Room

Seven years ago, Josef Fritzl was the punchline on every comedian's lips. Laughter seemed the only way to deal with the shocking details of the Fritzl case. In 1984 Fritzl lured his daughter, Elisabeth, into a basement where he kept her imprisoned for 24 years. Over the period of her confinement, Elisabeth was raped and as a consequence carried eight children, of which two died: one during pregnancy, the other after three days. Three of the six children were reared upstairs by Fritzl and his wife (Fritzl told Social Services his daughter had ran away from home, returning only to leave her unwanted children on the doorstep: his wife and the Services believed him). The other three children were brought up in a 600 sq ft cell with food brought to them bi-weekly. Stoically, Elisabeth created a haven out of a hovel, educating and nurturing the children as best she could. In 2008 Fritzl called time on his double life and released Elisabeth and the children from the basement, explaining to his wife that Elisabeth had decided to return home after 24 years. Traumatised and hospitalised, it wasn’t long before the authorities realised what had been endured. A year later, the captor Josef Fritzl became the captive when he was sentenced to life imprisonment. Never has justice been served with quite so much irony.

Fritzl: a man who now tastes his own medicine.

But what for the children born into captivity? How do you come out of the darkness and into the light? The issue has been explored in two things I’ve enjoyed this week. The first being the Netflix series, The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt about the titular character adjusting to the modern world after fifteen years imprisoned underground. With Kimmy moving to New York Tina Fey’s series can read like a fish-out-of-water Crocodile Dundee story, but with the flashbacks to her incarceration we also appreciate our heroine's indomitable spirit. The second is Emma Donaghue’s Room, which has just come out on the silver screen. The book has been keeping me up this week, which is why I feel compelled to write about it.

Tina Fey's Unbreakable turns tragedy into sparkling comedy.

Room is patently inspired by the Fritzl case. The book begins with Jack telling us that he has just turned five. Intriguingly, he asks his mum: “Up in heaven. Was I minus one, minus two, minus three?” Surprisingly, his mum replies: “Nah, the numbers didn’t start until you zoomed down.” The lies we tell our children about conception are far-fetched, but this one seems more creative than most. Jack doesn’t see the lie because there is no one to contradict his mother, or as he calls her ‘Ma.’ The only other person who visits their room is ‘Old Nick,’ who is under strict instructions to never talk to Jack. Coaxed into the wardrobe whenever Nick visits, Jack is kept hidden from the ogre's rapacious desires. Unaware of the horror Ma is subjected to, Jack loves his life. Why wouldn’t he? He doesn’t know he’s in a 10 x 10 cell – he’s never been in another room. He doesn’t know that it isn’t normal for you to hide your mother’s drawing of you so your 'father' doesn’t see it. He doesn’t know. All he does know comes from Ma. Her word is Gospel. She is the way, the truth and the life. She is the omniscient deity that attends to the curiosity of the child. Her inventiveness to turn their cell into a playground is a feat of resilient wonder. Furniture is kicked aside to turn the carpet into a track; egg shells are collected and manipulated to make animals; bedtime games of rhyme go back and forth until the child sleeps.

Jack and Ma at play.

When the TV is on, the adverts are muted to stop Jack getting ideas about what he's lacking. News footage is explained as being from an imaginary TV world. In Room knowledge is weakness, ignorance is strength: to know of his mother’s pain, of the brutality she is subjected to, would be to subdue Jack; to keep him afraid. Ma will not do this. She will make a heaven out of a hell. She won’t let circumstances destroy joy.

Lucky to have loving parents, I’m always moved by stories of paternal love. My favourite moments as a teacher are when I see a parent turn to a child at parents evening and say, “I’m proud of you.” The power of that love is profoundly moving. As a child without children, I do not have first-hand experience of the sacrifice parents make; it’s books like Room that make us aware of selflessness in action. A story Room reminded me of was Cormac McCarthy’s The Road. In that book, father and son are trying to survive a nuclear fall-out. With food scarce, his son becomes quarry to bandits desperate for sustenance. The son depends on the father to keep him alive, but you get the feeling that spiritually the father depends on the child too. Room is similar: for all the hardships the mother endures for the child, the child brings joy and distraction that preserves her. Maybe earlier in the paragraph I was doing children a disservice; maybe parents need us as much as we need them. Whatever the answer, Room is a book that moved me beyond measure. It is proof that flowers can bloom in the darkest of rooms.

Room is available in all good bookshops and is now on cinematic general release.