As Zuckerman attempts to uncover the truth of the Swede’s life, it becomes clear that truly knowing another human being is impossible and that defining a person by a single truth is a fool’s errand. Zuckerman’s view of the Swede cannot help but be informed by his own youthful idol worship. To reconcile the broken older Swede—a man who succumbs to the all-too-human frailty of cancer—with the vital athletic hero is a daunting task. He attempts to reconstruct the Swede’s adult life piecemeal, through second-hand accounts from friends and relatives, wondering “whose guess is more rigorous than whose” (77). Even Jerry’s account varies over time. When the Swede calls him, distraught over Merry’s situation (her rape, her squalid living conditions), Jerry blasts his brother for his “artificial” life and for not knowing or truly loving his own daughter. Zuckerman is more ecumenical, suggesting that no parent can truly know their grown child. When Jerry and Zuckerman chat at the reunion, Jerry contradicts his earlier condemnation, saying, “My brother was the best you’re going to get in this country, by a long shot” (66).

The Swede’s struggle to understand his daughter proves fruitless. He wonders what could have driven a girl with all the advantages in life to commit such an act of violence, but none of his explanations—the stutter, that seemingly innocent kiss, the people she associated with—is wholly satisfying.