Burn

“Everyone had to know in their bones that every life hung by a thread. That the world did. But if we couldn’t pretend to count on a morning of sailing, or fishing, or a visit with someone we loved the next day, we’d go nuts, right? Right. So pretend away.”

The only way that Jess and Storey are able to emotionally survive the experience of war is to play this game of pretend. As they make their way through the woods of Maine, they give themselves various goals—first, to make it back to Storey’s family, and second, to bring Collie back to her parents—which help give them motivation to keep moving forward. The repeated “pretend” emphasizes the fragility of mental resilience during conflict, reinforcing the theme of The Dissolution of Civil Society Under Crisis by showing how even survival requires emotional artifice.

“One thing he did know was that Storey was worried sick not only about the safety of his family during a civil convulsion, but also about what Lena and the girls would be going through in their panic to reach him.”

One major difference between Jess and Storey is their various motivations for continuing along their journey. Storey always has a fixed goal in mind—returning to his family—while Jess, as he doesn’t have a family, is motivated more by supporting others, first Storey, and later Collie. While still invested, Jess’s motivations are less direct than Storey’s, and throughout the narrative, Jess experiences many moments of doubt as to whether he’s doing the right thing in continuing to follow his friend. This contrast between personal and surrogate family bonds highlights the theme of Protecting Children From Violence, as Jess becomes increasingly willing to take on a paternal role for Collie despite his initial detachment.

“Since they had started walking it almost seemed time was suspended. Or the normal accounting of it. Because time worked best when there was a movement toward or away. Toward desire, away from death. Away from the Big Bang, toward an infinite expansion that might or might not be God…But now they did not know, truly, what they were headed into or out of.”

In Jess’s estimation, time really only flows when there is a reason. Hiking in the woods with Storey becomes an almost meditative experience, outside the flow of time, as the days tend to blend into each other. This meditation on time reflects the novel’s cyclical narrative structure, where progress and regression blur, mirroring the chaotic dissolution of societal and personal order.

“I have lost everything, what do I do now? Wash the pot, ha. Maybe enlightenment and total loss are the same thing. That is something to chew on.”

In Buddhist philosophy, desire is considered to be the root of all suffering. Jess is experiencing a similar feeling in this moment, realizing that despite an incomprehensible loss, his daily life still needs to continue, with his suffering related to his attachment to all that came before. This further distinguishes him from Storey, who has more motivations to be attached to the material world than Jess. The use of dry humor (“Wash the pot, ha”) juxtaposes profound spiritual insight with mundane survival, emphasizing the tension between existential reflection and immediate necessity during war.

“The stars sharpened over the clearing, and there was no smell of rain. The temperature dropped fast. They unrolled their sleeping pads and shook their down bags out and folded their jackets for pillows. They lay on their backs, side by side, and Jess felt the day sift down through his exhaustion, down into his chest and limbs. For a time without measure he let his attention move into the deepening stars and he imagined himself soaring there, not this time as some pelagic osprey but as a great beast that beat the dark slowly and with great power, and glided past the furnaces of stars on long extended wings.”

This moment represents one of the last times that Jess and Storey experience real peace before their spirits are broken by the violence they’re forced to commit. Jess imagines himself floating as a bird through the air, in a distinct contrast to his reality forced to walk slowly through a destroyed land. The idea of flight as liberation contrasts sharply with the grounded, brutal realities of survival, reinforcing ideas of escapism and the psychological toll of conflict.

“She had made it clear—I love you, I love you always—and Don’t call me. We will never get back together again. Quick tear of the Band-Aid. Because she knew that he would harbor—hope, some vision of redemption, a future together in which the rough seas of their early years had smoothed into a green bay, in which they were stronger for the trials and heartbreaks. He had broken her heart.”

This passage employs contrasting imagery to explore themes of finality in relationships while developing Jess’s character through his response to rejection. The juxtaposition between declarations of love and absolute prohibition of contact reveals Jan’s understanding of Jess’s tendency toward idealistic hope, while the metaphorical shift from “rough seas” to “green bay” demonstrates his pattern of romanticizing difficult relationships. This metaphor ties to Jess’s broader struggle with loss and attachment, echoing the emotional costs of severed connections in both personal and societal contexts.

