Midlife, Grief, and Arrival

Soot, a middle-aged Black author, arrives in frozen Minnesota to speak at a college reeling from a recent tragedy. He's weary, his body aching with age and grief, and his mind haunted by the deaths of his daughter and the ever-present threat of violence. The cold is relentless, and so is the emotional climate—he's expected to offer hope to a community in mourning. Soot's journey is not just physical but deeply internal, as he navigates the expectations placed on him as a Black public figure and the personal wounds that never quite heal. The chapter sets the tone: a man caught between public duty and private pain, between the need to comfort others and the impossibility of comforting himself.

The Summer of Change

Soot recalls a recent American summer when the streets overflowed with protest, hope, and the promise of real change. For a moment, it seemed the American Dream was finally coming true for Black Americans—until the energy faded, the powerful co-opted the movement, and the old order reasserted itself. The chapter is a meditation on the cyclical nature of American progress and regression, the exhaustion of fighting for justice, and the bittersweet taste of hope that never quite delivers. Soot's cynicism is tempered by his refusal to give up, even as he recognizes the limits of what one summer—or one man—can achieve.

Hollywood Stardust and Threats

Soot travels to Hollywood, hoping to sell his book rights and secure his place in the American literary pantheon. Instead, he's met with indifference and the cold reality that "America has moved on." On his way back to his hotel, he's assaulted in an alley by Remus, a mysterious, scarred man who inspects Soot's teeth and calmly promises to kill him. The encounter is both terrifying and surreal, blending humor with menace. Soot's sense of safety is shattered, and the threat lingers, pushing him to consider escape—not just from Remus, but from America itself.

The Man Named Remus

Remus is more than a would-be killer; he's a force of nature, a living embodiment of trauma, survival, and the violence that haunts Black life. His presence is both literal and symbolic, a reminder that danger can come from anywhere, even those who look like you. Remus's stories, scars, and unpredictable kindness complicate the simple narrative of villain and victim. Soot is left wondering whether Remus is a figment of his imagination, a messenger, or a harbinger of his own self-destruction.

Escape to The Continent

Fleeing Remus's threat and the weight of American violence, Soot accepts an invitation to Europe—a book tour sponsored by a mysterious billionaire known as "Frenchie." In Italy, he's greeted by a Black Scottish goon and a grown-up version of "The Kid," a once-imaginary companion now real and distant. The Continent offers the promise of safety, reinvention, and a place where "people like us" might finally breathe. But Soot's American anxieties, his gun, and his grief travel with him, refusing to be left behind.

Time Travel and Regret

Soot visits his ex-wife Tasha in Toronto, seeking forgiveness and understanding after their daughter's suicide. He claims he can "time travel"—not literally, but through memory, reliving every moment, searching for the mistake that doomed his child. Tasha is skeptical, urging him to accept that some wounds never heal and some losses are not anyone's fault. The chapter is a raw exploration of parental guilt, the limits of memory, and the longing to rewrite the past.

The Big One and Its Cost

Soot wins the National Book Award ("The Big One"), catapulting him to literary fame. The publishing world celebrates with wild abandon, but the victory is hollow. Soot is still haunted by grief, threatened by Remus, and unsure what success means in a country that remains dangerous for people like him. The award is both a shield and a target, a symbol of achievement and a reminder of all that remains broken.

The Offer: A New Country

In a glittering Italian villa, Frenchie offers Soot a deal: unimaginable wealth in exchange for permanent exile from America. Soot would become a "country of one," a living archive of the America that is vanishing, paid to remember and write about a homeland he can never return to. The offer is seductive—a chance to escape violence, racism, and fear—but it comes at the cost of belonging, legacy, and the possibility of return. Soot is forced to confront what home means, and whether safety is worth the price of exile.

The Weight of Guns

Guns are ever-present in Soot's life, both as literal objects and as symbols of American fear. He buys a pistol before leaving for Europe, smuggling it across the ocean as a talisman of safety. In Minnesota, in Italy, in Paris, the gun is both comfort and curse—a reminder that violence is never far away, and that the tools of survival can also be the instruments of destruction. The gun's presence shapes Soot's relationships, his sense of self, and ultimately, his fate.

The Kid Returns

The Kid, once Soot's imaginary friend, reappears as Dylan, a young Black man who has remade himself in Europe. Dylan is fluent in languages, but rootless, haunted by the same sense of unbelonging that plagues Soot. Their relationship is fraught—mentor and mentee, father and son, mirror and shadow. Dylan's struggles with identity, home, and "the condition" (a dissociative state) echo Soot's own, binding them together in a search for a place to belong.

Searching for Home

Soot, Dylan, The Goon, and Kelly (an old flame) form a makeshift family in Europe, seeking refuge from the violence and alienation of America. They debate the possibility of a Black utopia—"Nigger-La"—and the reality that no place is truly free from hierarchy, exclusion, or pain. The Velvet Bubble of Europe offers temporary relief, but the past and the American condition are never far behind. The search for home becomes a search for self, for community, and for a way to live with grief.

