Held captive for years in a small shed, a woman and her precocious young son finally gain their freedom, and the boy experiences the outside world for the first time.
Inspiration for the MAJOR MOTION PICTURE starring Academy Award winner Brie Larson
To five-year-old-Jack, Room is the world. . . . It's where he was born, it's where he and his Ma eat and sleep and play and learn. At night, his Ma shuts him safely in the wardrobe, where he is meant to be asleep when Old Nick visits.
Room is home to Jack, but to Ma it's the prison where she has been held for seven years. Through her fierce love for her son, she has created a life for him in this eleven-by-eleven-foot space. But with Jack's curiosity building alongside her own desperation, she knows that Room cannot contain either much longer.
Room is a tale at once shocking, riveting, exhilaratinga story of unconquerable love in harrowing circumstances, and of the diamond-hard bond between a mother and her child.
|Edition description:||Movie Tie-in|
|Product dimensions:||5.20(w) x 5.70(h) x 1.50(d)|
About the Author
Born in Dublin, Emma Donoghue is an Irish emigrant twice over: she spent eight years in Cambridge doing a PhD in eighteenth-century literature before moving to London, Ontario, where she lives with her partner and their two children. She also migrates between genres, writing literary history, biography, stage and radio plays as well as fairy tales and short stories. She is best known for her novels, which range from the historical (Slammerkin, Life Mask, Landing, The Sealed Letter) to the contemporary (Stir-Fry, Hood, Landing).
Hometown:London, England and Ontario, Canada
Date of Birth:October 24, 1969
Place of Birth:Dublin, Ireland
Education:B.A. in English and French, University College Dublin, 1990; Ph.D. in English, University of Cambridge, 1998
Read an Excerpt
By Donoghue, Emma
Little, Brown and CompanyCopyright © 2010 Donoghue, Emma
All right reserved.
Today I’m five. I was four last night going to sleep in Wardrobe, but when I wake up in Bed in the dark I’m changed to five, abracadabra. Before that I was three, then two, then one, then zero. “Was I minus numbers?”
“Hmm?” Ma does a big stretch.
“Up in Heaven. Was I minus one, minus two, minus three—?”
“Nah, the numbers didn’t start till you zoomed down.”
“Through Skylight. You were all sad till I happened in your tummy.”
“You said it.” Ma leans out of Bed to switch on Lamp, he makes everything light up whoosh.
I shut my eyes just in time, then open one a crack, then both.
“I cried till I didn’t have any tears left,” she tells me. “I just lay here counting the seconds.”
“How many seconds?” I ask her.
“Millions and millions of them.”
“No, but how many exactly?”
“I lost count,” says Ma.
“Then you wished and wished on your egg till you got fat.”
She grins. “I could feel you kicking.”
“What was I kicking?”
“Me, of course.”
I always laugh at that bit.
“From the inside, boom boom.” Ma lifts her sleep T-shirt and makes her tummy jump. “I thought, Jack’s on his way. First thing in the morning, you slid out onto the rug with your eyes wide open.”
I look down at Rug with her red and brown and black all zigging around each other. There’s the stain I spilled by mistake getting born. “You cutted the cord and I was free,” I tell Ma. “Then I turned into a boy.”
“Actually, you were a boy already.” She gets out of Bed and goes to Thermostat to hot the air.
I don’t think he came last night after nine, the air’s always different if he came. I don’t ask because she doesn’t like saying about him.
“Tell me, Mr. Five, would you like your present now or after breakfast?”
“What is it, what is it?”
“I know you’re excited,” she says, “but remember not to nibble your finger, germs could sneak in the hole.”
“To sick me like when I was three with throw-up and diarrhea?”
“Even worse than that,” says Ma, “germs could make you die.”
“And go back to Heaven early?”
“You’re still biting it.” She pulls my hand away.
“Sorry.” I sit on the bad hand. “Call me Mr. Five again.”
“So, Mr. Five,” she says, “now or later?”
I jump onto Rocker to look at Watch, he says 07:14. I can skateboard on Rocker without holding on to her, then I whee back onto Duvet and I’m snowboarding instead. “When are presents meant to open?”
“Either way would be fun. Will I choose for you?” asks Ma.
“Now I’m five, I have to choose.” My finger’s in my mouth again, I put it in my armpit and lock shut. “I choose—now.”
