The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared

From his parents’ wisdom—and his father’s bad examples—Allan learned early not to support mass movements founded on idealistic principles. This decision, which the narrative often expresses, is a refusal to convert to any movement and instead support worthy individuals. Allan follows this rule assiduously, avoiding inculcation into any idealistic group, especially political parties and religious denominations.

Jonasson gives multiple examples of the folly of joining movements. The author implies that political movements succeed not because their ideals prevail but because they seize military power, have good fortune financially, or simply make the best use of corruption. He portrays religions in a similarly jaundiced light. Jonasson points out that for every group that expounds high-minded principles, another group opposes them. He illustrates this by contrasting Anglican Christians against Muslims and capitalists against communists, arguing that the conflict between these committed groups prevents progress externally while corruption prevents progress from within. Jonasson implies that no movement has the whole truth or deserves ultimate authority.

While Jonasson discounts humanity’s traditional avenues to universal progress—idealism and brute force—he implies instead that great positive change can happen if individuals, even world leaders, might simply sit down, talk over their issues, and agree to work together. His tongue-in-check addendum to this principle is that alcohol, preferably vodka, can induce frank communication.

In referring to his encounters with world leaders, Allan expresses the idea that a night of mutual sharing, lubricated by hard liquor, could solve the problems of most nations. Jonasson paints Allan as the ambassador for this principal. Allan acquires lasting friendship and respect in every location that receives him openly. Jonasson demonstrates the validity of the idea through the accumulation of wildly different individuals in Allan’s “gang.” By the end of the narrative, former enemies, estranged siblings, and cops-and-robbers all happily dwell together—in Bali. That Jonasson offers this idea lightheartedly, tongue-in-cheek, reflects the Shakespearian rubric that “the truth is often spoke in jest.”