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Reclaiming Survivor Narratives Through Reframed Myths: Emma Donoghue's "Room"

(Possible spoilers and triggers ahead)

Emma Donoghue's innovative novel, "Room" is introduced with a quotation from the Greek myth of Perseus and Danae. Danae was a young woman imprisoned in a brass tomb deep below the ground, impregnated by Zeus then cast out to sea shut in a wooden box with her baby. The quote focuses on the purity and innocence of youth, amid horrors that the mother cannot escape nor ignore - indeed is compelled to bear, witness and ultimately survive.

That, ultimately, is what Room is about - told from the perspective of five year old Jack, whose entire life has been lived in one sealed room with his mother. Cleverly written and structured, the novel slowly unfolds its secrets at a compelling pace and depth, as both Jack, and the reader, come to realize the truth and urgency of the situation.

From the first paragraph, you're hooked.  Unsettling discord appears from the mention of" going to sleep in Wardrobe", and the reader is compelled to actively intuit and interpret the narrative whilst beguiled by its naivety and seeming simplicity. When Ma speaks of being pregnant "Through skylight", Donoghue instantly links her characters to the quoted myth of Danae, reclaimed and retold as a compelling survivor narrative and necessary unveiling of controversial truths for our time - when endemic violence against women is still an uncomfortable reality globally, and still specifically in the Western world. The almost mythic storytelling, through creating a different, reclaimed version of events provides a strong and compelling narrative. The mythic narrative, which prioritises and glosses over male appropriation, violence and privilege in Zeus- and the lack of consent and act of rape is now able to be challenged and made explicit.

However, the story unfolds through Jack's eyes, and this distancing therefore allows the co-existence of innocence and horror, a difficult and at times controversial juxtaposition, allowing for questions and examination of issues.

This narrative tour-de-force also allows the reader to truly appreciate the ingenuity and cleverness of Ma, whose supreme efforts in creating a safe world within a nightmare reality are truly amazing. Comforting rites of routine can also be read by the perceptive reader as testament to the will to escape and survive. Later on, when events reach crisis point, you truly appreciate how Ma has protected and trained her son.  We are shielded, along with Jack, during particularly disturbing scenes -but cannot avoid a harrowing understanding of events; although, again, we are brought to question whether this distancing, and the related proximity of childish innocence, makes what occurs more or less horrifying.

The action-packed middle of the novel is gripping and heart-in-mouth. The desperation of the mother is shown remarkably, harrowingly well through the son. Afterwards, the larger proportion  of the novel follows the aftermath of events. Whereas a more traditionally framed story would end here, at what may seem a triumphant ending, "Room" does not allow for easy answers. This divided opinion at the meeting - some readers in the club felt that the main action takes place in Room; that afterwards, the narrative momentum is essentially lost. Further debate led us to discuss how it could even be seen as a loss of innocence, or coming of age story - as Jack learns of the outside world, and begins to contextually frame his life so far in comparison to it.


Our book club choices this year have all dealt with children and the legacy of ill treatment, poor or absent parenting, trauma and war; all have explored, through a variety of genres and narrative techniques, the loss of innocence, and also its implications. It leads us to question whether, thematically, the artistic exploration of innocence and experience, the construction or destruction of families, and the role of the wider community is continually an ongoing human and mythic concern; or whether this speaks volumes about the specific concerns and preoccupations of modern society.

 Donoghue unsettles the reader's own assumptions or possible metaphorical reading. "Room" explores our need to make something meaningful out of horror and trauma to relieve it's otherwise meaningless burden.
It also asks about how we should narrate or tell traumatic experiences culturally - whose voice is speaking, how should they be told and who should be telling them? This is particularly pertinent, especially in a piece of imaginative fiction which uses real life stories in creating its vision, and which blurs the line between reality and fiction in doing so.

Perhaps this imaginative retelling - of both myth and true-life experiences - is the best use of fiction, allowing us to explore and examine atrocities and difficult questions through the safe realms and boundaries of the written.

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