She pulls a something out from under her pillow, I think it was hiding all night invisibly. It’s a tube of ruled paper, with the purple ribbon all around from the thousand chocolates we got the time Christmas happened. “Open it up,” she tells me. “Gently.”
I figure out to do off the knot, I make the paper flat, it’s a drawing, just pencil, no colors. I don’t know what it’s about, then I turn it. “Me!” Like in Mirror but more, my head and arm and shoulder in my sleep T-shirt. “Why are the eyes of the me shut?”
“You were asleep,” says Ma.
“How you did a picture asleep?”
“No, I was awake. Yesterday morning and the day before and the day before that, I put the lamp on and drew you.” She stops smiling. “What’s up, Jack? You don’t like it?”
“Not—when you’re on at the same time I’m off.”
“Well, I couldn’t draw you while you were awake, or it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?” Ma waits. “I thought you’d like a surprise.”
“I prefer a surprise and me knowing.”
She kind of laughs.
I get on Rocker to take a pin from Kit on Shelf, minus one means now there’ll be zero left of the five. There used to be six but one disappeared. One is holding up Great Masterpieces of Western Art No. 3: The Virgin and Child with St. Anne and St. John the Baptist behind Rocker, and one is holding up Great Masterpieces of Western Art No. 8: Impression: Sunrise beside Bath, and one is holding up the blue octopus, and one the crazy horse picture called Great Masterpieces of Western Art No. 11: Guernica. The masterpieces came with the oatmeal but I did the octopus, that’s my best of March, he’s going a bit curly from the steamy air over Bath. I pin Ma’s surprise drawing on the very middle cork tile over Bed.
She shakes her head. “Not there.”
She doesn’t want Old Nick to see. “Maybe in Wardrobe, on the back?” I ask.
Wardrobe is wood, so I have to push the pin an extra lot. I shut her silly doors, they always squeak, even after we put corn oil on the hinges. I look through the slats but it’s too dark. I open her a bit to peek, the secret drawing is white except the little lines of gray. Ma’s blue dress is hanging over a bit of my sleeping eye, I mean the eye in the picture but the dress for real in Wardrobe.
I can smell Ma beside me, I’ve got the best nose in the family. “Oh, I forgetted to have some when I woke up.”
“That’s OK. Maybe we could skip it once in a while, now you’re five?”
“No way Jose.”
So she lies down on the white of Duvet and me too and I have lots.
I count one hundred cereal and waterfall the milk that’s nearly the same white as the bowls, no splashing, we thank Baby Jesus. I choose Meltedy Spoon with the white all blobby on his handle when he leaned on the pan of boiling pasta by accident. Ma doesn’t like Meltedy Spoon but he’s my favorite because he’s not the same.
I stroke Table’s scratches to make them better, she’s a circle all white except gray in the scratches from chopping foods. While we’re eating we play Hum because that doesn’t need mouths. I guess “Macarena” and “She’ll Be Coming ’Round the Mountain” and “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” but that’s actually “Stormy Weather.” So my score is two, I get two kisses.
I hum “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” Ma guesses that right away. Then I do “Tubthumping,” she makes a face and says, “Argh, I know it, it’s the one about getting knocked down and getting up again, what’s it called?” In the very end she remembers right. For my third turn I do “Can’t Get You out of My Head,” Ma has no idea. “You’ve chosen such a tricky one…. Did you hear it on TV?”
“No, on you.” I burst out singing the chorus, Ma says she’s a dumbo.
“Numbskull.” I give her her two kisses.
I move my chair to Sink to wash up, with bowls I have to do gently but spoons I can cling clang clong. I stick out my tongue in Mirror. Ma’s behind me, I can see my face stuck over hers like a mask we made when Halloween happened. “I wish the drawing was better,” she says, “but at least it shows what you’re like.”
“What am I like?”
She taps Mirror where’s my forehead, her finger leaves a circle. “The dead spit of me.”
“Why I’m your dead spit?” The circle’s disappearing.
“It just means you look like me. I guess because you’re made of me, like my spit is. Same brown eyes, same big mouth, same pointy chin…”
I’m staring at us at the same time and the us in Mirror are staring back. “Not same nose.”
“Well, you’ve got a kid nose right now.”
