Dark Matter

Dark Matter

by Blake Crouch

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Overview

A mindbending, relentlessly surprising thriller from the author of the bestselling Wayward Pines trilogy.

“Are you happy with your life?”

 
Those are the last words Jason Dessen hears before the masked abductor knocks him unconscious.
 
Before he awakens to find himself strapped to a gurney, surrounded by strangers in hazmat suits.
 
Before a man Jason’s never met smiles down at him and says, “Welcome back, my friend.” 
 
In this world he’s woken up to, Jason’s life is not the one he knows. His wife is not his wife. His son was never born. And Jason is not an ordinary college physics professor, but a celebrated genius who has achieved something remarkable. Something impossible.
 
Is it this world or the other that’s the dream? And even if the home he remembers is real, how can Jason possibly make it back to the family he loves? The answers lie in a journey more wondrous and horrifying than anything he could’ve imagined—one that will force him to confront the darkest parts of himself even as he battles a terrifying, seemingly unbeatable foe.
 
Dark Matter is a brilliantly plotted tale that is at once sweeping and intimate, mind-bendingly strange and profoundly human—a relentlessly surprising science-fiction thriller about choices, paths not taken, and how far we’ll go to claim the lives we dream of.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781524763244
Publisher: Crown/Archetype
Publication date: 03/27/2018
Edition description: Reprint
Pages: 496
Sales rank: 49,235
Product dimensions: 4.10(w) x 7.30(h) x 1.30(d)

About the Author

Blake Crouch is best known for the Wayward Pines trilogy, which has sold more than a million copies and was adapted into a prime-time event series on FOX. He lives in Colorado.

Read an Excerpt

***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected proof***
I love Thursday nights.

They have a feel to them that’s outside of time.

It’s our tradition, just the three of us—family night.

My son, Charlie, is sitting at the table, drawing on a sketch pad. He’s almost fifteen. The kid grew two inches over the summer, and he’s as tall as I am now.

I turn away from the onion I’m julienning, ask, “Can I see?”

He holds up the pad, shows me a mountain range that looks like something on another planet.

I say, “Love that. Just for fun?” “Class project. Due tomorrow.”

“Then get back to it, Mr. Last Minute.”

Standing happy and slightly drunk in my kitchen, I’m unaware that tonight is the end of all of this. The end of everything I know, everything I love.

No one tells you it’s all about to change, to be taken away. There’s no proximity alert, no indication that you’re standing on the precipice. And maybe that’s what makes tragedy so tragic. Not just what happens, but how it happens: a sucker punch that comes at you out of nowhere, when you’re least expecting. No time to flinch or brace.

The track lights shine on the surface of my wine, and the onion is beginning to sting my eyes. Thelonius Monk spins on the old turntable in the den. There's a richness to the analog recording I can never get enough of, especially the crackle of static between tracks. The den is filled with stacks and stacks of rare vinyl that I keep telling myself I'll get around to organizing one of these days.

My wife, Daniela, sits on the kitchen island, swirling her almost­ empty wineglass in one hand and holding her phone in the other. She feels my stare and grins without looking up from the screen.

"I know," she says. “I’m violating the cardinal rule of family night."

"What's so important?" I ask.

She levels her dark, Spanish eyes on mine. "Nothing."

I walk over to her, take the phone gently out of her hand, and set it on the countertop.

"You could start the pasta," I say.

"I prefer to watch you cook."

"Yeah?" Quieter: "Turns you on, huh?"

"No, it's just more fun to drink and do nothing."

Her breath is wine-sweet, and she has one of those smiles that seem architecturally impossible. It still slays me.

I polish off my glass. "We should open more wine, right?"

"It would be stupid not to."

As I liberate the cork from a new bottle, she picks her phone back up and shows me the screen. "I was reading Chicago Magazine's re­ view of Marsha Altman's show."

"Were they kind?"

"Yeah, it's basically a love letter." "Good for her."

"I always thought ..." She lets the sentence die, but I know where it was headed. Fifteen years ago, before we met, Daniela was a comer to Chicago's art scene. She had a studio in Bucktown, showed her work in a half dozen galleries, and had just lined up her first solo exhibition in New York. Then came life. Me. Charlie. A bout of crippling post­ partum depression.

Derailment.

Now she teaches private art lessons to middle-grade students.

"It's not that I'm not happy for her. I mean, she's brilliant, she de­serves it all."

I say, "If it makes you feel any better, Ryan Holder just won the Pavia Prize."

"What’s that?"

''A multidisciplinary award given for achievements in the life and physical sciences. Ryan won for his work in neuroscience."

"Is it a big deal?"

"Million dollars. Accolades. Opens the floodgates to grant money."

"Hotter TA's?"

"Obviously, that's the real prize. He invited me to a little informal celebration tonight, but I passed."

"Why?"

"Because ifs our night."

"You should go."

“I’d really rather not."

Daniela lifts her empty glass. "So what you're saying is, we both have good reason to drink a lot of wine tonight."

I kiss her, and then pour generously from the newly opened bottle.

"You could've won that prize," Daniela says.

"You could've owned this city's art scene."

