Parental Discretion is Advised
I'm not usually one to get freaked out by a book. I think the last thing I read that truly frightened me was Stephen King's novella "The Mist," and that was when I was like fourteen.
So it's saying something that just a few nights ago I had a nightmare about Emma Donoghue's Room. Narrated by five-year-old Jack, the story–as the title suggests–takes place in a single room (for the first half, at least), in which Jack has spent his entire life, oblivious to the notion of a world outside, other than the bizarre images on his television–and even these he doesn't necessarily connect to any larger concept of Others. Jack shares the room with his Ma, who was imprisoned there years prior by Old Nick, a shadowy character whose late-night visits require Jack to hide in a cabinet so as not to be seen.
Most of my friends with children refuse to read Room, which I think is understandable. To be sure, the book is horrifying in a way that actual horror novels are not. There are no monsters or demons or wicked other-worldly creatures. In fact, for the first half of the book, there's really no one other than Jack, Ma, and Old Nick–that is, if you don't count the items in the room that Jack has come to view as petlike specimens (Stove, Fridge, Rug, Bed–you get the idea). Donoghue's treatment of the room as its own self-contained world–which it literally is to Jack–makes the story more palatable for readers, who might otherwise be turned off by the idea of reading a book with such strict setting parameters, while also reinforcing the sense of grim isolation.
Of course, the book is not without its flaws, though ironically many of these are the very same things that make it such a fascinating read. For instance, the voice: try to imagine a narrator who, aside from being five and obsessed with Dora the Explorer (who he doesn't intuitively realize is a cartoon), has never had any interaction whatsoever with anyone other than his mother. On one hand, you could make the argument that the story has to be told from Jack's perspective because the real impact rests in his obliviousness. But on the other hand, this lends itself to some overly cute narrative tricks, particularly once Jack and Ma have escaped (half the story takes place outside of the room, so I'm not giving anything away here):
"In the world I notice persons are nearly always stressed and have no time. Even Grandma often says that, but she and Steppa [Jack's step-Grandfather] don't have jobs, so I don't know how persons with jobs do the jobs and all the living as well. In Room me and Ma had time for everything. I guess the time gets spread very thin like butter over all the world, the roads and houses and playgrounds and stores, so there's only a little smear of time on each place, then everyone has to hurry on to the next bit."
Jack's naivety, while largely responsible for the story's emotional impact, does begin to get a bit saccarine, too innocent to really carry the authority that a narrator needs. Still, I think this is forgivable, given the bravado required to write something so daring. Moreover, Donoghue skirts all of the psychological/legal thriller crap that would otherwise come along with such a book and instead sticks to the characters, Jack and Ma and the few figures we meet "Outside." It's a story as elegant as it disturbing, something that very few established authors in the horror and thriller genre(s) are able to pull off.