I hold it. “Will it fall off and an adult nose grow?”
“No, no, it’ll just get bigger. Same brown hair—”
“But mine goes all the way down to my middle and yours just goes on your shoulders.”
“That’s true,” says Ma, reaching for Toothpaste. “All your cells are twice as alive as mine.”
I didn’t know things could be just half alive. I look again in Mirror. Our sleep T-shirts are different as well and our underwear, hers has no bears.
When she spits the second time it’s my go with Toothbrush, I scrub each my teeth all the way around. Ma’s spit in Sink doesn’t look a bit like me, mine doesn’t either. I wash them away and make a vampire smile.
“Argh.” Ma covers her eyes. “Your teeth are so clean, they’re dazzling me.”
Her ones are pretty rotted because she forgetted to brush them, she’s sorry and she doesn’t forget anymore but they’re still rotted.
I flat the chairs and put them beside Door against Clothes Horse. He always grumbles and says there’s no room but there’s plenty if he stands up really straight. I can fold up flat too but not quite as flat because of my muscles, from being alive. Door’s made of shiny magic metal, he goes beep beep after nine when I’m meant to be switched off in Wardrobe.
God’s yellow face isn’t coming in today, Ma says he’s having trouble squeezing through the snow.
“See,” she says, pointing up.
There’s a little bit of light at Skylight’s top, the rest of her is all dark. TV snow’s white but the real isn’t, that’s weird. “Why it doesn’t fall on us?”
“Because it’s on the outside.”
“In Outer Space? I wish it was inside so I can play with it.”
“Ah, but then it would melt, because it’s nice and warm in here.” She starts humming, I guess right away it’s “Let It Snow.” I sing the second verse. Then I do “Winter Wonderland” and Ma joins in higher.
We have thousands of things to do every morning, like give Plant a cup of water in Sink for no spilling, then put her back on her saucer on Dresser. Plant used to live on Table but God’s face burned a leaf of her off. She has nine left, they’re the wide of my hand with furriness all over, like Ma says dogs are. But dogs are only TV. I don’t like nine. I find a tiny leaf coming, that counts as ten.
Spider’s real. I’ve seen her two times. I look for her now but there’s only a web between Table’s leg and her flat. Table balances good, that’s pretty tricky, when I go on one leg I can do it for ages but then I always fall over. I don’t tell Ma about Spider. She brushes webs away, she says they’re dirty but they look like extra-thin silver to me. Ma likes the animals that run around eating each other on the wildlife planet, but not real ones. When I was four I was watching ants walking up Stove and she ran and splatted them all so they wouldn’t eat our food. One minute they were alive and the next minute they were dirt. I cried so my eyes nearly melted off. Also another time there was a thing in the night nnnnng nnnnng nnnnng biting me and Ma banged him against Door Wall below Shelf, he was a mosquito. The mark is still there on the cork even though she scrubbed, it was my blood the mosquito was stealing, like a teeny vampire. That’s the only time my blood ever came out of me.
Ma takes her pill from the silver pack that has twenty-eight little spaceships and I take a vitamin from the bottle with the boy doing a handstand and she takes one from the big bottle with a picture of a woman doing Tennis. Vitamins are medicine for not getting sick and going back to Heaven yet. I never want to go, I don’t like dying but Ma says it might be OK when we’re a hundred and tired of playing. Also she takes a killer. Sometimes she takes two, never more than two, because some things are good for us but too much is suddenly bad.
“Is it Bad Tooth?” I ask. He’s on the top near the back of her mouth, he’s the worst.
“Why you don’t take two killers all the bits of every day?”
She makes a face. “Then I’d be hooked.”
“Like stuck on a hook, because I’d need them all the time. Actually I might need more and more.”
“What’s wrong with needing?”
“It’s hard to explain.”
Ma knows everything except the things she doesn’t remember right, or sometimes she says I’m too young for her to explain a thing.
“My teeth feel a bit better if I stop thinking about them,” she tells me.
“It’s called mind over matter. If we don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.”
When a bit of me hurts, I always mind. Ma’s rubbing my shoulder but my shoulder’s not hurting, I like it anyway.
