The Anatomy of Dreams (28 page)

Thom shook his head, brusque.

“Anyway, it was too exposed out there. You didn't seem to care, but I was paranoid that we'd be seen. So I took you down to the basement. From then on, that's where we saw each other. I knew I should have made you go home, but I couldn't. You were magnetic. You spun these long, fascinating stories—these
yarns
. You told the dirtiest jokes I'd ever heard. You kept on surprising me. I knew I was taking advantage of something, but I didn't know what. In a way, I felt like you were taking advantage of me.”

“That's a convenient read.” The guilt I'd felt before was gone, replaced by an ugly fusion of anger and shame. “You had realized by then that I was sleepwalking. I obviously wasn't myself. How could I have taken advantage of you?”

“Don't you understand?” asked Thom. “I was entranced by you. I would have done anything you wanted. And who was I to say you weren't yourself? How was I supposed to know what that looked like?”

I couldn't answer. I smarted with shame. Still, I marveled at myself. Here it was: the truth of what I had done, laid out before me. If I chose to believe him.

Thom checked his watch—a fat silver watch with large links, slightly loose. He shook his wrist until the face was visible.

“I should go,” he said.

“All right.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“I will be. I am. I've developed a pretty high tolerance for surprise.”

Thom smiled, if slightly. He stood and pulled his raincoat on.

“Despite all that—everything I said.” He paused. “I really did like you. I thought we understood each other.”

“Probably we did, in some way. Though I'm not sure what that says about us.”

“Probably nothing good.”

“Probably not.”

The tension between us collapsed. Perhaps it was only momentary; in all likelihood, the sway of regret would soon return. For now, though, we were directionless. We floated. We left our embarrassment behind, like clothes cast off on the sand. Caught in the moorless place between young adulthood and middle age, we were just learning how to forgive ourselves.

Thom nodded at me, briefly but not without genuine acknowledgment. Then he picked up his briefcase and left the deli, wind rushing in to meet me as the doors shut behind him.

• • •

Even now, there are nights when I skip along the surface of sleep like a flat stone on water, when I feel pulled in two directions. Like moths and mosquitoes, like migrating birds and microscopic fish, a part of me will always be attracted to the sun. But I'm drawn, too, to the deep drop of dreams, the plunge into an ocean where, thousands of feet below, creatures make their own light. Perhaps this is why Keller's theory of simultaneous potentialities still makes sense to me, for I am not of one mind. In moments of decision, it seems as though a thousand versions of myself branch and spread like a deck of cards. One of them I select. Then they are once again stacked, facedown, and put in their box to await the next shuffle.

On particularly bad nights, when I can't help but look backward, one memory calms me. During my final days in Madison, I slept on the couch, half-packed boxes all around me. One night, I felt Gabe jostling me by the arms. His hold on me was both firm and gentle, the way a parent might wake a small child.

“Sylvie,” he whispered. “Sylve . . .”

I sat up, shrinking away from him, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Seventy-two hours later, I would step onto the porch with my suitcases and look back at his face for the very last time.

“You told me you wanted to see the stars,” he said.

Slowly, his face materialized in front of me. It was the face of a younger Gabe, the boy who had something to show me—the boy who knew we called him Napoleon behind his back but who marched ahead anyway.

“So that was real?” I had a groggy memory of shaking Gabe in bed—or was it Thom?—and asking where the stars had gone.

Gabe nodded. And though I can't quite say why, I decided to go with him. It was one in the morning. We drove through the night—past Middleton, past Janesville, to a small public park with a sloping hill.

I'm not sure what we did when we got there. Gabe unrolled a blanket, maybe, or took off his coat, spreading it open on the grass. There was nothing to point out to each other. We knew the constellations—the Big Dipper, Gemini's twin legs, Lyra and her harp—and we could see them clearly. Perhaps he laid his head on my lap, the way he used to at Mills when we stole out to Observatory Hill in the evening. Perhaps we didn't touch at all. His eyes were trained on me in their intent, entreating way, or they flickered like a bulb going bad; or he had already closed them, had fallen asleep beneath the cape of dark sky and its light shop of stars.
Probably I've chosen not to remember it. After a while, Gabe suggested we return to the car to sleep off the last few hours before daybreak. Soon, he was dozing in the passenger seat, but I couldn't fall asleep, so I stumbled back out to the field and laid my head in the grass.

What I do remember is that at some point in the very early morning, I woke up, and my mind was entirely blank. For the first time in months, I couldn't remember my dreams or their aftertaste; the feeling was so alien that if it weren't for the change in the light, I might not have been sure I had fallen asleep. I felt just-born, or born again—the night's transgressions washed clean, my ignorance the purest blessing.

In the pinkish glow of morning, I could see spring's first daisies dotting the hill, their fragile petals peeled back and glistening. When I was young, I wove them into crowns, using my fingers to split each stem at its wet, fibrous center. And though I remember myself as a practical child, I imagined I was different when I wore the flower crowns: holier, or supernaturally powerful, as if I could spell myself new just by wanting it.

But this time, I didn't touch them; I left their roots in the ground. I laid my head on the grass and returned to the same deep, vacant sleep. I knew there was nobody watching me.

Acknowledgments

There are so many people to whom I have the honor of giving thanks.

First, to my marvelous agent, Margaret Riley King at WME, whose skill and unflagging support carried me through multiple drafts of this book (and moments of mild panic). All first-time authors need someone to take a chance on them, and I am so lucky you did.

To Daniella Wexler, a dream of an editor: your belief, advocacy, and keen editorial insight brought this book into being, and I will always be grateful.

