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"The he pulled out a handgun" Chapter 2, page 5

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"The he pulled out a handgun" Chapter 2, page 5

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“Then he pulled out a handgun and shot me in the chest. I was standing on the lawn and I fell. The bullet hole opened wide and my heart rolled out of my rib cage and down into a flower bed. Blood gushed rhythmically from my open wound,
then from my eyes,
my ears,
my mouth.
It tasted like salt and failure. The bright red shame of being unloved soaked the grass in front of our house, the bricks of the path, the steps of the porch. My heart spasmed among the peonies like a trout.”

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Gat, on owning land - Chapter 7, page 17

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Gat, on owning land - Chapter 7, page 17

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"Want to know what I'm thinking about?" Gat asked.

"Yes," I said.

"No," said Johnny.

"I'm wondering how we can say your granddad owns this island. Not legally but actually."

"Please don't get started on the evils of the Pilgrims," moaned Johnny.

"No. I'm asking, how can we say land belongs to anyone?" Gat waved at the sand, the ocean, the sky.

Mirren shrugged. "People buy and sell land all the time."

"Can't we talk about sex or murder?" asked Johnny.

Gat ignored him. "Maybe land shouldn't belong to people at all. Or maybe there should be limits on what they can own."

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Information/pictures here

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Information/pictures here

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Information/pictures here

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"The Democratic Party's philosophy of modern liberalism blends notions of civil liberty and social equality with support for a mixed economy." (Wikipedia)

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"It doesn't matter if trust fund money is running out"

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"It doesn't matter if trust fund money is running out"

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Trust Funds Explained in One Minute: Definition/Meaning, Examples and Tips

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"Welcome to my skull" - Chapter 13, page 33

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"Welcome to my skull" - Chapter 13, page 33

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Welcome to my skull.

A truck is rolling over the bones of my neck and head. The vertebrae break, the brains pop and ooze. A thousand flash-lights shine in my eyes. The world tilts.

I throw up. I black out.

This happens all the time.

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I must have swum out far. There are big rocks in off the shore, craggy and black; they always look villainous in the dark of the evening. I must have had my face in the water and then hit my head on one of these rocks.

Like I said, I don’t know.

I remember only this: I plunged down into this ocean,

down to rocky rocky bottom, and

I could see the base of Beechwood Island and my arms and legs felt numb but my fingers were cold. Slices of seaweed went past as I fell.

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What is the narrative point of view? What position does it put the reader in? How might this affect the story? Anything else to say?

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In general, what type of tone/atmosphere is created? (doesn’t have to be connected to the narrator) How does the writer create this tone? How might it affect the reader?