“What felt like do-overs never were, because scar tissue is not elastic and it has many fewer nerve endings to feel with, or it may be numb and not feel at all. One can tell oneself that some post-catastrophe peace or measure of contentment has more value than euphoria; that arriving at some balance, some equanimity after storm, is deeper than flitting flushes of joy, because the peace is so well earned; but none of that is true. To honor a love is the only way to keep it alive. To honor anything.”

The structure of the passage creates a rhetorical argument that builds toward and then dismisses conventional wisdom about post-trauma growth, before arriving at its central thesis about honoring love. The extended scar tissue metaphor moves from physical description (“not elastic,” “fewer nerve endings”) to emotional resonance, suggesting how past relationship wounds create permanent changes in one’s capacity to feel, while simultaneously rejecting the common narrative that suffering leads to deeper appreciation of peace. This passage reinforces the novel’s theme of Protecting Children From Violence, as Jess’s reflection on trauma and its lasting impact highlights the stakes of shielding Collie from similar emotional scars.

“And the choppers—were they for or against? Why on earth circle back and kill a young woman rowing alone in a boat? What harm could she possibly do? Why spend the bullets or the fuel? Except that she bore witness, as had he and Storey.”

This passage employs rhetorical questions to explore themes of systematic violence while revealing how civil conflict corrupts military power. The structure creates a dawning realization about the true nature of the conflict—that bearing witness itself has become a capital offense—while connecting to broader themes about the corruption of protective forces and the transformation of civilian presence into military threat. The unprovoked violence against the woman exemplifies The Corrupted Nature of Authority and Power, showing how protective institutions have devolved into agents of fear and repression.

“I think love is all about our own capacity. So, if I am really good at love, at paying attention, at appreciation, at acceptance, then I can fully love anyone. How deep I love is about the depth of my ability and not the other person. And whom I choose is really happenstance.”

Through the systematic breakdown of love into component skills (“paying attention,” “appreciation,” “acceptance”), Jan frames emotional connection as a personal capacity rather than an interpersonal dynamic, revealing her pragmatic approach that contrasts sharply with Jess’s tendency toward emotional idealization. This philosophy serves as a thematic counterpoint to the novel’s broader exploration of specific, intense bonds formed during crisis. The mention of “happenstance” reflects the randomness of human connections, mirroring the unpredictable alliances forged during the disintegration of civil society.

“Was the man in the tower defending his own family, who were hidden somewhere in the town unmoving, as he and Storey were huddled now? Was he a restaurant owner? A busboy? They had seen the sign: ‘The Black Pearl, Chowder House and Spirits.’ Too cute. Anything too cute always seemed to be hiding something, maybe nothing more menacing than the daily pain of normal life.”

The narrative technique of questioning an enemy’s civilian identity serves multiple functions: It reveals Jess’s empathetic nature, develops themes about the transformation of civilians into combatants, and suggests how normal life persists as a ghost beneath the surface of conflict. The passage’s structure moves from specific tactical situation to philosophical observation, connecting immediate violence to broader notions about hidden suffering in both peace and war. The shift in tone from humor to reflection mirrors the thematic contrast between mundane domesticity and the pervasive violence of civil collapse.

“He thought, as he scanned the lake for movement, that the value of a life reckoned by the one living it was always determined in relation to the landscape of spirit through which that person moves. How that changes over time. So, if he was in a dark wood now, a spiritual nadir, he might be apt to believe he had wasted his life.”

The structure of this passage creates a parallel between external and internal territories, connecting to the novel’s broader motifs about landscape and survival while suggesting how physical danger prompts existential reflection. This technique of layering immediate tactical awareness with deeper philosophical contemplation characterizes Jess’s analytical approach to crisis. The imagery of the “dark wood” echoes classic literary representations of spiritual confusion, connecting Jess’s personal struggles to universal archetypes of loss and redemption.

