Will Somersby is 456 years old, give or take, and he has come to the end of his tether. Despairing of ever finding his beloved, he plants himself in the path of an oncoming freight train one sweltering afternoon in Tennessee. At the last moment, a thirteen-year-old wise-child named Tuesday Van Sant offers to take him to see Elvis.

The King is dead, Will points out.

So is almost everyone he’s ever known.

But Tuesday has someone else in mind: A diminutive, red-haired Elvis impersonator named Winfield Dickhout with a magnificent voice and a paralysing fear of leaving town. In short order, these three misfits embark on a Quixotic pilgrimage to Graceland, riding a motorcycle and sidecar into the heart of MAGA-land that is destined to end in disaster.

Six weeks later, Will walks blindfolded into a hospital in Ontario. Insisting on his age and claiming to have followed the song of a nightingale, he is quickly admitted to the psych ward, where a disillusioned psychiatrist named Miranda Gosling suspects that she has met this man before. Ignoring her clinical training, Miranda entertains the possibility that the narrative Will Somersby weaves is beyond uncanny and implicates her in a way she can no longer deny.

By turns bawdy, absurd, and unexpectedly tender, Disgraceland is a novel that tugs at the fine line between madness and revelation and celebrates the foolishness of being alive.