“And even though I realize that all lexical knowledge may be useless, you’ll have this record.”

Cedar writes a diary for her unborn child, documenting the world as it collapses. Cedar cannot even be sure, however, that future generations will be literate; the devolution of the human species and the toppled social order mean that her future audience may be unable to appreciate her documentation. As a result, Cedar’s writing is as much for her own benefit as anyone else’s. Though she imagines her audience to be her child, the act of writing a diary provides a cathartic means of processing the tumult surrounding her.

“Worse, who are they to have destroyed the romantic imaginary Native parents I’ve invented from earliest childhood.”

As an adopted child, Cedar has built up a version of her biological parents in her imagination. The numerous ways in which her actual biological parents differ from those she has imagined make her feel as though she is being orphaned once again. After meeting her actual biological parents, the fictional status of her imagined parents is overwhelmingly felt, and Cedar must deal with the awkward, unsatisfying reality.

“You know, the news? The big news?”

The society around Cedar is coming undone, but the actual collapse is a shallow topic of conversation. Everyone feels so powerless and removed from events that they treat the end of the world as an ice breaker in an awkward conversation.