs of vinyl, cluttered secretarial space, carpet that’s almost as downtrodden as he.” On the edge of eviction and drowning in a pool of debt “so diverse ecologists would be within their jurisdiction to classify the collection as ‘an ecosystem,’ ” Abernathy has been lured to Archival Office 508 by the opportunity to become a “dream auditor” and have his loans forgiven. All he has to do is don a white jumpsuit, go to sleep, and enter people’s dreams; once there, he’ll be taking notes and cleaning up anything that makes the dreamers unproductive workers. The problem is that he’s horrible at it. He’s unable to read the dreamers’ subconscious symbolism or emotional states—shortcomings for which Kai, his no-nonsense and short-tempered boss, constantly berates him. Meanwhile, in waking life, he's growing closer to his next-door neighbor, Rhoda, and her daughter, Timmy, but their blossoming intimacy is overshadowed by past traumas that they struggle to process. After a series of strange events, Abernathy begins to uncover the (even) darker side of the Archival Office’s work and Kai’s entanglement in it. Sleep and wakefulness bleed into each other as the places that Abernathy’s dreams bring him start looking eerily familiar. Though the novel is a brutal examination of the psychological pressures and ethical complexity required to survive under late capitalism, McGhee’s wry humor, tenderness, and razor-sharp writing keeps it from veering into nihilism and infuses it with a real, if melancholy, kind of hope.

Upton Sinclair meets modern workplace satire—with a lot of heart.