To Judith Curr: you gave this book a home, and it means more to me than I could ever express.

To the rest of the incredible team at Atria, thank you for all the phenomenal work you've done on my behalf. At WME, my thanks too to Britton Schey, for first supporting my work; Ashley Fox, film agent extraordinaire; and Tracy Fisher and Cathryn Summerhayes in foreign rights, among others. At both Atria and WME, I feel immensely lucky to be in such good hands.

To the mentors I've had throughout my writing life: Kiese Laymon and Paul Russell at Vassar, and Lorrie Moore, Jesse Lee Kercheval, Amy Quan Barry, and Ron Kuka at UW-­
Madison. A special thanks to the extraordinary Judy Mitchell, my MFA adviser and mentor, who rallied at my side through each step of this process. There are writers, and then there are teachers. It is my privilege to have learned from all of you, who are both.

To the pioneers whose research informed my book: Sigmund Freud, Carl Jung, Stephen LaBerge and the Lucidity Institute, Rosalind Cartwright, Robert Stickgold, Deirdre Barrett, and others. This book would not have been possible without your contributions to the field.

To my bighearted, brilliant friends, from the MFA and beyond: Bri Cavallaro, Alexandra Demet, Alexandra Goldstein, Andrew Kay, Nick Jandl, Angela Voras-Hills, my UW cohort, and many more.

To my family: how can I ever thank you enough? Mom and Dad, Ellen and Molly, Jordan and Ty, Grandma and Papa, Bob and Kate, and all the rest—you know perhaps more than anyone else how much this means to me. Your unconditional support and love, your belief in me and in the value of the arts, are the great gifts of my life. I share this accomplishment with you.

And to Nathan: for your passion, your love, your wisdom, and your partnership—which is not to mention your excellent copyediting skills and your willingness to listen patiently as I rattle off my dreams each morning. You are my person, and it thrills me every day.

Young couple Gabe and Sylvie are lured into a controversial sleep study by their charismatic boarding-school headmaster, injecting mistrust into the trio and revealing the immense, ­uncontrollable power of our dreams.

Topics and Questions for Discussion

1. Think about Sylvie's relationship with Gabe from meeting at Mills to parting in Wisconsin. How does their relationship evolve over the course of the novel?

2. How did you first react to Dr. Keller and his influence over his students? Why are Gabe and Sylvie attracted to joining Keller in his controversial, secretive line of work?

3. How does painting help Sylvie process her feelings?

4. Why do you think Sylvie decides to go with Gabe when he suddenly reappears in her life? Do you think she ever trusted him after he disappeared from Mills?

5. How does Gabe change in the years between high school and Wisconsin?

6. Why do you think the author used nonlinear storytelling to give insight into Sylvie's life? How did this influence your understanding of the storyline?

7. Consider the themes of privacy and intrusion throughout the novel. How does the issue of privacy play into Gabe and ­Sylvie's relationship? How does it affect their work?

8. Think about Sylvie and Gabe's first interactions with Thom and Janna. Why does Sylvie end up telling Thom so much about their work?

9. Sylvie and Gabe can't really have close friends due to the secrecy their work requires. How does this loneliness and ­isolation affect Sylvie? How does it affect Gabe?

10. Thom argues that the subconscious is perhaps best left alone, that it's dangerous to make people aware of their darkest dreams and subconscious desires. Do you agree with Thom? Why or why not?

11. How do the interactions with Jamie and Anne change the relationship between Sylvie, Gabe, and Keller?

12. How did you react to the revelation at the novel's climax? Do you think Sylvie suspected something all along?

13. Why doesn't Sylvie confront Keller and tell him the real reason she left Wisconsin?

14. Does Sylvie get the closure she needed from Keller? From Gabe? How is she affected by the chance meeting with Thom in Seattle?

15. Consider the last scene in the book, when Sylvie gazes at the stars and considers Keller's theory of the conscious and subconscious minds. Do you think Sylvie still believes in Keller's work? Why or why not?

Enhance Your Book Club

1. Experiment with keeping a dream journal. Put your journal next to your bed and record your dreams as soon as you wake up each morning. Look for interesting patterns or themes, and share some of them with your book club. For help with decoding your dreams, visit
www.DreamMoods.com
or
www.TheCuriousDreamer.com
.

2. Take a painting class with your book club at a local community center, school, or art store. Try your hand at painting representational interpretations of your dreams, just as Sylvie does in
The Anatomy of Dreams
.

3. Learn more about the author at
www.chloekrugbenjamin.com
. Catch up with Chloe's other writing, connect on social media, and check out Chloe's book recommendations on her blog!

We hope you enjoyed reading this Atria Books eBook.

Sign up for our newsletter and receive special offers, access to bonus content, and info on the latest new releases and other great eBooks from Atria Books and Simon & Schuster.

or visit us online to sign up at
eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com

A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
www.simonandschuster.com

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 by Chloe Benjamin

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Atria Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

First Atria Paperback edition September 2014

and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or
[email protected]
.

The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at
www.simonspeakers.com
.

Interior design by Kyoko Watanabe
Cover design and illustration by Connie Gabbert

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Benjamin, Chloe.
The anatomy of dreams : a novel / by Chloe Benjamin.—First Atria paperback edition.
pages cm
1. Dreams—Fiction. 2. Sleep—Fiction. 3. Trust—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3602.E66347A53 2014
813'.6—dc23
2014009655

ISBN 978-1-4767-6116-9
ISBN 978-1-4767-6117-6 (ebook)