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Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of illness and death.
Throughout The Dog Stars, many of the characters feel deeply displaced from their former lives, grieving the absence of lost loved ones and the disappearance of an entire civilization that once sustained them and gave them a sense of purpose. In the aftermath of this widespread collapse, the few ragtag survivors are left with very little to sustain their spirits, and most of their time and energy is devoted to seeking the bare necessities of food, shelter, and safety. As Hig and Bangley’s spare lifestyle indicates, there is very little time left over for indulging in the social niceties that build and sustain a community. Floundering in his grief and haunted by old memories, Hig finds it very difficult to resist an existential sense of despair; even his most philosophical moments are tinged with a deadly form of melancholy, and it is only when he finally ventures out and discovers Pops and Cima that he finally regains a greater zest for life.
In the novel’s early chapters, Hig presents himself as something of a lost soul, and his meandering, nonlinear narrative style reflects his own spiritual desolation and lack of purpose. Even when he is faced with immediate crises, he finds his mind drifting away to parallel connections and old memories, but when he overcomes Pops and Cima’s initial distrust and begins building new bonds with them, his sense of displacement is eased. As he admits to himself, “For the first time in what seemed like years my head seemed clear” (176). Yet even in the midst of these positive developments, Hig’s sense of displacement remains, for there is no ready way to remedy the complete societal collapse that plagues his current existence.
Pops and Cima also struggle to redefine their purpose in the aftermath of the epidemic, for although Hig discovers them tending to what appears to be a well-functioning ranch, they are both haunted by the knowledge that imminent drought and climate change have already doomed their home. If they want to survive, they have no choice but to leave. Pops finds this prospect especially daunting despite his lack of complaints, for he has spent much of his life dedicating his efforts to maintaining the legacy of his place. Now that he must uproot his existence at this late stage of his life, his own inner battle with displacement becomes particularly acute. In his case, the remedy is to apply his extensive skills to new situations, contributing his decisive actions and expertise in a way that helps his comrades to survive. He therefore finds a new purpose in safeguarding his daughter from various perils and helping Hig in the quest to return safely to Erie.
Nowhere is the characters’ shared struggle to find purpose more evident than in their shock upon witnessing the ruined landscape that used to be Grand Junction. As Cima vomits at the sight, Hig muses, “I understood the shock of seeing Grand Junction. It was one thing to lose the whole world as you knew it, another to see, to maybe smell your old neighborhood as charnel house and killing field” (273). Post-collapse society has robbed these characters of everything they have known, and time and again, Hig wanders through the world with a lost, forlorn air, seeking any form of respite from his soul-deep confusion. On occasion, this preoccupation gets Hig in trouble, distracted as he is by his thoughts of the past. By contrast, Bangley, who has suffered losses and griefs as monumental as Hig’s, ironically thrives in his new environment, using the tasks of day-to-day survival to find an agency that he didn’t possess in his past existence when the world was still functioning as it should. With Bangley’s success as a savvy comrade and a shrewd tactician, Heller suggests that even in the midst of great deprivation, it is possible to find a new form of equilibrium and adapt to the necessities of a world turned inside out. The end of the novel also supports this idea as all the characters band together to create a humble society that is nonetheless much greater than the sum of its parts.
From the very beginning of the novel, Hig often waxes poetic about his observations of the natural world and his deep love of outdoor activities like flying, fishing, or hiking to the creek. In many ways, he indulges in the simple delights of appreciating the beauty around him, and his fascination with wildlife and with the landscape itself often dominates his meandering narration in The Dog Stars. A fair amount of time is dedicated to describing the physical environment, with the pacing of the novel deliberately slowed to allow for these contemplative interludes. With Hig’s focus on naming the surviving plants and animals, he seeks to reclaim portions of his past life and identity even as he forges ahead into a much harsher world. His words often take on a deeply nostalgic tone, as when he discusses fishing and fondly describes “these motions, the sequence, the quiet, the rill and gulp, the riffle of the stream and the wind soughing the needles of the tall trees,” characterizing the activity as a “ritual that required no thought” but that also allowed him to get “in touch with something that felt very pure” (55).
