Go, Went, Gone Discussion Questions
Join the discussion!
Why reinvent the wheel? 🛞
Go, Went, Gone is rich with layered commentary on Europe’s refugee crisis, identity, and human connection. There is a lot to unpack here, so instead of diving into an in-depth analysis of something way above my pay grade, I figured I would leave it to the pros. I do not profess to be of the caliber of a staff writer at The New Yorker who also teaches at Harvard, so I encourage you to check out this article if you are interested in exploring the novel in a more highbrow fashion than what you will get here.
Themes in Go, Went, Gone 📝
· Borders
· Language and the law
· Movement
· Empathy
· Privilege
1. Borders
Borders in the novel aren’t just geographical; they’re also bureaucratic, cultural, and psychological. Richard, a retired professor in Berlin, begins to question the meaning and purpose of borders after Germany’s reunification and during the refugee crisis. The novel shows how:
Physical borders are arbitrary but have massive consequences—many of the refugees crossed deserts, seas, and national boundaries.
Political borders determine who belongs and who doesn’t. The Dublin Regulation, for example, restricts movement and forces people to apply for asylum in the first EU country they enter.
Emotional and ideological borders also surface. Richard must confront the internal boundaries he’s built between himself and “the other.”
“How can a person be illegal?”
(This line, asked by Richard, directly challenges the concept of borders as a moral dividing line between legitimacy and illegitimacy. It questions the ethics of labeling human existence and movement as ‘illegal,’ critiquing the arbitrariness and violence of national boundaries.)
2. Language and the Law
Language and legal status go hand-in-hand throughout the novel. The asylum seekers are trapped in a system where:
They don’t speak the local language fluently, making it hard to express their stories or understand their legal situations.
Legal terminology is abstract and dehumanizing—Erpenbeck uses stark, bureaucratic language to emphasize the coldness of the system.
Richard, who once studied classical languages, is struck by how language can either build or erode understanding and power.
Language also represents:
Power dynamics: who gets to speak, and who is heard.
Silencing: many men cannot tell their stories because trauma has rendered them mute or because they fear rejection or deportation.
“There are words that can lie dormant in a person for years, even decades, and then suddenly awaken, bringing back with them all the events that once surrounded them.”
(This line speaks to the power of language to hold memory, trauma, and history. It also shows how language, especially the language of the law, can define or destabilize a person’s identity, especially for asylum seekers struggling to explain their stories in an unfamiliar language.)
3. Movement
Movement in the novel is both literal and metaphorical:
The refugees' stories are full of motion—fleeing war, crossing seas, moving through detention centers, and being shifted from one temporary shelter to another.
Meanwhile, Richard lives in a stable home and can move freely—his movement is a choice.
The contrast explores freedom versus constraint. Even when the refugees are in Germany, they’re not truly allowed to move forward—the system suspends them in limbo.
“They’re constantly being transported somewhere else, always somewhere else. Like things. Or like prisoners.”
(This captures the refugees’ lack of agency. Though they are in a country that prides itself on freedom, they are moved from one facility to another without consent or control, underscoring the contrast between freedom of movement and forced displacement.)
4. Empathy
The novel’s heart lies in the gradual growth of empathy:
Richard begins with academic curiosity but slowly forms real emotional bonds.
Empathy is shown not as a spontaneous emotion but a practice—it grows as he listens, asks questions, and shares meals and stories.
But Erpenbeck doesn’t romanticize empathy—it’s complicated, uneven, and sometimes self-serving.
Readers are challenged to contemplate what it takes to truly understand someone else’s life.
“He wants to get to know these men better, but it isn’t easy to get to know someone who’s living in a state of suspension.”
(This line shows Richard’s growing desire for connection, but also the difficulty of empathizing when someone is dehumanized by systems that strip them of time, autonomy, and identity. It reflects the effort empathy requires.)
5. Privilege
Richard’s life is safe, predictable, and full of intellectual and financial privilege. The novel constantly juxtaposes:
His freedom of time and space with the refugees’ confinement.
His ability to choose how much he wants to engage versus the refugees’ complete dependence on the goodwill of bureaucracies.
His past (East Germany, the Cold War) versus the present, where he’s forced to confront a new global inequality.
Erpenbeck critiques how privilege blinds people to suffering—and how confronting it can be painful, but necessary.
“It’s only since he’s retired that he’s begun to notice what he owns, what he’s taken for granted his whole life.”
(This quiet realization shows Richard beginning to see his privilege. Retirement gives him time and distance to reflect on what he has—home, stability, legal status—versus what the refugees lack. It’s a turning point in his moral awakening.)
· You can respond to as few or as many of the questions as you’d like
· Please number your responses
· Be sure to share your responses by Wednesday the 23rd so I can include them in the podcast at the end of the month!
1. What do you think makes a border feel “real” or meaningful—politics, culture, language, or something else? Can you think of a time when a border (literal or metaphorical) affected your life or someone else's?
2. Have you ever struggled to explain something important because of a language barrier—or felt misunderstood in a system with complex rules? How did it make you feel?
3. What do you imagine it would feel like to leave your home and not know where—or when—you’ll be able to settle again? What kind of support do you think people need most when they’re forced to start over in a new country?
4. Do you think empathy develops naturally, or does it require effort and exposure to different perspectives? What helps you feel empathy for someone whose life is very different from yours?
5. What does “privilege” mean to you in your everyday life? Can you remember a moment when you became aware of a privilege you have that you hadn’t noticed before?
6. How do media portrayals of refugees shape public opinion? Are they more likely to humanize or dehumanize?
7. What are the biggest challenges countries face when integrating refugees—and what might be some of the benefits?
8. If your own community had an influx of refugees, how do you think people would respond? What would make it easier to build understanding?
9. Is there a theme I haven't touched on yet, or something else in the novel that stood out to you that you'd like to mention here?
**NOTE: Normally, I would send out a poll for next month’s book club pick, but last month was a tie, so in case you didn’t see that newsletter, our May book club book will be The Door by Magda Szabo.
Happy Reading!
Morgan