We meet Matthew Hooton’s narrator Jack as an old man in urban Michigan. Jack has lived his adult life in this mid-western place and has seen the manufacturing boom of the American twentieth century flourish, expand, and collapse. His body struggles with all the mundane realities of old age – a fall that bruises a hip, the struggle to climb out of a car – while he navigates the decline of his beloved wife in a hospice. His mind is elsewhere in time and space, forever captive to the trauma and wonder he lived through as a child in Brazil. He sees imaginary vines trailing the edges of things, searches for papaya at the grocery store, and makes do with Floridian oranges. It is ‘unsettling to live in a nation of plenty’, Jack observes, ‘and yet find oneself constantly seeking substitutes for that which brought the senses alive as a child’. The narrative shifts back and forth along with Jack’s thoughts, focusing largely on his childhood in the 1920s in the bizarre and ultimately doomed settlement founded by Henry Ford in Brazil named Fordlândia. In this outpost of American culture and within Ford’s brand of strict Christian morality, settlers tried and failed to carry out Ford’s dream of cultivating rubber plantations.