The Velvet Bubble

Life in Frenchie's Paris mansion is idyllic—books, food, love, and the absence of American violence. The group settles into a rhythm, almost believing they have found their Other Continent. But the bubble is fragile, built on wealth, isolation, and the denial of the world outside. The gun remains, as does the threat of Remus, and the knowledge that safety purchased by exile is always conditional, always at risk of rupture.

The American Question

At a Paris book festival, Soot is asked: "Do you love America?" The question reverberates through the group, exposing the wounds of diaspora, the longing for home, and the impossibility of ever truly belonging—either in America or abroad. The conversation with other Black expatriates reveals that Europe is quieter, less dangerous, but never truly home. The American question is unanswerable, a wound that never closes.

The Condition and Collapse

Dylan collapses, lost in a dissociative episode that echoes the trauma of school shootings and the fear that haunts Black youth. The group rallies around him, but the episode exposes the fragility of their sanctuary and the depth of their wounds. Soot's own mental health is precarious, his sense of reality slipping as he tries to care for Dylan and himself. The condition is both personal and collective—a symptom of a world that cannot be fixed.

The Party and the Promise

Dylan recovers, and the group celebrates with a party that feels like a new beginning. Frenchie returns, formalizing Soot's decision to stay in exile. For a moment, it seems they have found their Other Continent—a place of love, friendship, and peace. But the promise is fragile, built on denial and the hope that the past can be left behind. The gun, the grief, and the threat of violence remain, lurking at the edges of their new life.

The Gun That Won't Fall

Remus returns, forcing a final confrontation. In a moment of panic, Soot's gun goes off, and Dylan is shot. The sanctuary is shattered, the illusion of safety destroyed. Soot flees, haunted by guilt and the knowledge that the violence he tried to escape has followed him across the ocean. On a Paris bridge, he tries to let go of the gun—of America, of violence, of the past—but it refuses to fall, suspended in the air, a symbol of the inescapable weight of history.

The Invisibility Game

In the aftermath, Soot reflects on his daughter's death, his own suicidal ideation, and the impossibility of fixing the world. The game of invisibility—of hiding, of passing, of pretending to be someone else—has been both survival and curse. Soot's story is a plea for connection, for the possibility of being seen and loved, even in a world that refuses to change. The final lesson is not escape, but endurance: the gun may never fall, but people like us keep living, keep loving, and keep telling stories.

Characters

Soot (The Narrator)

Soot is a Black American writer in midlife, marked by grief, trauma, and a relentless search for meaning. He is both deeply self-deprecating and sharply observant, using humor to mask pain. His relationships—with his ex-wife, his dead daughter, The Kid, and his found family in Europe—are shaped by loss and longing. Soot's psychological landscape is fractured by guilt, fear, and the ever-present threat of violence. He is a man who cannot escape his past, his country, or himself, no matter how far he runs. His development is a journey from denial and escapism toward a hard-won acceptance of the limits of safety, the persistence of grief, and the necessity of connection.

The Kid / Dylan

Once an imaginary friend, The Kid reappears as Dylan, a young Black man fluent in languages but rootless and dissociative. Dylan's "condition" is both a literal mental health struggle and a metaphor for the Black diaspora's sense of unbelonging. He is brilliant, sensitive, and haunted by trauma—especially the fear of violence and the impossibility of finding home. His relationship with Soot is complex: part son, part mirror, part ghost. Dylan's collapse and recovery are central to the novel's emotional arc, embodying both the hope and the despair of a generation searching for safety and meaning.

Remus

Remus is both a literal threat and a symbolic figure—the embodiment of violence, trauma, and the inescapable legacy of American racism. His physical presence is overwhelming, his stories are riddled with pain, and his motives are never entirely clear. Remus's promise to kill Soot is both a personal threat and a metaphor for the dangers that follow Black Americans everywhere. His scars, humor, and moments of unexpected tenderness complicate the narrative, making him both villain and victim, messenger and executioner.

Tasha

Soot's ex-wife, Tasha, is a formidable presence—intelligent, direct, and deeply wounded by the loss of their daughter. Her relationship with Soot is fraught but loving, marked by shared grief and the impossibility of moving on. Tasha is a voice of reason, urging Soot to accept what cannot be changed and to seek healing, even as she struggles with her own pain. Her development is a testament to endurance, the limits of forgiveness, and the necessity of letting go.

Kelly

Kelly is Soot's old flame, a funeral director who has fled America for Europe in search of peace. She is both a source of comfort and a reminder of what Soot has lost. Kelly's ability to "hear" Soot's thoughts symbolizes intimacy and vulnerability, and her presence in the found family offers the possibility of love and connection. She is pragmatic, compassionate, and unafraid to confront the darkness that others avoid.