Whether Hig is hiking through the wilderness or flying above the perimeter, he always takes time to fully immerse himself in the environment and to consciously appreciate the landscape’s finer nuances, and he adopts a lilting, lyrical tone whenever he waxes poetic about the pristine expanse of nature. In certain scenes, these descriptions also serve to launch him into a new frame of mind, intensifying his optimism and his taste for adventure and allowing him to forget his underlying grief for a moment. This dynamic is particularly prominent when he first sets off toward Grand Junction, for he describes the commencement of the flight with onomatopoetic language and vivid imagery that captures his excitement:
Whoosh off a band of cliff. And the valley opens: a green river backed by a high double mountain with a swooping saddle between. Orchards, the neat rows of tufted trees on either side of the river. Vineyards too. Tall cottonwoods marking the westward twisting course of the stream. In the west where the river flows out of the valley […] I can see the railroad tracks, the flat topped mesas and the massing uplift of the Plateau, purple in the morning haze. (157)
In this passage, Heller’s language is a prime example of form meeting function. The lyrical quality of the prose highlights the nostalgia inherent to Hig’s character and further highlights his sense of displacement, as nature often appears the most idyllic to Hig whenever he is removed from it, flying in his plane. Furthermore, at a metafictional level, Heller effectively eschews plot in these lengthy passages, setting it aside and concentrating on language for language’s sake—just as someone might simply stop to watch and enjoy a sunset, appreciating the natural world on its own quiet terms. As the novel progresses, this descriptive language creates the sense that despite the devastation of the flu and blood disease, the hugeness and pristine beauty of the larger world can transcend the ills of humanity despite the devastation that the pandemic and its associated crises have wrought on the environment.
Many times throughout the novel, Heller invokes the imagery of ghosts, memories, and dreams to emphasize the way the past lives on. To this end, Hig’s own explanations of his experiences take on a nonlinear form, and with his tendency to allow his thoughts of the past to invade the present, it is clear that he is lost somewhere between the two. His early reminiscences are rife with thoughts of his late wife, and he remains deeply haunted by the manner of her death and his role in it. This past trauma is further exacerbated by the sorrow of Jasper’s death, for as Hig wanders alone in the wilderness, he finds himself reliving the circumstances of the dying Melissa’s illness during the epidemic—particularly her request that he be the one to end her life and put a stop to her suffering. Although he committed the mercy-killing out of love and respect for his wife’s last wishes, the decision looms large in his thoughts nine years later, and as the novel eventually reveals, he often tortures himself by second-guessing his actions that day.
Caught up in memories of the past and regrets over desperate actions that he has more recently taken—such as killing a young boy in order to survive—Hig often wanders through his waking life with a dreamlike air, and his meandering narration creates the impression that he is never fully present in his own life because he has become so deeply mired in morose thoughts of all that he has lost and suffered. Even his descriptions of the physical world take on an amorphous, dreamlike quality, lending an air of unreality to everything he sees in real time. For example, when he lands the Beast after spotting Pops and Cima from the air, he muses:
The flight over already seemed like another life. And the airport seemed like a dream. If the airport was a dream, then Jasper was a dream behind a dream, and before was a dream behind that. Within and within. Dreaming. How we gentle our losses into paler ghosts. (183-84)
Hig’s peculiar conviction that he is living in a dream within a dream pervades his every waking moment, serving as a defense mechanism that allows him to create an artificial sense of distance between himself and the horrible reality of human devastation and societal collapse.
Just as Hig agonizes over the circumstances of Melissa’s death, Cima too remains deeply haunted by her husband’s demise, suffering intense dreams about him. As she explains to Hig, “Last night […] I dreamt of Tomas. […] He was dying on his cot and calling me, bleating just like an animal that knows it’s going to slaughter […] And I stood against the wall unwilling to help him. My husband. My best friend” (26). The deep sense of guilt that she expresses here illustrates the degree to which she has tortured herself for years; in reality, there was nothing she could have done to prevent her husband’s death by the flu, but because she is an epidemiologist who was on the front lines in the fight against the disease, she blames herself for not recognizing the dire signs of illness in Tomas. Her confession to Hig thus acts as something of a mirror, allowing him to both understand her sorrow and begin to forgive himself for his part in his own wife’s death. If Hig and Cima are haunted by the dead, then their mutual confessions serve as a form of exorcism that allows them to deal with their respective ghosts and grant themselves permission to move on.



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By Peter Heller