I still don’t tell her about the web. It’s weird to have something that’s mine-not-Ma’s. Everything else is both of ours. I guess my body is mine and the ideas that happen in my head. But my cells are made out of her cells so I’m kind of hers. Also when I tell her what I’m thinking and she tells me what she’s thinking, our each ideas jump into our other’s head, like coloring blue crayon on top of yellow that makes green.
At 08:30 I press the button on TV and try between the three. I find Dora the Explorer, yippee. Ma moves Bunny around real slow to better the picture with his ears and head. One day when I was four TV died and I cried, but in the night Old Nick brung a magic converter box to make TV back to life. The other channels after the three are totally fuzzy so we don’t watch them because of hurting our eyes, only if there’s music we put Blanket over and just listen through the gray of her and shake our booties.
Today I put my fingers on Dora’s head for a hug and tell her about my superpowers now I’m five, she smiles. She has the most huge hair that’s like a really brown helmet with pointy bits cutted out, it’s as big as the rest of her. I sit back on Bed in Ma’s lap to watch, I wriggle till I’m not on her pointy bones. She doesn’t have many soft bits but they’re super soft.
Dora says bits that aren’t in real language, they’re Spanish, like lo hicimos. She always wears Backpack who’s more inside than out, with everything Dora needs like ladders and space suits, for her dancing and playing soccer and flute and having adventures with Boots her best friend monkey. Dora always says she’s going to need my help, like can I find a magic thing, she waits for me to say, “Yeah.” I shout out, “Behind the palm tree,” and the blue arrow clicks right behind the palm tree, she says, “Thank you.” Every TV person else doesn’t listen. The Map shows three places every time, we have to go to the first to get to the second to get to the third. I walk with Dora and Boots, holding their hands, I join in all the songs especially with somersaults or high-fives or the Silly Chicken Dance. We have to watch out for that sneaky Swiper, we shout, “Swiper, no swiping,” three times so he gets all mad and says, “Oh man!” and runs away. One time Swiper made a remote-controlled robot butterfly, but it went wrong, it swiped his mask and gloves instead, that was hilarious. Sometimes we catch the stars and put them in Backpack’s pocket, I’d choose the Noisy Star that wakes up anything and the Switchy Star that can transform to all shapes.
On the other planets it’s mostly persons that hundreds can fit into the screen, except often one gets all big and near. They have clothes instead of skin, their faces are pink or yellow or brown or patchy or hairy, with very red mouths and big eyes with black edges. They laugh and shout a lot. I’d love to watch TV all the time, but it rots our brains. Before I came down from Heaven Ma left it on all day long and got turned into a zombie that’s like a ghost but walks thump thump. So now she always switches off after one show, then the cells multiply again in the day and we can watch another show after dinner and grow more brains in our sleep.
“Just one more, because it’s my birthday? Please?”
Ma opens her mouth, then shuts it. Then she says, “Why not?” She mutes the commercials because they mush our brains even faster so they’d drip out our ears.
I watch the toys, there’s an excellent truck and a trampoline and Bionicles. Two boys are fighting with Transformers in their hands but they’re friendly not like bad guys.
Then the show comes, it’s SpongeBob SquarePants. I run over to touch him and Patrick the starfish, but not Squidward, he’s creepy. It’s a spooky story about a giant pencil, I watch through Ma’s fingers that are all twice longer than mine.
Nothing makes Ma scared. Except Old Nick maybe. Mostly she calls him just him, I didn’t even know the name for him till I saw a cartoon about a guy that comes in the night called Old Nick. I call the real one that because he comes in the night, but he doesn’t look like the TV guy with a beard and horns and stuff. I asked Ma once is he old, and she said he’s nearly double her which is pretty old.
She gets up to switch TV off as soon as it’s the credits.
My pee’s yellow from the vitamins. I sit to poo, I tell it, “Bye-bye, off to the sea.” After I flush I watch the tank filling up going bubble gurgle wurble. Then I scrub my hands till it feels like my skin’s going to come off, that’s how to know I’ve washed enough.
“There’s a web under Table,” I say, I didn’t know I was going to. “It’s of Spider, she’s real. I’ve seen her two times.”
Ma smiles but not really.
“Will you not brush it away, please? Because she isn’t even there even, but she might come back.”
Ma’s down on her knees looking under Table. I can’t see her face till she pushes her hair behind her ear. “Tell you what, I’ll leave it till we clean, OK?”
