Grief and the Persistence of the Dead in Gallant: How V.E. Schwab Makes Loss an Ongoing Relationship

Grief as an Ongoing Relationship in Gallant

In V.E. Schwab's Gallant, grief is not a stage to pass through or a wound that heals cleanly. Instead, the novel presents loss as an ongoing relationship with the dead—one sustained through memory, unfinished words, physical objects, and the rituals the living keep. For Olivia Prior, the dead are never truly gone: her mother's journal speaks to her across years, her father's drawings reveal a voice she never heard, and the ghouls that drift through Gallant are not mere hauntings but active presences in her daily life. The novel's central claim is that grief persists because the living choose to keep the dead close—through the stories they retell, the objects they treasure, and the habits they repeat. This persistence is neither purely comforting nor purely painful; it is a complex, ongoing negotiation between remembering and letting go.

The Journal as a Bridge to the Unfinished

Olivia's grief begins long before she arrives at Gallant. At Merilance, she clings to her mother's green journal, a relic of a woman she never truly knew. The journal is filled with entries addressed to her father, chronicling a courtship and a descent into madness after his death. Olivia reads it so often that she knows the words by heart, and she treats it as a sacred object—hugging it to her chest at night, defending it from the cruel girl Anabelle who once tore its pages. The journal is not just a keepsake; it is a lifeline to a mother who abandoned her. When Olivia later discovers that the drawings in the journal were made by her father, the object becomes even more layered: it holds both her mother's voice and her father's silent gestures, a conversation between two dead people that Olivia must learn to read.

This act of reading becomes a form of ongoing relationship. In chapter 21, Olivia copies her mother's entries into the red journal, resurrecting them line by line. She writes, “If you read this, I am safe,” and reconstructs her mother's words from memory, as if to keep her alive through repetition. The journal is a tangible proof that the dead persist—not as ghosts, but as words that can be reread, illustrations that can be studied, and emotions that can be felt anew. Olivia's grief is not about closure; it is about continuing a conversation that was interrupted.

The Ghouls: The Dead Who Refuse to Fade

The ghouls in Gallant are the most literal manifestation of the persistence of the dead. They are fragile, half-there shadows of people who once lived—Olivia's mother, her uncle Arthur, and a host of other Priors who drift through the house and garden. These ghouls are not malevolent; they are remnants, often mimicking the living or reaching out in gestures of comfort. Olivia learns that they cannot be touched—when she tries to embrace her mother's ghoul, her hands pass through—but they can be seen, and they can be summoned. In chapter 30, when Death threatens Gallant, Olivia calls on the ghouls to defend their home. They rise from the ground, step out of the orchard, and gather around her, armed with shovels and blades. They are not just passive memories; they are active participants in the fight to protect the living.

This moment transforms grief from a private emotion into a collective force. The ghouls are the accumulated grief of generations, and they respond to Olivia's plea because she has acknowledged them, because she has kept their stories alive. The persistence of the dead is not a curse but a resource—a way for the living to draw strength from those who came before. Yet the novel also complicates this: the ghouls are fragile, and they dissolve under direct gaze unless Olivia consciously wills them to stay. The relationship requires effort, a deliberate act of attention.

Matthew's Death and the Rituals of Mourning

The most poignant exploration of grief comes in the novel's final act, when Matthew Prior dies defending Gallant. Matthew has been a reluctant guardian, haunted by his own grief for his father Arthur and by the shadow of Death that has been slowly consuming him. His death is not a clean ending; it leaves a wound that the living must tend. In the epilogue, Olivia kneels among the roses, pruning weeds and nourishing the soil. She places a white stone to mark where Matthew fell, even though his body rests in the family plot. This stone is a deliberate act of memory—a way to keep Matthew present in the garden he loved.

The rituals of mourning are everywhere in the epilogue. Hannah beats rugs on the balcony, clearing ash that she claims sweeps in through the cracks; Edgar says it is her way of mourning. Edgar hums old hymns in the kitchen, a habit from his war days. Olivia keeps leather cuffs under her mattress, in case she sleepwalks toward the wall, and she dreams of Death conjuring her parents from ash and bone. These rituals are not about moving on; they are about living with the dead. Hannah's ash-clearing is a daily acknowledgment of loss, Edgar's humming a quiet tribute, and Olivia's cuffs a practical concession to the pull of the other side. The persistence of the dead is woven into the fabric of daily life.

The Wall, the Garden, and the Choice to Remember

The wall and iron gate are the novel's central symbol of the boundary between the living and the dead. Beyond the wall lies the realm of Death, where the Master of the House holds sway. But the wall is not impermeable: Olivia's mother crossed it, and Olivia herself does, only to return. The wall represents the threshold between grief and acceptance, between holding on and letting go. Yet the novel suggests that the wall is not a barrier to be crossed once and for all; it is a door that can be opened and closed, a choice. In the epilogue, Olivia chooses to stay at Gallant, to tend the garden, and to keep the white stone as a reminder. She says, “Home is a choice,” and she has chosen the living world, but she does not forget the dead.