"But we did this." She gestures at the high-ceilinged expanse of our brownstone. I bought it pre-Daniela with an inheritance. ''And we did that," she says, pointing to Charlie as he sketches with a beau­ tiful intensity that reminds me of Daniela when she's absorbed in a painting.

It’s a strange thing being the parent of a teenager. One thing to raise a little boy, another entirely when a person on the brink of adult­ hood looks to you for wisdom. I feel like I have little to give. I know there are fathers who see the world a certain way, with clarity and confidence, who know just what to say to their sons and daughters. But I'm not one of them. The older I get, the less I understand. I love my son. He means everything to me. And yet, I can't escape the feel­ing that I'm failing him. Sending him off to the wolves with nothing but the crumbs of my uncertain perspective.

I move to the cabinet beside the sink, open it, and start hunting for a box of fettuccine.

Daniela turns to Charlie, says, "Your father could have won the Nobel."

I laugh. "That's possibly an exaggeration."

"Charlie, don't be fooled. He's a genius."

"You're sweet," I say. "And a little drunk."

"It's true, and you know it. Science is less advanced because you love your family."

I can only smile. When Daniela drinks, three things happen: her native accent begins to bleed through, she becomes belligerently kind, and she tends toward hyperbole.

"Your father said to me one night-never forget it-that pure re­ search is life-consuming. He said ... " For a moment, and to my sur­prise, emotion overtakes her. Her eyes mist, and she shakes her head like she always does when she's about to cry. At the last second, she rallies, pushes through. "He said, 'Daniela, on my deathbed I would rather have memories of you than of a cold, sterile lab.'"

I look at Charlie, catch him rolling his eyes as he sketches. Probably embarrassed by our display of parental melodrama.

I stare into the cabinet and wait for the ache in my throat to go away.

When it does, I grab the pasta and close the door.

Daniela drinks her wine.

Charlie draws.

The moment passes.

"Where's Ryan's party?" Daniela asks.

"Village Tap."

"That's your bar, Jason."

"So?"

She comes over, takes the box of pasta out of my hand.

"Go have a drink with your old college buddy. Tell him you're proud of him. Head held high. Tell him I said congrats."

"I will not tell him you said congrats."

"Why?"

"He has a thing for you."

"Stop it."

"It's true. From way back. From our roommate days. Remember the last Christmas party? He kept trying to trick you into standing under the mistletoe with him?"

She just laughs, says, "Dinner will be on the table by the time you get home."

"Which means I should be back here in ..."

"Forty-five minutes."

"What would I be without you?" She kisses me.

"Let's not even think about it."

I grab my keys and wallet from the ceramic dish beside the micro­ wave and move into the dining room, my gaze alighting on the tes­seract chandelier above the dinner table. Daniela gave it to me for our tenth wedding anniversary. Best gift ever.

As I reach the front door, Daniela shouts, "Return bearing ice cream!"

"Mint chocolate chip!" Charlie says. I lift my arm, raise my thumb.

I don't look back.

I don't say goodbye.

And this moment slips past unnoticed.

The end of everything I know, everything I love.

(Continues…)



Excerpted from "Dark Matter"
by .
Copyright © 2016 Blake Crouch.
Excerpted by permission of Penguin Random House Audio Publishing Group.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Reading Group Guide

In order to provide reading groups with the most informed and thought-provoking questions possible, it is necessaryto reveal certain aspects of the story in this novel. If you have not finished reading Dark Matter, we respectfully suggest that you do so before reviewing this guide.

1. For you, what was the biggest surprise as you followed Jason through the many twists laid out in Dark Matter?

2. What makes Jason 1 a standout amongst the others? Is our allegiance to him a matter of perspective? Or is there something fundamental to him that is more deserving of Daniela and Charlie than the others?

3. When the novel switches to Daniela’s point of view for the first time, were you surprised by the scene that takes place? Confused? What did you think was happening?

4. At its heart, Dark Matter is a love story. Yet we see Daniela in many different worlds and in situations where she is not with Jason and happy. Do you think they are supposed to be together? Do you believe that they would have been just as happy pursuing their career-driven dreams?

5. Many of the decisions in Dark Matter center around the notion of career and family. If you had to choose, would you rather live Jason 1 or Jason 2’s life? Why?

6. Jason 2 (and some of the other Jasons we meet later in the book) acts in morally questionable ways throughout the novel. Do you think that his life path has caused him to be less kind-hearted? Or is he merely self-interested and willing to do whatever it takes?

7. Without Amanda, Jason 1 might not have survived. What do you think of her decision to leave him? How did you feel about their relationship?

8. What kind of world do you imagine Jason, Daniela, and Charlie entered at the end of the book?

9. What did you think of the science and technology in the book? If this kind of advancement in science was possible, would you want it to exist?

10. Dark Matter has a somewhat unusual combination of qualities—it’s part thriller, part science-fiction novel, part love story. Can you think of other books or movies that combine these genres in similar ways?

11. What writing tricks and techniques does the author use to keep readers turning pages and make the book read quickly? Did you find them effective?

12. What was your favorite element of the novel? Your least favorite?

13. Is there a path not taken that you wish you could experience? If so, what is it? Do you feel you ultimately made the right decision?

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