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Authors: Elizabeth Gilbert
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every day and brought home bigger and bigger piles of inspiring American biographies for Eustace to read. George Washington,
Davy Crockett, Daniel Boone, Abraham Lincoln, Kit Carson, John Frémont, Andrew Jackson, Geronimo, Red Cloud, Sitting Bull—bold,
unironic tales of heroism and wilderness and fortitude. These were the lives to emulate, she told her son when Big Eustace
wasn’t listening. This is the kind of man you can be: a Man of Destiny.
Eustace Conway was a literal-minded creature even as a child (es- pecially as a child), and he absorbed the morals of these
stories as purely as though his mother were holding a funnel to his ear and pouring them straight into his brain. When he
read that Indian braves tested their mental and physical endurance by running miles across the desert holding water in their
mouths but not swallowing it, he tried to run miles through the forest doing the same. When he read that frontiersmen used
to wear the same pair of buckskin trousers for years at a time, he resolved to make himself a pair and never wear anything
else. When he read that Lewis and Clark brought as much paper and ink on their journey as food and bullets, he started keeping
his diary. When he read of the Indian brave left behind enemy lines in a battle with settlers— wounded and abandoned with
a bullet through his knee—who survived the entire winter by hiding in a ditch, covered by leaves, and eating the rodents who
crawled over him . . . well, that scenario was impossible to follow exactly, but Eustace imitated the spirit of the story
by asking the family dentist to please not use Novocain when filling his cavities. He wanted to learn how to endure physical
pain.
Back when he was in grammar school, Eustace would bring about six such heroic biographies and action-adventure books into
the classroom every day. He’d read a book until the teacher confiscated it, and then he’d start on another. When she snatched
that one, he’d begin another and then another. When all the books were gone, he’d stare out the window and plan projects inspired
by his readings. He was only in second grade, for instance, when he started building himself a five-story tree house (complete
with a basement and walkways that extended into branches of the tree next door), modeled after the descriptions in The Swiss Family Robinson .
Naturally, the schoolteachers had no idea of what to do with this odd boy who would not pay attention in class. When he was
in fifth grade, his teacher had to call Mrs. Conway in for a conference.
She said, “I don’t think Eustace is capable of learning.”
But it was too late; he was already learned, certainly in the skills and morals his mother had taught him. And if her ideas
about raising her son conflicted with her husband’s ideas, the trick was not to combine their philosophies into one childrearing
doctrine, but to apply each individually— one loud and public, the other secretive and steadfast. The father’s strict humiliations
were applied only in the evenings and over the weekends; the mother’s stirring challenges were reserved for the long and free
days in the woods. The trait these parents shared was absolute emphasism. Both placed Eustace in the center of their attention,
where he received either high praise or demeaning shame. Eustace’s mother told him that he was a Man of Destiny and there
was no achievement on this planet too lofty for him; his father told him he was useless.
Literal-minded creature that he was, the poor kid believed them both. How his head didn’t explode from the contradictions,
it’s hard to say. But it is little wonder that Eustace spent a significant number of his youthful hours pondering the possibility
that he might be the subject of a vast and sadistic science experiment. Maybe his whole life was playing out in some grand
laboratory, where he was being tested, his reactions studied closely by
every day and brought home bigger and bigger piles of inspiring American biographies for Eustace to read. George Washington,
Davy Crockett, Daniel Boone, Abraham Lincoln, Kit Carson, John Frémont, Andrew Jackson, Geronimo, Red Cloud, Sitting Bull—bold,
unironic tales of heroism and wilderness and fortitude. These were the lives to emulate, she told her son when Big Eustace
wasn’t listening. This is the kind of man you can be: a Man of Destiny.
Eustace Conway was a literal-minded creature even as a child (es- pecially as a child), and he absorbed the morals of these
stories as purely as though his mother were holding a funnel to his ear and pouring them straight into his brain. When he
read that Indian braves tested their mental and physical endurance by running miles across the desert holding water in their
mouths but not swallowing it, he tried to run miles through the forest doing the same. When he read that frontiersmen used
to wear the same pair of buckskin trousers for years at a time, he resolved to make himself a pair and never wear anything
else. When he read that Lewis and Clark brought as much paper and ink on their journey as food and bullets, he started keeping
his diary. When he read of the Indian brave left behind enemy lines in a battle with settlers— wounded and abandoned with
a bullet through his knee—who survived the entire winter by hiding in a ditch, covered by leaves, and eating the rodents who
crawled over him . . . well, that scenario was impossible to follow exactly, but Eustace imitated the spirit of the story
by asking the family dentist to please not use Novocain when filling his cavities. He wanted to learn how to endure physical
pain.
Back when he was in grammar school, Eustace would bring about six such heroic biographies and action-adventure books into
the classroom every day. He’d read a book until the teacher confiscated it, and then he’d start on another. When she snatched
that one, he’d begin another and then another. When all the books were gone, he’d stare out the window and plan projects inspired
by his readings. He was only in second grade, for instance, when he started building himself a five-story tree house (complete
with a basement and walkways that extended into branches of the tree next door), modeled after the descriptions in The Swiss Family Robinson .
Naturally, the schoolteachers had no idea of what to do with this odd boy who would not pay attention in class. When he was
in fifth grade, his teacher had to call Mrs. Conway in for a conference.
She said, “I don’t think Eustace is capable of learning.”
But it was too late; he was already learned, certainly in the skills and morals his mother had taught him. And if her ideas
about raising her son conflicted with her husband’s ideas, the trick was not to combine their philosophies into one childrearing
doctrine, but to apply each individually— one loud and public, the other secretive and steadfast. The father’s strict humiliations
were applied only in the evenings and over the weekends; the mother’s stirring challenges were reserved for the long and free
days in the woods. The trait these parents shared was absolute emphasism. Both placed Eustace in the center of their attention,
where he received either high praise or demeaning shame. Eustace’s mother told him that he was a Man of Destiny and there
was no achievement on this planet too lofty for him; his father told him he was useless.
Literal-minded creature that he was, the poor kid believed them both. How his head didn’t explode from the contradictions,
it’s hard to say. But it is little wonder that Eustace spent a significant number of his youthful hours pondering the possibility
that he might be the subject of a vast and sadistic science experiment. Maybe his whole life was playing out in some grand
laboratory, where he was being tested, his reactions studied closely by
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