That’s Tuesday, that’s three days. “OK.”
“You know what?” She stands up. “We’ve got to mark how tall you are, now you’re five.”
I jump way in the air.
Usually I’m not allowed draw on any bits of Room or furnitures. When I was two I scribbled on the leg of Bed, her one near Wardrobe, so whenever we’re cleaning Ma taps the scribble and says, “Look, we have to live with that forever.” But my birthday tall is different, it’s tiny numbers beside Door, a black 4, and a black 3 underneath, and a red 2 that was the color our old Pen was till he ran out, and at the bottom a red 1.
“Stand up straight,” says Ma. Pen tickles the top of my head.
When I step away there’s a black 5 a little bit over the 4. I love five the best of every number, I have five fingers each hand and the same of toes and so does Ma, we’re our dead spits. Nine is my worst favorite number. “What’s my tall?”
“Your height. Well, I don’t know exactly,” she says. “Maybe we could ask for a measuring tape sometime, for Sunday treat.”
I thought measuring tapes were just TV. “Nah, let’s ask for chocolates.” I put my finger on the 4 and stand with my face against it, my finger’s on my hair. “I didn’t get taller much this time.”
“It’s—” Ma chews her mouth. “It means it’s OK. No hay problema.”
“Look how big my muscles, though.” I bounce on Bed, I’m Jack the Giant Killer in his seven-league boots.
“Vast,” says Ma.
“Enormous,” says Ma.
“Hugeormous.” That’s word sandwich when we squish two together.
“You know what?” I tell her. “When I’m ten I’ll be growed up.”
“I’ll get bigger and bigger and bigger till I turn into a human.”
“Actually, you’re human already,” says Ma. “Human’s what we both are.”
I thought the word for us was real. The persons in TV are made just of colors.
“Did you mean a woman, with a w?”
“Yeah,” I say, “a woman with a boy in an egg in my tummy and he’ll be a real one too. Or I’m going to grow to a giant, but a nice one, up to here.” I jump to touch Bed Wall way high, nearly where Roof starts slanting up.
“Sounds great,” says Ma.
Her face is gone flat, that means I said a wrong thing but I don’t know which.
“I’ll burst through Skylight into Outer Space and go boing boing between each the planets,” I tell her. “I’ll visit Dora and SpongeBob and all my friends, I’ll have a dog called Lucky.”
Ma’s put a smile on. She’s tidying Pen back on Shelf.
I ask her, “How old are you going to be on your birthday?”
I don’t think that cheered her up.
While Bath is running, Ma gets Labyrinth and Fort down from on top of Wardrobe. We’ve been making Labyrinth since I was two, she’s all toilet roll insides taped together in tunnels that twist lots of ways. Bouncy Ball loves to get lost in Labyrinth and hide, I have to call out to him and shake her and turn her sideways and upside down before he rolls out, whew. Then I send other things into Labyrinth like a peanut and a broken bit of Blue Crayon and a short spaghetti not cooked. They chase each other in the tunnels and sneak up and shout Boo, I can’t see them but I listen against the cardboard and I can figure out where they are. Toothbrush wants a turn but I tell him sorry, he’s too long. He jumps in Fort instead to guard a tower. Fort’s made of cans and vitamin bottles, we build him bigger every time we have an empty. Fort can see all ways, he squirts out boiling oil at the enemies, they don’t know about his secret knife-slits, ha ha. I’d like to bring him into Bath to be an island but Ma says the water would make his tape unsticky.
We undo our ponytails and let our hair swim. I lie on Ma not even talking, I like the bang of her heart. When she breathes we go up and down a little bit. Penis floats.
Because of my birthday I get to choose what we wear both. Ma’s live in the higher drawer of Dresser and mine in the lower. I choose her favorite blue jeans with the red stitches that she only puts on for special occasions because they’re getting strings at the knees. For me I choose my yellow hoody, I’m careful of the drawer but the right edge still comes out and Ma has to bang it back in. We pull down on my hoody together and it chews my face but then pop it’s on.
“What if I cut it just a little in the middle of the V?” says Ma.
“No way Jose.”
For Phys Ed we leave our socks off because bare feet are grippier. Today I choose Track first, we lift Table upside down onto Bed and Rocker on her with Rug over the both. Track goes around Bed from Wardrobe to Lamp, the shape on Floor is a black C. “Hey, look, I can do a there-and-back in sixteen steps.”
