Read the excerpt from chapter 7 of Night . My father had huddled near me, draped in his blanket, shoulders laden with snow. And what if he were dead, as well? I called out to him. No response. I would have screamed if I could have. He was not moving. Suddenly, the evidence overwhelmed me: there was no longer any reason to live, any reason to fight. What is the author’s viewpoint about the situation in this excerpt?