Tim Charvat serves as a pivotal mentor figure for Bud. A static and round character, Tim embodies resilience, empathy, and deep engagement with life, which the novel suggests is particularly noteworthy given his disability (Tim has paraplegia). Though Tim laments that his wheelchair confines him physically, he leads a full emotional and social life, in contrast to Bud. He drives a specially outfitted car, plays catch, and even goes skydiving with Bud. Tim’s actions and philosophy thus demonstrate that a meaningful existence is a matter of choice, not circumstance.

Tim’s primary role is to guide Bud toward a more authentic and connected life. For the most part, he does this not through direct instruction but by example and by fostering a community. It is through Tim that Bud finds a place to live after his divorce, establishing Tim’s function as a character who shepherds Bud toward connection. Moreover, his home is the site of regular salons, bringing together a diverse group of artists and thinkers that becomes a haven for Bud. Tim also gently pushes Bud to question his own stagnation and introduces him to the philosophy that underpins the novel’s exploration of mortality, as when he quotes Montaigne’s claim that “[t]o practice death is to practice freedom” (99). Tim’s backstory, which includes a period of deep depression and suicidal ideation following his accident, reveals that his positive outlook is a hard-won perspective. This characterization of Tim draws on a longstanding trope: the character whose illness or disability serves as a source of wisdom and inspiration, typically to facilitate the protagonist’s development.

Ultimately, Tim’s character reinforces the novel’s claim that a life’s value is measured by its connections and its capacity for joy. Even after his death from a blood clot, a complication of his condition, his influence continues. In a posthumous letter, he leaves his house to Bud with the instruction to “Keep the salon alive” (270), ensuring that his legacy of community and connection endures. He represents the ideal that Bud strives for: a life lived so fully that it continues to inspire others even after it has ended.

Clara is a catalyst for Bud’s emotional and philosophical development, as well as his primary love interest. A round character, she is unconventional, honest, and on her own journey of renewal. She first appears at the wake of a woman she did not know, immediately aligning her with the novel’s central theme of confronting mortality to gain an appreciation of life: Her hobby of attending strangers’ funerals is a conscious practice of remembrance, a way to “feel alive.” She therefore challenges Bud to participate directly in life, as when she persuades him to join her for a swim in the frigid April ocean, a baptismal moment that shocks him into a state of heightened awareness.

Clara’s defining trait is her honesty about her own struggles, including a past affair, regrets about the way she handled her father’s death, and a stay at a mental health facility. This vulnerability contrasts with Bud’s reliance on sarcasm as an emotional shield. By sharing her story, she creates a space for Bud to begin sharing his own, moving him closer to authentic connection. Drawing on her own struggles, she also pushes Bud to recognize that people can and should rewrite their life’s narrative rather than remaining trapped by old, unproductive patterns. Her decision to leave for a year to teach English in Bhutan reflects this belief, as she actively pursues a new story for herself.

While her relationship with Bud is brief (if open-ended), its impact is profound. She provides him with a model for how to integrate trauma into a new, more intentional existence, and she pushes Bud to move beyond an intellectual understanding of memento mori to an embodied, emotional experience of what it means to be alive.

Tuan Nhat is Bud’s officemate and friend. A static yet round character, Tuan is a study in contrasts. On the surface, he is caustic, taking a mischievous delight in annoying Bud, whether by eating fragrant egg salad sandwiches daily or by mercilessly mocking him after the self-published obituary incident. His polished demeanor likewise contrasts with Bud, who becomes disheveled in the wake of his divorce. Nevertheless, there are early hints that the two are more alike than appearances suggest; they share a similarly dry sense of humor, and their daily banter offers much of the novel’s comic relief.

Indeed, it becomes clear that beneath Tuan’s prickly exterior lies a deeply loyal and perceptive friend. His support for Bud is consistent, though often disguised. Following Bud’s divorce, Tuan quietly looks out for him, bringing him coffee and inviting him to movies, providing a lifeline of human connection when Bud is at his most isolated. His support is practical as well as emotional; concerned about Bud’s potential firing, he proactively reaches out to an editor in Minneapolis on Bud’s behalf, an act of friendship he quickly dismisses as self-interest. Even Tuan’s first words to Bud, “The good news is that someone died today” (35), are recontextualized by the novel’s conclusion, their apparent callousness masking a truth that it takes Bud the entire novel to understand.

Howard Ziffle is Bud’s boss and a key mentor figure. As a static, round character, he is a gruff but wise leader whose tough exterior conceals a well of empathy and principle. His initial on-page interactions with Bud involve sharp criticism of Bud’s professional decline; Bud recalls a round of performance feedback in which Howard listed his many errors with a clinical and unforgiving tone. However, this harshness stems from a place of disappointment, as he sees Bud’s wasted potential. Howard is a staunch defender of journalistic integrity and believes in the power of storytelling, seeing the writing of an obituary as entailing a sacred duty to honor the dead. He therefore laments that for Bud, “nothing matters […] anymore” (48).

Howard’s mentorship is crucial to Bud’s journey. After Bud publishes his own obituary, it is Howard who sets him on a new path by introducing the concept of memento mori, the practice of remembering death to appreciate life. It is also Howard who provides symbolic resolution to Bud’s arc, demonstrating his faith in Bud’s transformation by creating the “Life Stories” section. The new role perfectly aligns with Bud’s newfound purpose, proving that Howard’s gruff mentorship was always intended to help Bud find his way back to a meaningful life and career.

Leo Hoyt is a minor character whose simple wisdom and innocence provide an emotional anchor for Bud. At seven years old, Leo views the world with a mixture of scientific curiosity and unfiltered honesty, fastidiously recording his observations in a notebook. His friendship with Bud is one of the novel’s clearest examples of authentic human connection. Their conversations are free of pretense, allowing Bud a respite from the complexities of his adult life. At the same time, Leo’s perspective often cuts through to profound truths, particularly regarding mortality. Having lost his sister, Lucy, Leo explains that he still talks to her because she is “always with [him]” (160). This simple, heartfelt view—that death does not end but simply transforms a relationship—complements the more intellectual approach to death offered by characters like Tim and Howard. Leo represents the power of pure, uncomplicated connection to heal and ground a person in the present.