Chapter 23: The Lasting Last of Her — Summary and Analysis

⚠️ Spoiler Warning: This guide contains detailed spoilers for the entire novel. Proceed only if you've finished reading or are comfortable knowing the plot.

Summary

Chapter 23 opens with the narrator stranded in his camper, the Guiding Star, on the side of a road after a blackout has knocked out the power grid for the Cleveland metro area. Rain pebbles against the metal roof as he plays solitaire by candlelight, with Flip resting his head on his foot. Outside, other stranded vehicles line the road, and he hears motorists talking resignedly, smells a charcoal grill, and sees distant bottle rockets. He wishes Cammie would call back, but all his phones are dead, their batteries drained by the same force that killed his vehicle and the grid.

Using a mini gas stove, he cooks a can of pork brains in milk gravy with scrambled eggs—a dish Flip loves and one the narrator remembers his mother cooking regularly. The food triggers a vivid memory of her as a child in Iowa, standing on a kitchen chair to open a can and light the burner. He reflects that she claimed she never needed anyone to take care of her from a baby.

The narrator notes that for years he has been good at keeping his mother out of his mind, but Cammie’s conspiracy talk has brought her back. He hates when a memory overtakes him, describing a bottomless, sinking feeling. He wishes he could wake up on a desert island with amnesia. He deliberately chooses not to think of the last time he saw her—her remains covered in rock salt and mothballs in an industrial-plastic cargo box in a self-storage facility outside Fairbanks, Alaska—nor the weeks before he closed the lid on her corpse.

Instead, he recalls a motel stay at the Mr. Sandman Motel near the Arizona–New Mexico border when he was about thirteen. His mother had just finished a scam on a polygamist cult near Bisbee and was looking for their next venture. She told him about a ranch in southern New Mexico where a crazy billionaire supposedly kept a hundred or more women and girls “like cattle,” paying them fifty thousand dollars to get pregnant, with embryos extracted and frozen in liquid nitrogen. The narrator did not fully believe her—she was a compulsive liar who often ran stories by him for practice or to frighten him—but he listened because sometimes she told the truth. He asked what the billionaire did with the babies, and she laughed as if he were stupid. She called him to bed, saying “Come to bed, little rabbit.”

He remembers a nursery rhyme she used to sing about a little cabin in the wood, a little old man, and a rabbit that knocks at the door, saying “Help me, help me, or the hunter will shoot me dead.” Even as a child, he understood the old man was probably a rapist or murderer, and the rabbit was doomed. As he grew older, “rabbit” became his mother’s code for a patsy. When she pinched his ear and whispered “Come on, little rabbit,” he knew bad things were in store, but he obeyed. In the motel, she put her arm around him and rubbed his head, discussing the fifty thousand dollars and whether she was pretty enough to make the cut at thirty. She teased that they might pay her for him. She sang softly, “Do-lang, do-lang, do-lang.”

He recalls that she had a beautiful voice and claimed to have been in an all-girl band called the Happy Home Jubilee Singers, covering country and pop songs, and even meeting Phil Spector, though he didn’t help them. She said, “It could have been different. In another life.” But instead, she said, she got him. They never made it to the billionaire’s compound—either it didn’t exist, she wasn’t accepted, or another rabbit caught her eye. He has discarded large chunks of that part of his life from waking memory.

He reflects on how she kept the question of whether she actually gave birth to him muddy. Sometimes she would say, “Don’t call me that. I’m not your mother,” and he was expected to call her by whatever name she was using—Sessy, Taffy, Barbara. She once showed him a newspaper headline: “Baby Ripped from Murdered Mom’s Womb Opens Eyes for First Time,” and said, “What a coincidence! That’s exactly how I got you!” She claimed she had no parents, saying, “People like us invent ourselves, baby.”

Now, sitting in the camper as a man in his fifth decade, older than she will ever be, he can still hear her whisper. He chooses not to think about the night in Fairbanks on the bridge—the hypodermic needle sinking into the back of her neck, her hands swatting, the apple falling from her hand. He does not think about the scar on his right forearm where she bit him. He likes to believe there is no lasting last of her, that when he dies no memories of her will remain—she will be nothing but a bog person, a piece of beef jerky packed in salt and naphthalene in a warehouse outside Fairbanks. He remembers her saying, “Most people don’t want any help, and the rest of them don’t deserve it.” He ends with the hope that she is never found.

Key Events

A blackout strands the narrator’s camper on the roadside; he waits by candlelight, plays solitaire, and cooks pork brains and eggs.
The food triggers a memory of his mother cooking the same dish when he was a child.
He recalls a motel stay near the Arizona–New Mexico border when he was about thirteen, where his mother told him about a billionaire who kept women to be impregnated and froze embryos.
She teases him, calls him “little rabbit,” and sings a nursery rhyme about a rabbit and a little old man.
She claims she was in an all-girl band and jokes that she might sell him.
They never go to the compound; the narrator has discarded large chunks of that period from memory.
He reflects on her habit of denying she was his mother and showing him a newspaper article about a baby ripped from a murdered mother’s womb.
He recalls the night in Fairbanks on a bridge, where he injected her with a hypodermic needle and she bit him.
He hopes she is never found.

