This is not a coming-of-age, high school drama, although on the surface it may appear quite the contrary. It is not a love story, no matter how much the author wishes it could be. While this story takes place in 1985 or 1986 (no one knows, not even the author), this is not the 80's of Flock of Seagulls or Prince and the Revolution, but that of a small, Midwestern town. A town built around a car factory, now gone. Grimy, suffocating, collapsing into poverty, the town is little more than an uneducated and prejudiced nothing. It is, for lack of a better description, forgettable. Although full of unsolved homicides, this is not a murder mystery. This is not an elegy. This is a story about an awkward young man named Cam, who lives in a pseudo-Victorian funeral parlor house, just blocks from the frigid waters of Lake Michigan. His mother is gone, his father might as well be. He frequently drifts into his own world, never sure if he is hero or villain. He, like every character, has a secret, perhaps never to be revealed. The story is also about monks, math, the apocalypse, and dilly bars. And as the title implies, in the end, this story is about death. Death on levels. Death in stages. First and foremost this is a story; it is no more or less important or interesting than any other story. The author hopes the reader will give him a break because, besides the plot, this story is as real to him as anything he's lived. This is elegy. contains strong language / adult themes ]