The narrator’s thoughts — strung together with a brilliant device, the repeated use of the phrase “The fact that” — range from random to moving, hilarious to angry, encompassing a country at odds with its ideals and everything that calls to mind. It’s like, well, life, and there’s so much of it. The narrator (unnamed) thinks about Harrison Ford and cinnamon buns, westward expansion and the Cuyahoga River, Trump and the turtle ponds in Evanston and her parents — “the fact that I forget how real Mommy and Daddy were, the fact that existence is a fact, even if it happened in the past, as any History major should know, the fact that their deaths were such a shock that now I can’t seem to believe they were ever born, but they were, and they had children once, and grew up and went to college and fell in love and got married and had us and all that ...”