Character Development

The narrator’s internal struggle with memory and identity deepens in this chapter. He has deliberately suppressed memories of his mother, but Cammie’s conspiracy talk forces them to resurface. His reaction—the “bottomless, sinking feeling” and his wish for amnesia—shows how profoundly his mother’s abuse has shaped him. He is a man in his fifth decade, yet he still feels like the child who obeyed her beckoning finger.

The chapter also clarifies his relationship with Cammie. He notes that when Cammie opened her mouth, his mom’s laugh came out, and he felt something fall into place, finally knowing for sure that he did come out of her. This moment of recognition suggests that Cammie may be connected to his mother in ways he is only beginning to understand, and it complicates his feelings toward her.

His mother emerges as a deeply manipulative figure—a compulsive liar, a con artist, and an emotionally abusive parent who used fear, teasing, and false affection to control him. Her use of “rabbit” as a code for patsy reveals her predatory worldview, and her willingness to joke about selling him underscores her lack of maternal care. The narrator’s final hope that she is never found indicates both his desire to escape her influence and his unresolved guilt or fear about what he did to her.

Themes, Symbols, or Motifs

Blackout and infrastructure collapse: The chapter opens with a power grid failure, mirroring the narrator’s own mental blackouts and the collapse of his carefully constructed memories.
Memory suppression and deliberate forgetting: The narrator explicitly chooses not to think about his mother’s corpse and the events in Fairbanks, illustrating his active effort to unremember trauma.
Toxic motherhood and maternal abuse: His mother’s denial of being his mother, her lies, and her emotional manipulation all point to a profoundly dysfunctional maternal relationship.
Con artistry and deception: His mother’s scams and her habit of running stories by him for practice highlight the theme of deception that runs through the novel.
Rabbit as code for patsy or victim: The nursery rhyme and his mother’s use of “little rabbit” symbolize the narrator’s role as a manipulated pawn.
Exploitation of women’s bodies and baby farming: The billionaire’s supposed compound, where women are paid to be impregnated and embryos are frozen, evokes themes of bodily commodification and control.
Urban legends and conspiracy narratives: The story of the billionaire is presented as an urban legend, blurring the line between truth and fabrication—a recurring motif in the book.
Matricide and killing the mother: The narrator’s recollection of injecting his mother and his hope that she is never found suggest he may have killed her, and he is trying to erase her from existence.
Preservation of the dead and corpse storage: The image of her body packed in salt and mothballs in a storage facility parallels the idea of preserving memories or suppressing them.
Food as a trigger for memory: Pork brains and eggs serve as a sensory trigger that brings his mother back to mind, showing how taste and smell can unlock buried recollections.
Nursery rhyme as dark allegory: The rhyme about the rabbit and the old man is reinterpreted as a warning about predators and doom.
Questioning biological origins and maternal ambiguity: His mother’s denial of being his mother and the newspaper article about a baby ripped from a womb leave his origins uncertain until Cammie’s laugh provides a clue.

Why This Chapter Matters

Chapter 23 is a pivotal backstory chapter that deepens our understanding of the narrator’s psyche and his relationship with his mother. It explains why he is so guarded and why he has such difficulty trusting others. The chapter also establishes a crucial link between Cammie and his mother—her laugh triggers his realization that she is biologically his mother, which may have implications for the plot going forward. The themes of memory suppression, maternal abuse, and the blurring of truth and lies are central to the novel’s larger exploration of identity and self-invention. The chapter’s ending, with his hope that his mother is never found, raises questions about what he has done and what he might still be hiding.

Study Questions and Answers

1. Why does the narrator choose not to think about the night in Fairbanks, and what does this reveal about his character?

The narrator deliberately suppresses the memory of injecting his mother with a hypodermic needle on a bridge in Fairbanks, as well as the scar on his forearm where she bit him. This reveals his deep trauma and his active effort to unremember painful events. It also suggests he may have killed her, and he is trying to erase that act from his consciousness. His wish to wake up with amnesia underscores his desire to escape the weight of his past.

2. How does the nursery rhyme about the rabbit function as a symbol in this chapter?

The nursery rhyme, in which a rabbit knocks on a cabin door and is invited in by a little old man, is reinterpreted by the narrator as a story about a predator and a doomed victim. His mother uses “rabbit” as a code for a patsy, and she calls him “little rabbit” when she wants to manipulate him. The symbol thus represents the narrator’s role as a victim of his mother’s schemes and his learned helplessness in obeying her.

3. What does the narrator’s realization about Cammie’s laugh reveal about his mother’s identity?

When Cammie opens her mouth and his mom’s laugh comes out, the narrator feels something fall into place and finally knows for sure that he did come out of her. This suggests that Cammie may be connected to his mother—perhaps she is a relative, a clone, or a product of the same kind of exploitation his mother described. The realization also forces him to confront the maternal ambiguity that his mother had kept muddy for years.