Reflecting on why she’s certain the “Q” stands for “quotient,” Mia considers various philosophical and scientific theories of collective knowledge. She asks Eugene if their dad talked to him about happiness quotient, and is sure she sees him nod. She also recalls a conversation with her father about ranking happiness on a 1-10 scale. The conversation happened soon after the “Graveyard Incident,” when Mia, John, and Eugene terrified Adam by spending a night at their grandparents’ burial site outside Seoul. Mia asks if John remembers their dad working on difference or quotients, and he reminds her that she herself worked on a mathematical expression of those concepts in relation to the effect of dissonant chords or harmonic functions on moods. Adam was excited about the idea—it was what was missing from his own research.
Detective Janus sends a scan of the first page of Adam’s notebook, which includes a discussion of micro and macro happiness in relation to Eugene’s AS, and comparisons between John and Mia’s respective levels of joy. Detective Janus also relays two new pieces of information: Adam had transferred $20K from his IRA into a new checking account, and at around the same time he began exchanging frequent calls and texts with someone named Anjeli Rapari. Detective Janus plays a voicemail from Anjeli to Adam, in which she tells him she’s tired of sneaking around and he needs to tell his wife.
Though told to expect it, the family is surprised when a child protective services specialist comes to interview Eugene. Hannah refuses for Eugene to be interviewed alone, but sends John and Mia away; they eavesdrop through a nanny cam installed to surveil Eugene’s therapists in case of abuse.
Hannah, John, and Mia are upset when the CPS specialist announces that she focuses on text-based communication. Mia recalls their family’s experience of physically assisted writing (also called facilitated communication, a scientifically discredited intervention for nonverbal people in which a therapist maneuvers a patient’s hands on a keyboard or other writing device). Hannah found a facilitated communication therapist to help Eugene; initially skeptical, Hannah was eventually overjoyed by seeming success. However, Adam then tested the therapist using questions Eugene would know but she wouldn’t, and disproved the method, devastating Hannah.
Mia feared that her parents would divorce after the assisted writing incident. Instead, Hannah decided to return to work, and Adam became a stay-at-home dad.
The narrative returns to the present. The CPS specialist produces a letterboard. Despite Hannah’s insistence that Eugene doesn’t use them, the specialist and Detective Janus reveal that one was found in the envelope in Adam’s backpack. The specialist gives the letterboard to Eugene, but Hannah snatches it from him, so he stabs a pen toward his mother’s face. Eugene was attempting to spell out words, but Detective Janus views the movement as an attack. Janus grabs Eugene’s wrist; in response, he scratches her, so she puts Eugene in handcuffs. Mia is horrified that Janus and the specialist are looking at Eugene “like a wild animal, a threat to be neutralized” (119). Janus prepares to take Eugene to headquarters.
Hannah sends John and Mia to Henry’s House, Eugene’s therapy center, to find lawyer Shannon Haug. There, they meet two sympathetic women nicknamed “Groupie Moms” (124), or GMs, who are admirers of Adam. The women are friends with Susan, the woman from the park that morning, so Mia tries to glean information about the “horrible news.” The GMs reference a second opinion and family history, reminding Mia that Adam’s father’s died of Stage 4 prostate cancer in his 50s. Mia wonders if it’s possible that Adam died by suicide after a similar diagnosis.
As Shannon makes her way to the police station, John’s friend Kenny texts him a screenshot of their dad, “looking terrified and in pain” (132), with another figure in the corner of the image.
Incensed, John calls Kenny for more detail. The screenshot comes from a video taken by a neighbor with a penchant for “parent shaming on mommy blogs” (137). The neighbor filmed Adam, hoping to post the video as a critique of his parenting.
Mia receives more pages from Adam’s notebook, including case studies on relative happiness levels. She wonders whether obsession with happiness might result from the lack of it, connecting this with the idea the GMs suggested—that Adam might have been depressed.
They and their lawyer arrive at the police station and prepare for Eugene’s intake hearing.