“Wow. When you were four it was eighteen steps, wasn’t it?” says Ma. “How many there-and-backs do you think you can run today?”
“What about five times five? That would be your favorite squared.”
We times it on our fingers, I get twenty-six but Ma says twenty-five so I do it again and get twenty-five too. She counts me on Watch. “Twelve,” she shouts out. “Seventeen. You’re doing great.”
I’m breathing whoo whoo whoo.
I go even fasterer like Superman flying.
When it’s Ma’s turn to run, I have to write down on the College Ruled Pad the number at the start and the number when she’s finished, then we take them apart to see how fast she went. Today hers is nine seconds bigger than mine, that means I winned, so I jump up and down and blow raspberries. “Let’s do a race at the same time.”
“Sounds like fun, doesn’t it,” she says, “but remember once we tried it and I banged my shoulder on the dresser?”
Sometimes when I forget things, Ma tells me and I remember them after that.
We take down all the furnitures from Bed and put Rug back where she was to cover Track so Old Nick won’t see the dirty C.
Ma chooses Trampoline, it’s just me that bounces on Bed because Ma might break her. She does the commentary: “A daring midair twist from the young U.S. champion…”
My next pick is Simon Says, then Ma says to put our socks back on for Corpse, that’s lying like starfish with floppy toenails, floppy belly button, floppy tongue, floppy brain even. Ma gets an itch behind her knee and moves, I win again.
It’s 12:13, so it can be lunch. My favorite bit of the prayer is the daily bread. I’m the boss of play but Ma’s the boss of meals, like she doesn’t let us have cereal for breakfast and lunch and dinner in case we’d get sick and anyway that would use it up too fast. When I was zero and one, Ma used to chop and chew up my food for me, but then I got all my twenty teeth and I can gnash up anything. This lunch is tuna on crackers, my job is to roll back the lid of the can because Ma’s wrist can’t manage it.
I’m a bit jiggly so Ma says let’s play Orchestra, where we run around seeing what noises we can bang out of things. I drum on Table and Ma goes knock knock on the legs of Bed, then floomf floomf on the pillows, I use a fork and spoon on Door ding ding and our toes go bam on Stove, but my favorite is stomping on the pedal of Trash because that pops his lid open with a bing. My best instrument is Twang that’s a cereal box I collaged with all different colored legs and shoes and coats and heads from the old catalog, then I stretched three rubber bands across his middle. Old Nick doesn’t bring catalogs anymore for us to pick our own clothes, Ma says he’s getting meaner.
I climb on Rocker to get the books from Shelf and I make a ten-story skyscraper on Rug. “Ten stories,” says Ma and laughs, that wasn’t very funny.
We used to have nine books but only four with pictures inside—
My Big Book of Nursery Rhymes
Dylan the Digger
The Runaway Bunny
Also five with pictures only on the front—
The Da Vinci Code
Ma hardly ever reads the no-pictures ones except if she’s desperate. When I was four we asked for one more with pictures for Sundaytreat and Alice in Wonderland came, I like her but she’s got too many words and lots of them are old.
Today I choose Dylan the Digger, he’s near the bottom so he does a demolition on the skyscraper crashhhhhh.
“Dylan again.” Ma makes a face, then she puts on her biggest voice:
“ ‘Heeeeeeeeere’s Dylan, the sturdy digger!
The loads he shovels get bigger and bigger.
Watch his long arm delve into the earth,
No excavator so loves to munch dirt.
This mega-hoe rolls and pivots round the site,
Scooping and grading by day and night.’ ”
There’s a cat in the second picture, in the third it’s on the pile of rocks. Rocks are stones, that means heavy like ceramic that Bath and Sink and Toilet are of, but not so smooth. Cats and rocks are only TV. In the fifth picture the cat falls down, but cats have nine lives, not like me and Ma with just one each.