The Goon

A Black Scottish man with a love of Lovecraft and a longing for Rhode Island, The Goon is both comic relief and a symbol of the global Black diaspora. His size and strength mask a deep sensitivity and a yearning for belonging. The Goon's fascination with American culture, his outsider status in Europe, and his loyalty to the group make him both protector and fellow exile.

Frenchie

The billionaire who sponsors Soot's European escape, Frenchie is both benefactor and jailer. His offer of wealth and safety is seductive but comes with the price of permanent exile. Frenchie is obsessed with collecting Black American art and stories, seeing himself as a savior but also as a consumer of other people's pain. His character raises questions about power, privilege, and the ethics of escape.

Mia

Soot's daughter, whose suicide haunts every page, is both a memory and a presence. Mia's death is the central trauma of Soot's life, the wound that cannot heal. She appears in memories, dreams, and imagined conversations, embodying innocence lost and the impossibility of fixing what is broken. Mia's voice is both childlike and wise, reminding Soot—and the reader—of the limits of love and the persistence of grief.

Mateo

A young, successful Black writer, Mateo represents the next generation of literary talent. His friendship with Soot is marked by mutual respect, humor, and the shared experience of navigating fame and race in America. Mateo's presence at the Paris book festival offers a glimpse of hope and continuity, even as the older generation struggles with loss.

Not Toni Morrison & Victor

These composite characters—stand-ins for real Black literary and musical legends—offer perspective on the costs and benefits of exile. Their conversations with Soot and Dylan reveal the complexities of diaspora, the allure of Europe, and the impossibility of ever truly escaping the wounds of home. They are both mentors and cautionary tales, embodying the wisdom and the weariness of those who have survived by leaving.

Plot Devices

Time Travel (Memory as Escape and Trap)

The novel's central device is Soot's ability to "time travel" through memory, reliving moments of joy, regret, and trauma. This device blurs the line between past and present, reality and imagination, allowing the narrative to move fluidly across time and space. Time travel is both a coping mechanism and a curse, enabling Soot to revisit his daughter, his marriage, and his failures, but also trapping him in cycles of guilt and longing. The device underscores the novel's themes of grief, the impossibility of fixing the past, and the persistence of trauma.

The Gun as Symbol

The gun is both a literal object and a powerful symbol—of American violence, the illusion of safety, and the inescapable legacy of trauma. Soot's relationship with the gun evolves from talisman to curse, culminating in the moment when he tries to let it go, only to find it suspended in the air. The gun's refusal to fall is a metaphor for the weight of history, the impossibility of escape, and the persistence of violence in the American psyche.

The Found Family

Soot, Dylan, The Goon, and Kelly form a makeshift family in exile, bound by shared trauma and the longing for home. Their interactions—by turns loving, fraught, and humorous—explore the possibilities and limits of chosen family, the allure of utopia, and the reality that no place is truly free from pain. The found family is both sanctuary and crucible, a space where healing is possible but never complete.

Metafiction and Storytelling

The novel is deeply self-aware, with Soot frequently breaking the fourth wall, questioning the nature of truth, and reflecting on the power and limits of storytelling. The act of writing—of telling and retelling one's story—is both a means of survival and a reminder that some wounds cannot be written away. The metafictional elements invite the reader to question what is real, what is imagined, and what stories are for.

The Condition (Dissociation)

Dylan's "condition"—his dissociative episodes—serves as both a literal mental health struggle and a metaphor for the Black experience of unbelonging, trauma, and survival. The condition is contagious, affecting Soot and others, and is both a symptom and a response to a world that refuses to offer safety or home. The device allows the novel to explore the limits of endurance, the necessity of care, and the possibility of return.

Foreshadowing and Circularity

The novel is structured around cycles—of violence, grief, and attempted escape. Foreshadowing is used to build a sense of inevitability: the threat of Remus, the presence of the gun, the recurrence of loss. The narrative circles back on itself, with events repeating in new forms, underscoring the difficulty of breaking free from history and trauma.

Analysis

People Like Us is a novel that refuses easy answers, confronting the reader with the cyclical nature of trauma, the allure and cost of escape, and the impossibility of ever truly leaving the past behind. Through Soot's journey—from midlife despair to fleeting hope, from America to Europe, from isolation to found family—the novel interrogates what it means to survive in a world that is both beautiful and broken. The gun, the condition, and the specter of Remus are not just plot devices but embodiments of the forces that shape Black life: fear, violence, and the longing for safety. The novel's refusal to let the gun fall, its insistence on the persistence of grief, and its embrace of storytelling as both salvation and limitation, mark it as a work of profound honesty and empathy. The lesson is not that escape is possible, but that endurance, connection, and the willingness to be seen—even in all one's pain and weirdness—are acts of resistance and hope. In the end, People Like Us is a love letter to those who keep living, keep loving, and keep telling stories, even when the world refuses to change.

Last updated: November 11, 2025