Full Measures

The novel’s deuteragonist, Josh, is a round, largely static character who provides a crucial anchor of stability for the grieving Howard family. Despite his lingering reputation as a high school “bad boy,” Josh is a mature, perceptive, and deeply responsible man. His transformation has occurred before the novel begins, and his steadfast nature remains consistent throughout the story. He enters Ember’s life at a moment of profound crisis and immediately becomes a protective and patient presence. He’s primarily a stabilizing force for Ember and her younger brother, Gus. He offers mentorship to Gus through hockey, creating a space of normalcy and filling a void left by his father. For Ember, Josh provides unwavering emotional support, understanding her need for structure while gently encouraging her to confront the grief she tries to manage through control. He consistently puts her needs before his own, embodying his promise: “So tell me what you need, and I’ll be that for you” (76).

Josh’s capacity for empathy is rooted in his own history of trauma and loss. His backstory reveals that he endured his mother’s battle with cancer, a career-ending hockey injury, and the physical and psychological wounds of being shot in combat. This personal history provides him with a unique ability to understand Ember’s pain, not through pity but through genuine compassion. His connection to the military, symbolized by the uniforms that Ember initially finds triggering, is a source of both the central conflict in their relationship and his profound understanding of duty and sacrifice. He doesn’t shy away from the difficult realities of her family’s situation because he has navigated his own. This shared experience of hardship allows him to connect with Ember on a level that no other character can, offering gentle and resilient support.

As a direct foil to Ember’s boyfriend, Riley, Josh’s character highlights the qualities of a truly supportive partner. While Riley is self-absorbed, emotionally distant, and ultimately abandons Ember in her time of need, Josh is selfless, present, and intuitive to her emotional state. Riley’s love is conditional, tied to a rigid life plan that can’t withstand the unpredictability of tragedy. In contrast, Josh’s love is adaptable and unconditional, proving that true strength lies not in avoiding pain but in facing it alongside someone. This stark contrast is instrumental in Ember’s character development, as Josh’s quiet dependability and profound kindness help her redefine her understanding of love, trust, and what it means to build a future with someone. His character proves that a person’s past needn’t define their capacity for goodness.

The character arc of Ember’s mother, June, demonstrates the paralyzing nature of profound grief. Initially, she’s a “Stepford-perfect mother” (4) who embodies order, but she completely disintegrates upon learning of her husband’s death. Her immediate descent into a state of shock, in which she’s unable to speak or care for her family, is the catalyst that forces Ember to assume the role of the family’s authority figure. June’s sudden incapacitation thematically illustrates The Impact of Grief on Relationships and Familial Roles, showing how loss can shatter even the most established parental foundations. Her withdrawal from the world physically manifests her emotional devastation and her deep dependence on her husband, leaving a void that her eldest daughter must fill.

June’s journey back to functionality is slow and arduous, marked by key moments of breakthrough. She remains largely absent and unresponsive for weeks, trapped in grief. Only through external catalysts, such as the visceral breakdown of another military widow, Chloe Rose, and reading a posthumous letter from her husband, does she begin to reengage. These events seem to shock her back into the present, reminding her of her responsibilities to her children and herself. Her eventual return to maternal duties, such as cooking dinner and disciplining Gus, is a critical turning point for the family. June’s recovery, while fragile, allows Ember to begin processing her own delayed grief and start living her life again, demonstrating hard-won resilience in the face of unimaginable loss.

Ember’s younger sister, April, is a foil to Ember, representing a more volatile and externally expressive reaction to grief. While Ember internalizes her pain and channels it into responsibility, April’s response is self-destructive and rebellious. She engages in compulsive shopping, underage drinking, and promiscuity, all desperate attempts to numb the overwhelming pain of her father’s death. Her reckless behavior creates significant conflict within the family, particularly with Ember, whose disciplinary role strains their sisterly bond and highlights the different, often contradictory, ways that individuals process trauma.

Beneath her sharp exterior, April is deeply vulnerable and feels overshadowed by Ember’s perceived stoicism and competence. Her emotional outburst reveals her core insecurity and grief: “Everyone else is falling apart and you’re just…perfect little Ember!” (177). This marks a turning point in her relationship with Ember, shattering the illusion of Ember’s invulnerability and fostering a new, more honest understanding between the sisters. April’s character arc illustrates that grief can manifest in complex and unhealthy ways. Her eventual willingness to acknowledge her pain and seek therapy shows a move toward healthier coping mechanisms and signifies an important step in the family’s collective healing process.

As the youngest Howard sibling, seven-year-old Gus represents the childhood innocence that their father’s death irrevocably shatters. His understanding of the loss is filtered through a child’s perspective, often resulting in moments of poignant simplicity that cut through the complex grief of the adults around him. His insistence on getting a birthday cake for Ember on the day of the notification, for instance, testifies to his pure heart and grounds the family in a moment of routine amid the chaos. He’s the family member whose future is most profoundly altered, having lost his father at such a formative age.

Hockey is central to Gus’s life, providing a space of stability and a vital connection to both his father’s memory and his new mentor, Josh. The sport provides a structured outlet for his energy and emotions when his home life is in turmoil. Gus’s well-being is a primary motivator for Ember, and his needs often anchor her sense of responsibility, reminding her of what the family is fighting to preserve: a future in which he can still be a child, despite the immense loss he has endured.

As a minor antagonist and a direct foil to Josh, Riley embodies the superficiality of Ember’s former life, which was built on meticulous plans and the appearance of perfection. His identity is intrinsically linked to a lack of genuine substance and adaptability. When confronted with the messy reality of Ember’s grief, he’s incapable of providing meaningful support, prioritizing his own comfort and social life over her emotional needs. His failure to be present for Ember during her family’s crisis underscores his self-absorption and highlights the fragility of a life built on rigid expectations.

Riley’s infidelity with Ember’s roommate and friend, Kayla, and his subsequent self-serving excuses expose the hollowness of their relationship and shatter Ember’s belief in her carefully constructed life plan. The betrayal is a crucial catalyst, propelling Ember toward significant personal growth by forcing her to reevaluate her priorities and what she values in a partner. His self-serving, emotionally distant character starkly contrasts with Josh’s unwavering loyalty and emotional depth, ultimately helping Ember understand the difference between a love based on a predetermined script and one that is authentic, resilient, and present in times of crisis. Riley’s character is essential in thematically demonstrating The Illusion of Control in a World of Uncertainty.