EVEN IF YOU DONāT KNOW Aaron Gilbreathās name, youāve probably read his work. The Portland authorās essays have ended up everywhere from Harperās and Slate to The Believer and the New York Times. But he hasnāt published a book showing the range of his interests and abilities until now.
Everything We Donāt Know, which comes out this week on Chicago-based indie press Curbside Splendor, compiles nearly 20 of Gilbreathās essays from the past decade. While theyāre essays first and foremostāthey go where they please without concern for an overarching narrativeāa casual memoir builds behind the individual pieces in a mostly chronological fashion. The collection begins with Gilbreath just out of high school in Phoenix and takes us through his 2000 move to Portland, his failed foray into the New York City publishing world during the mid-ā00s, his post-fail move back into his parentsā house, and his return to Portland.
Throughout the years, Gilbreath presents himself as an odd variety of lost boyālost even among other lost boys. Heās resistant to cookie-cutter ideas of settling down, but his idea of fun and games is a little different than most. He writes the essays from the vantage point of someone whoās already quit most of his vices, isnāt much for parties, and ends up flying solo on most of his adventures. More than anything, he wants to be a researcherāwhether in the woods, the library, or ignored corners of a cityāwriting essays and books about all the things heās curious about. Which, it turns out, encompass a wide range.
The subjects he takes on in Everything We Donāt Know include (but arenāt limited to): kitsch architecture, mental health, Star Wars collectibles, late 19th-century Jewish immigration to New York City, drug addiction, surf and skate movies of the 1980s, and the ocean-bound debris of the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear disaster.
Like the best essayists, Gilbreath seeks out ambiguities in his subjects, often embracing their murky uncertainties. Even when itās uncomfortable, he lingers in the unknown. āThe human mind likes what talk shows call 'closure,āā he writes in the bookās stunning title essay. āIt tries to make full circles. It prefers completed puzzles to pieces. We struggle to live with enduring mystery.ā
Though he wants the satisfaction of that brief mental closure, he also wants a world thatās in some ways forever mysterious, and itās this push and pull between the known and unknown that ultimately drives the essay collection.
Everything We Donāt Know is expansive, obsessive, and consistently entertaining. Gilbreathās inquisitiveness is infectious, and his misadventures are filled with a self-doubt thatās charming and all too relatable. āI wondered why I had ever questioned my enthusiasm,ā he writes, āall the while knowing that I would question myself again the next time.ā