It's not just childish innocence on display here its life and death. For to him, Outside is just another word for Outer Space. At each step of the way, Jack can only comprehend situations of horror through the stories he loves and absorbs Ma has to place the two of them into Alice in Wonderland so he understands their predicament, she has to place them into Dora the Explorer to give him the courage to escape. And no matter how she tries to get him to understand, he cannot comprehend the horror she's been through, and how she longs for the outside. He's just a five year old after all, whose biggest fear remains the ogre waiting for him at the top of the beanstalk (this was also my greatest fear as a child I couldn't sleep if I could hear my heartbeat, as all I'd hear is 'Fee, Fi, Fo, Fum'). When captor Old Nick comes by each night, Jack hides himself in the wardrobe and counts the creaks of the bed 'till he makes that gaspy sound and stops.'ĭonoghue cleverly lets us make the leap between Jack's innocent observations and the harshness of reality in Room. This limited perspective sets up an important contradiction: for his 'Ma,' Room is place of terror, but for Jack, it's the only home he knows, where all his imaginary friends live. It's brilliant how Donoghue captures the language of a child, the terrors and observations and weird little obsessions and tantrums. To him, weekly deliveries of supplies to Room are Sunday-treats. All that occupies the room become characters to him, like Room and Wardrobe and Table and Meltedy Spoon. Jack describes only what he sees and hears, as a child might. Donoghue's writing will place you right there, suffocating you, bewildering you, tormenting you, even though you're seeing through the eyes of a chlid who barely understands what's happening.

Room is a tightly written, unpredictable and harrowing account of one young girl who strives to keep her child safe from the monster that locked them both into a single room for seven years. Brilliant, brilliant book, so clever you almost wish you'd written it yourself, except that you know that you could never have written it so well.

Room donoghue