“They dove in. Not one word spoken, but they hitched the slung rifles square across their backs and dove. Both swam hard for the bottom and they were both jolted sideways and rolled by the pressure waves of the double explosion and Jess panicked and flailed upward, toward the soft lambence of evening sky seen through water, and curled on himself again when the flaming debris pattered over the surface like a flock of hell ducks landing above, and then his own lungs exploded and he breached up, choking, into stinking air and a slick of flotsam on fire.”

This passage employs intense sensory detail and dynamic pacing to capture both physical and psychological aspects of underwater survival during an attack. This transformation of water from potential refuge to trap develops the novel’s water motif while demonstrating how natural elements become both salvation and threat during combat. The simile of “hell ducks” evokes grotesque imagery, reinforcing the surreal, nightmarish quality of wartime violence.

“For the first time that evening a cold breeze pressed over the aft quarter and rocked the boat, and reminded them that it was late September and they were soaking wet. A northeast wind that might bring weather. They’d been lucky the last few days. Or maybe, Jess thought, ‘lucky’ was not the right way of putting it.”

This passage employs weather as both a physical threat and metaphorical device to mark a crucial transition in the narrative. The detailed meteorological observation (“northeast wind that might bring weather”) serves multiple functions: It creates immediate survival concerns about their wet condition, foreshadows coming hardship, and marks their shift from individual survival to protective responsibility for Collie.

“They did not run in to the town dock. They had learned their lesson. They got within half a mile of shore and cut the engine way back, until they were barely moving and the motor was a low chortle, and they eased their way into what seemed a coast under blackout.”

The description of the coast as “under blackout” serves multiple functions: It provides immediate tactical information, connects to historical war references, and suggests how civilian spaces have been transformed by conflict. This evolution in their approach to previously routine actions (docking a boat) exemplifies the novel’s broader notions about how civil conflict forces rapid adaptation to survive. The subdued pacing of this passage contrasts sharply with earlier explosive action, illustrating the characters’ growing caution and the psychological toll of their experiences.

“Storey’s mother loved Jess. He was an only child with pretty serious parents, and the way he sat at their kitchen table and sometimes looked baffled—partly anxious, partly thrilled—and wasn’t quite sure what to make of the drama, of whatever noise, whatever raucous storytelling…his presence made her aware that life in her house was possibly rich and terrifically entertaining, and certainly never boring.”

This passage employs contrasting domestic environments to reveal the roots of Jess’s complex relationship with Hannah while developing themes about the formative nature of childhood experiences. The narrative technique of showing Hannah seeing herself through Jess’s perspective (“made her aware”) adds complexity to their later relationship while revealing how her maternal affection contained seeds of future complications. This exploration of contrasting family dynamics contributes to the broader themes of Protecting Children From Violence by showing how formative relationships shape resilience and vulnerability.

“Storey was so close to his father in spirit if not demeanor that he was not jealous of the relationship; he made room for Jess as if he were the brother he’d always wanted. And so the Brandts, who were always jostling, jostled enough to squeeze Jess in.”

The distinction between “spirit” and “demeanor” in Storey’s relationship with his father creates space for Jess’s inclusion, while the physical metaphor of “jostling” to “squeeze Jess in” transforms emotional acceptance into tangible action. The passage reveals how Storey’s security in his own family relationships enables his generous inclusion of Jess, providing essential background for understanding why their friendship survives later revelations about Hannah.

“As he followed Storey up the freshly maintained track that smelled of shorn grass and trimmed saplings, Jess thought: I am already dead. A long time ago I died of fullness a hundred times and so now I need not be frightened. But I am. More now than two nights ago. Because, I guess, now we are three.”

This passage employs paradox and internal monologue to explore themes about how responsibility affects fear while developing Jess’s complex relationship with mortality. The passage demonstrates how Jess’s contemplative nature processes tactical situations through philosophical frameworks. The shift in focus from individual survival to shared responsibility highlights the theme of Protecting Children From Violence, as Jess grapples with the emotional weight of caring for Collie.

