From the National Book Award nominated author of Innocents and Others and Wayward , a bold and moving novel that follows a fugitive radical from the 1970s who has lived in hiding for twenty-five years and explores themes of idealism, passion, sacrifice, and the cost of living a secret. In the heyday of the 1970s underground, Bobby DeSoto and Mary Whittaker—passionate, idealistic, and in love —organize a series of radical protests against the Vietnam War. When one action goes wrong, the course of their lives is forever changed. The two must erase their past, forge new identities, and never see each other again. Now it is the 1990s. Mary lives in the suburbs with her fifteen-year-old son, who spends hours immersed in the music of his mother's generation. She has no idea where Bobby is, whether he is alive or dead. Shifting between the protests in the 1970s and the consequences of those choices in the 1990s, Dana Spiotta deftly explores the connection between the two eras—their language, technology, music, and activism. Dana Spiotta, "wonderfully observant and wonderfully gifted...with an uncanny feel for the absurdities and sadness of contemporary life" (The New York Times), has written a character-driven, brilliant, and riveting portrait of two eras and a revelatory novel about the culture of rebellion, with particular resonance now. Spiotta's writing brims with energy and intelligence." -- The New York Times Book Review "Infused with subtle wit...singularly powerful and provocative...Spiotta has a wonderful ironic sensibility, juxtaposing '70s fervor with '90s expediency." -- The Boston Globe "Scintillating...Spiotta creates a mesmerizing portrait of radicalism's decline." -- The Seattle Times "Stunning...a glittering book that possesses the staccato ferocity of Joan Didion and the historical resonance and razzle-dazzle language of Don DeLillo." -- Michiko Kakutani, The New York Times Dana Spiotta is the author of Innocents and Others ; Stone Arabia , A National Books Critics Circle Award finalist; and Eat the Document , a finalist for the National Book Award. Eat the Document has also been made into an opera adaptation. Her most recent novel is Wayward . Spiotta is a recipient of a Guggenheim Fellowship, the John Updike Prize, and the Rome Prize for Literature. She lives in Syracuse, New York. Eat the Document By Dana Spiotta Scribner Book Company Copyright © 2006 Dana Spiotta All right reserved. ISBN: 9780743273008 By Heart It is easy for a life to become unblessed. Mary, in particular, understood this. Her mistakes -- and they were legion -- were not lost on her. She knew all about the undoing of a life: take away, first of all, your people. Your family. Your lover. That was the hardest part of it. Then put yourself somewhere unfamiliar, where (how did it go?) you are a complete unknown. Where you possess nothing. Okay, then -- this was the strangest part -- take away your history, every last bit of it. What else? She discovered, despite what people may imagine, having nothing to lose is a lot like having nothing. (But there was something to lose, even at this point, something huge to lose, and that was why this unknown, homeless state never resembled freedom.) The unnerving, surprisingly creepy and unpleasantly psychedelic part -- you lose your name. Mary finally sat on a bed in a motel room that very first night after she had taken a breathless train ride under darkening skies and through increasingly unfamiliar landscape. Despite her anxiety she still felt lulled by the tracks clicking at intervals beneath the train; an odd calm descended for whole minutes in a row until the train pulled into another station and she waited for someone to come over to her, finger-pointing, some unbending and unsmiling official. In between these moments of near calm and all the other moments, she practiced appearing normal. Only when she tried to move could you notice how shaky she was. That really undid her, her visible unsteadiness. She tried not to move. Five state borders, and then she was handing over the cash for the room -- anonymous, cell-like, quiet. She clutched her receipt in her hand, stared at it, September 15, 1972, and thought, This is the first day of it. Room Twelve, the first place of it. Even then, behind a chain lock in the middle of nowhere, she was double-checking doors and closing curtains. Showers were impossible; she half-expected the door of the bathroom to push in as she stood there unaware and naked. Instead of sleeping she lay on the covers, facing the door, ready to move. Showers and bed, nakedness and sleep -- she felt certain that was how it would happen, she could visualize it happening. She saw it in slow motion, she saw it silently, and then she saw it quickly, in double time, with crashes and splintered glass. Haven't you seen the photos of Fred Hampton's mattress? She certainly had seen the photos of Fred Hampton's mattr