While waiting outside during the hearing, Mia receives another page from the HQ notebook. Desperate to know whether she’s right about the Q standing for quotient, she sets off for the evidence room. Reading selections from the notebook in person, Mia finds that she was correct—Adam wrote about the importance of baseline and expectations in relation to happiness. He was interested in practical applications, such as, “Is it possible to manipulate happiness levels, to change your (or your family’s) mindset to maximize happiness and minimize sadness?” (153). The notebook also reveals records of experiments, including case studies of interactions with John and Mia. The last experiment date listed is the day of Adam’s disappearance.
Because Mia is telling the story with the benefit of hindsight, she editorializes on her actions before she describes what these actions actually were: “Looking back, I wish I hadn’t done what I did next” (82). This technique produces suspense through a series of mini-cliffhangers. Our foreknowledge of what Mia regrets doing and her ideas about what could have gone differently also portray the Consequences of Small Actions. As details about Adam’s notebook, connection with Anjeli, potential cancer diagnosis, and personal level of happiness are revealed, Mia’s narration highlights the endless possibilities of what might have happened. Because Mia and the rest of her family are continually attempting to discern cause and effect, the narrative includes numerous options and rationales for what happened to Adam and why.
The narrative features several key memories that characterize the family and their shared experiences. One such is Hannah and Adam’s near divorce, a conflict that was resolved with Adam becoming a stay-at-home dad caring for Eugene and Hannah returning to work. Mia’s limited first-person perspective does not allow readers to learn all the details of Hannah and Adam’s relational problems and resolutions. However, the family’s traumatic experience with the physically assisted writing therapist is clearly connected: Hannah was extremely hopeful about the possibility of communicating with Eugene, so Adam disproving the sham therapist’s work in an abrupt manner was devastating to his wife, who was desperate to bridge the gap between Language and Silence with her son. Introducing the debunked pseudo-science of facilitated communication is one of the many ways the novel tackles how the world treats Eugene. Angie Kim indirectly compares the predatory nature of unaccredited would-be specialists like the assisted writing therapist with the distrust and fear shown by Detective Janus and the CPS specialist. Eugene’s condition is relatively unknown; he is vulnerable to exploitation and institutionalization at the hands of the unscrupulous and ignorant.
The divorce-level fight between Hannah and Adam also introduces the novel’s interest in gender dynamics. When Eugene was first diagnosed, a doctor assigned blame for Angelman syndrome to the maternal gene, contributing to Hannah’s maternal guilt. The attribution is unfair, Mia thinks: “But Mom doesn’t have Angelman herself, so was her genes’ interaction with Dad’s what caused the error? In which case, it’s not ‘caused by the maternal gene’ at all” (104). The doctor’s callousness calls to mind the sexist mid-20th century idea that autism spectrum disorder was caused by maternal failings, and a long history of Western medicine blaming women for whatever was considered socially undesirable in their children, including LGBTQ+ identities. The theme continues after Hannah goes back to work while Adam becomes Eugene’s primary caregiver. The Parksons have an atypical family structure in which Adam is the stay-at-home parent, which calls for minimal support from their community. Because of the entrenchment of heteronormative gender roles, Hannah finds it difficult “to be taken seriously as the only woman at work, whereas Dad has essentially been anointed king of the stay-at-home parent circle” (124). The valorization of Adam for something that Hannah was simply expected to do without much fanfare is underscored by the nickname of the women John and Mia encounter at Henry’s House—“Groupie Moms” (124), who find Adam’s decision to stay at home deeply admirable, lauding him for doing so in a way that Hannah would never have been.
As John and Mia’s discuss whether Adam could have died by suicide because of a cancer diagnosis, Mia recalls other associations between researchers studying happiness theory and mental health challenges: “the professor who ran the [...] iconic study on happiness [...] died by suicide in his thirties, jumping from his university office building. […] [This] so-called Happiness Professor was on leave due to stress” (140). These connections highlight the complexity and fragility of happiness as a construct, asking whether its study is a symptom of mental health issues.
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