The tone of the novel is reflective, patient, and generous, even toward the most flawed characters. One example occurs in Chapter 2, when the narrator delves into Abel's early memory of knowing Francisco was getting old:
It was nothing he was told, but he knew it anyway and without understanding, as he knew already the motion of the sun and the seasons. He was tired then, and he rode home in the wagon beside his mother and listened to his grandfather sing. His mother died in October, and for a long time afterward he would not go near her grave, and he remembered that she had been beautiful in a way that he as well as other could see and her voice had been as soft as water.
The previous chapter ended with Abel falling drunk into his grandfather's arms as he returned home from the war. Rather than judge Abel for his alcohol dependence, the narrator instead sits with his childhood memories to better understand him. Nor does the narrator try to wrangle Abel's inner world into something that makes linear sense: he allows Abel's mind to meander through memories of exhaustion and disillusionment, the joy of his grandfather's singing, the sadness and avoidance that followed his mother's death, and the awe he still feels about her beauty and the sound of her voice. More than anything, the book bears witness to Abel in all his complex humanity.
The book gives this same treatment to other characters, not just the protagonist. Angela St. John, for instance, holds some exploitative and reductive beliefs about American Indian people. Even so, the novel does not make her out to be a villain. Instead, it offers the reader a glimpse into her mind and gestures, generously attempting to reveal why she might need to believe the things she does.
The insight the novel offers into characters' inner worlds never seems exhibitionist. In fact, there are plenty of moments when the reader is left guessing what someone's motivations might be. For example, there is never an explicit reason why Abel kills Juan Reyes Fragua. This moment and others like it make clear that for all the empathy someone extends toward another person, it is impossible ever to fully know the inside of their head. People always contain more complexity than anyone would know by looking at them. The novel accepts and ultimately celebrates this complexity as part of the human condition.