From the quasi-documentary depths of Island in the Sky (1944) to the allegorical heights of The Aviator (1981), and through the personal reflections of his autobiography and the masterfully penned Fate is the Hunter (1961), Gann remains ensnared by the intricate dance between life and death. In The High and the Mighty, he delves into the diverse human responses to mortality, showcasing characters like the freshly wedded Bucks and the ailing Frank Briscoe. Garfield, the operations manager, as he watches passengers alight, muses, "you are astonished that there is always a thing so real and near as death. It is, as you have possibly observed ... a clever device for the measurement of all men." For some, the encounter with mortality will be transformative, leaving a permanent mark, yet for others, it will fade into the background of forgotten memories. Some will seamlessly slip back into their old routines, but the unexpected unraveling of certain individuals keeps readers on their toes.

Salvation remains a distant star, largely eclipsed by the forces beyond the grasp of the passengers. They must place their fates in the hands of the pilots, who, in turn, rely on the capricious mercy of their machines. In the universe crafted by Gann, facing such a predicament demands the same dignity, courage, and resilient spirit displayed by Briscoe as he battles the relentless illness devouring him. The pilots, too, showcase their bravery—not through daring exploits, but through the mastery of their inner turmoil and the embodiment of unwavering professionalism, which serves as their armor against the paralyzing grip of fear.

Flying, as copilot Dan Roman muses, "was not an adventure." Rather, it was akin to launching a business where the stakes were more perilous than mere financial ruin. As seasoned professionals, they understood that despite the near-perfect machinery at their command, movement inevitably came with its own set of risks and consequences. Veteran aviator Roman, perceived by his colleagues to be past his prime at fifty-three, becomes a force of nature, urging, chastising, and even physically confronting pilot Sullivan to wrest control over his mounting fear. Yet, it is Sullivan who ultimately lands the plane, triumphing over the fear, which Gann asserts is an affliction every aviator faces—"the occupational disease that approached some more gradually than others, yet inevitably claimed them all, as surely as the hours accumulated in their logbooks."