The garden and roses mirror this theme. The garden dies after Death's attack, but Olivia works to bring it back. She cuts a single red rose from a stubborn bush and places it in a yellow vase on the piano, where Matthew's ghoul joins her to play. The rose is a symbol of life persisting amid loss, and the act of placing it is a ritual of remembrance. The garden's renewal is not a denial of death but an acceptance of its cycle: “If death is a part of the cycle, then so is life.” Grief, like the garden, requires tending.

The mother's journals are the most intimate symbol of persistence. They contain the words and drawings of two dead people, and Olivia carries them with her, reads them, and even copies them. The journals are a way to keep the dead speaking, to ensure their voices are not silenced. In the end, Olivia leaves the green journal beyond the wall, a deliberate sacrifice, but she keeps the red journal, now filled with her own reconstructions. She has internalized her mother's words, making them part of her own story.

Complexity and Contradiction: The Burden of Persistence

The novel does not romanticize the persistence of the dead. It shows that grief can be a trap. The Master of the House, Death himself, is a figure who refuses to let go—he collects the dead, conjures them from ash and bone, and tries to keep them as his own. His persistence is monstrous, a perversion of remembrance. Olivia's dreams of her parents being conjured and crumbling are nightmares, not comforts. The dead can also be a source of fear and exhaustion. Olivia sleeps poorly, keeps cuffs under her mattress, and relies on Hannah and Edgar to lock doors and check shutters. The persistence of the dead is not always welcome; it can be a weight that threatens to pull the living into the dark.

There is also a contradiction in Olivia's relationship with her mother. Grace Prior warned her daughter to stay away from Gallant, yet Olivia chooses to stay. The mother's ghoul sits at the foot of her bed, a silent guardian, but also a reminder of abandonment. Olivia misses a mother she never knew, and her grief is complicated by anger and confusion. She asks, “Why did you leave me?” but receives no answer. The persistence of the dead does not resolve these questions; it keeps them alive.

Ultimately, Gallant suggests that grief is not something to be overcome but something to be lived with. The dead persist because the living keep them alive—through journals, rituals, stones, and even the act of playing piano with a ghost. This persistence is both a burden and a gift, a way of honoring the past while choosing to remain in the present.

Study Questions and Answers

1. How does Olivia's relationship with her mother's journal evolve over the course of the novel?

Initially, the journal is a sacred object that Olivia reads obsessively, knowing its words by heart. She defends it from Anabelle and treats it as a connection to her absent mother. After discovering that the drawings are her father's, the journal becomes a more complex artifact—a conversation between two dead parents. Olivia learns to read the illustrations as a language, and she eventually copies her mother's entries into a new journal, internalizing them. The journal shifts from a relic to a living text that Olivia actively engages with, reflecting her growing understanding of her parents and her own grief.

1. What role do the ghouls play in the novel's depiction of grief?

The ghouls are the physical manifestations of the dead who persist. They are fragile, half-there remnants that can be seen but not touched. They serve as reminders of loss, but they also become allies—in the climax, they rise to defend Gallant from Death. The ghouls show that grief is not passive; it can be summoned and channeled. They also illustrate the complexity of grief: they are comforting presences (like Olivia's mother's ghoul) and also sources of pain (like the ghouls that dissolve under direct gaze). The ghouls embody the idea that the dead remain active in the lives of the living, for better or worse.

1. How does the epilogue use rituals to show the persistence of the dead?

The epilogue is filled with rituals: Hannah beats rugs to clear ash, Edgar hums old hymns, Olivia tends the garden and places a white stone where Matthew fell. She also cuts a red rose and puts it on the piano, where Matthew's ghoul joins her to play. These rituals are not about forgetting; they are about remembering in a structured, daily way. They create a rhythm of mourning that allows the living to coexist with the dead. The rituals also show that grief is an ongoing practice, not a one-time event.

1. What is the significance of the wall and the gate in relation to grief?

The wall separates the living world from the realm of Death, but it is not a permanent barrier. Characters cross it, and the dead can return. The wall represents the boundary between holding on and letting go. Olivia chooses to stay on the living side, but she keeps the wall in sight, and she dreams of the other side. The gate, which she seals with her blood, is a symbol of her choice to close off Death's influence, but the wall remains a reminder of what she has lost. The wall thus embodies the tension between grief's pull and the decision to continue living.

1. How does the novel complicate the idea that grief ends with acceptance?

The novel rejects the notion of a clean ending. Olivia does not achieve closure; she learns to live with her grief. She still dreams of her parents, still keeps cuffs under her mattress, and still feels the pull of the other side. The dead persist in her daily life, and she accepts that they will always be part of her. The novel suggests that grief is not a linear process but a continuous relationship—one that requires effort, ritual, and choice. Acceptance is not about forgetting but about integrating the dead into one's ongoing life.