“He had dreamed of Dusty Ridge. That was the name of the road that wound up the east side of Putney Mountain, the road that Storey’s place was on, and his own. The road climbed out of the valley and wound through orchards, forest, hayfields. Past one family dairy farm at the top of Tavern Hill. He dreamed that he was on a bicycle with no seat and so he stood as he rode the steep pitches and stood as he rolled down to the next and his legs seared with effort and no rest and the road went on and on, rolling and climbing, past dark-windowed houses and empty farmyards and it never ended.”

This passage employs dream imagery to explore concepts of endless struggle while connecting past and present through landscape metaphor. The dream’s symbolic elements—the missing seat forcing constant standing, the endless road—connect to broader themes about the exhausting nature of survival during civil conflict, while the transformation of their childhood landscape into a site of endless struggle reflects how crisis changes even memory’s safe harbors.

“She sat up out of the sleeping bag and rubbed her eyes with her fists and took in the campfire, the clearing, the two men, and her mouth opened and she stuck the knuckles of one paw in it and Jess saw the lion breast heave. ‘Where’s Mommy?’ she said around her fist. Her eyes were huge. ‘Where’s Crystal? Crystal!’”

This scene demonstrates the novel’s technique of using precise physical observation to reveal psychological states, particularly in its treatment of childhood trauma during war. The progression of observations moves from innocent morning gestures (“rubbed her eyes with her fists”) to animal imagery (“paw,” “lion breast heave”), suggesting both Collie’s vulnerability and her primitive connection to her lost dog, Crystal. This moment underscores the novel’s exploration of Protecting Children From Violence, showing how war erodes innocence and transforms childhood into a site of profound emotional conflict.

“She twisted back and bit his arm and screamed for her mother and her dog. Storey could almost not contain her. In his own panic he reached back for a wool throw blanket on the seat and yanked her to him and wrapped her in it, the way you would a clawing cat, and let her squirm and scream. Jess thought that if she had another fit like this when they were trying to stay hidden, they’d all be toast.”

This passage employs violent physical detail to explore the collision between childhood trauma and survival necessity while developing themes about the impossible balance between emotional and tactical needs during war. The narrative technique juxtaposes immediate emotional crisis with tactical awareness through Jess’s final observation, revealing how even authentic responses to trauma become potential threats during conflict. The imagery of “clawing cat” and the use of the blanket as both a restraining tool and a comfort item encapsulates the tension between Collie’s emotional needs and the group’s survival imperatives.

“He told him. That three days into their hunting trip the president had been assassinated. By a Maine secessionist. That the Maine Legislature must have voted to secede from the union in the days before, because the Legislatures of New Hampshire and Vermont were apparently throwing their hat in with Maine, sympathizing if not seceding.”

In this passage, the staccato delivery of information mirrors the characters’ fragmentary understanding of how their personal crisis connects to larger political upheaval, with each revelation expanding outward from individual to state to regional implications. The distinction between sympathizing and seceding introduces crucial nuance to the novel’s treatment of political resistance, suggesting how civil conflict creates a spectrum of loyalty rather than simple binary choices. This revelation also underscores the theme of The Corrupted Nature of Authority and Power, showing how political structures fracture and realign under the pressure of civil collapse.

“Jess’s breathing shallowed. He felt hot tears on his cheeks. He could not control them and he wasn’t sure why. Was it that Storey had been a better friend than he’d ever imagined? Or that his first love had maybe bagged him like a deer and notched her belt? Right now there were many reasons to cry, and so…he cried.”

The passage captures a rare moment of masculine emotional vulnerability, with Jess’s physical reactions contrasting sharply with his analytical attempt to categorize the source of his emotions. Through the hunting metaphor, the text reframes his teenage relationship with Hannah in predatory terms, suggesting how maturity has transformed his understanding of past experiences that he once romanticized.

“But, then, any end always surprises us, doesn’t it? he thought. No matter how much we think we are prepared, the end is always a shock.”

The passage employs rhetorical questioning to explore universal truths about mortality and loss while connecting personal revelation to the broader context of civil collapse. Through its shift from individual contemplation to universal observation, the text develops themes about how crisis forces confrontation with fundamental human experiences of endings, whether personal or societal. This observation encapsulates the novel’s exploration of The Dissolution of Civil Society Under Crisis, emphasizing the inevitability and suddenness of societal and personal disintegration.