“Outside, still dark, the sun up but not coming, the woods gray and the trees, looming in shapes: dark sentinels, soldiers. All these years and still everything always comes back to that. War.”

In the novel’s opening scene, Cooper hears noises outside and leaves his house in the early morning to investigate. His assessment of the situation offers a glimpse into the way his mind works, reflecting both the nuances of his perception and also certain disturbances registered by the unconventional sentence structures. His comparison of the trees around his cabin to soldiers establishes the continuing influence of war on his mind, foreshadowing his struggles with PTSD. He sees things in relation to the war that he fought, unable to escape its influence and sensing danger to his way of life everywhere, even in the natural world.

“I’ve kept track of the days and I am grateful for each one because if there is one thing I have learned in this life, it’s that it can all end, fast. I know, too, that it will.”

An undercurrent of anxiety runs through Cooper’s parenting of his daughter, Finch. His attachment exceeds the general appreciation of parents for the experience of raising young children; he literally counts the days that Finch has been alive. While the knowledge that time moves on and everything ends is a truism, Cooper’s paranoia sharpens the observation. That he “know[s]” that his idyll with Finch will end suggests a more specific cause in his past.