Death means you are in the third person.

Everyone has to scratch on walls somewhere or they go crazy

It's an odd state to be in, blowing the whistle on your home country.

Nowadays he doesn't think of his wife, though he knows he can turn around and evoke every move of her, describe any aspect of her, the weigh of her wrist on his heart during the night.

What is interesting and important happens mostly in secret, in places where there is no power.

So the books for the Englishman, as he listened intently or not, had gaps of plot like sections of a road washed out by storms, missing incidents as if locusts had consumed a section of tapestry, as if plaster loosened by the bombing had fallen away from a mural at night.

Death means you are in the third person.