Ma nearly always chooses The Runaway Bunny because of how the mother bunny catches the baby bunny in the end and says, “Have a carrot.” Bunnies are TV but carrots are real, I like their loudness. My favorite picture is the baby bunny turned into a rock on the mountain and the mother bunny has to climb up up up to find him. Mountains are too big to be real, I saw one in TV that has a woman hanging on it by ropes. Women aren’t real like Ma is, and girls and boys not either. Men aren’t real except Old Nick, and I’m not actually sure if he’s real for real. Maybe half? He brings groceries and Sundaytreat and disappears the trash, but he’s not human like us. He only happens in the night, like bats. Maybe Door makes him up with a beep beep and the air changes. I think Ma doesn’t like to talk about him in case he gets realer.
I wriggle around on her lap now to look at my favorite painting of Baby Jesus playing with John the Baptist that’s his friend and big cousin at the same time. Mary’s there too, she’s cuddled in her Ma’s lap that’s Baby Jesus’s Grandma, like Dora’s abuela. It’s a weird picture with no colors and some of the hands and feet aren’t there, Ma says it’s not finished. What started Baby Jesus growing in Mary’s tummy was an angel zoomed down, like a ghost but a really cool one with feathers. Mary was all surprised, she said, “How can this be?” and then, “OK let it be.” When Baby Jesus popped out of her vagina on Christmas she put him in a manger but not for the cows to chew, only warm him up with their blowing because he was magic.
Ma switches Lamp off now and we lie down, first we say the shepherd prayer about green pastures, I think they’re like Duvet but fluffy and green instead of white and flat. (The cup overflowing must make an awful mess.) I have some now, the right because the left hasn’t much in it. When I was three I still had lots anytime, but since I was four I’m so busy doing stuff I only have some a few times in the day and the night. I wish I could talk and have some at the same time but I only have one mouth.
I nearly switch off but not actually. I think Ma does because of her breath.
Excerpted from Room by Donoghue, Emma Copyright © 2010 by Donoghue, Emma. Excerpted by permission.
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What People are Saying About This
“Emma Donoghue's writing is superb alchemy, changing innocence into horror and horror into tenderness. Room is a book to read in one sitting. When it's over you look up: the world looks the same but you are somehow different and that feeling lingers for days.”--(Audrey Niffenegger, author of The Time Traveler’s Wife and Her Fearful Symmetry)
“Room is that rarest of entities, an entirely original work of art. I mean it as the highest possible praise when I tell you that I can’t compare it to any other book. Suffice to say that it’s potent, darkly beautiful, and revelatory.” --(Michael Cunningham, author of The Hours and Specimen Days)
"I loved Room. Such incredible imagination, and dazzling use of language. And with all this, an entirely credible, endearing little boy. It's unlike anything I've ever read before."--(Anita Shreve, author of The Pilot’s Wife and A Change in Altitude)
“Room is one of the most profoundly affecting books I’ve read in a long time. Jack moved me greatly. His voice, his story, his innocence, his love for Ma combine to create something very unusual and, I think, something very important. I read the book over two days, desperate to know how their story would end…. Room deserves to reach the widest possible audience.”--(John Boyne, author of The Boy in the Striped Pajamas)
Special message from Emma Donoghue:
Some of my longtime fans were startled when I went from publishing historical novels to ROOM, with its highly contemporary storyline of a child growing up with his kidnapped mother in a locked room. But to me, there seemed a natural link. The premise of ROOM was a way of turning what couldn't possibly be more ordinary (kid games, dinners and bedtimes) deeply strange, and I'm still touched by regular emails from readers who've found that the novel makes them see the stuff of their own lives - especially the daily heroism of parenthood - in a new light. Historical fiction, at its best, does the same thing: it finds stories of ordinary human life in distant settings that don't just add 'local colour' to the stories but make you see these passions and struggles in a strong new light. What draws me back to the past, over and over, is its combination of the universal and the deeply strange; one minute you're feeling that the narrator of a story set in the 1700s is more or less like you, but the next minute, you're startled by the fact that their mindset (on, say, marriage or war) is a world away from yours. Something else that makes the past fertile ground for a writer is that the stakes are high: before the twentieth century, decisions were often literally life-or-death. My new collection, ASTRAY, is all about travel - not tourism, but life-or-death journeys. In my mind's eye all the different characters (from a Puritan of the 1600s, to a runaway slave in the Civll War, to a toddler adopted out West in the 1890s) file past me with the weary but strong-hearted look of migrants in any era: nothing, but nothing, is going to get between them and a better life. It's the American dream, and a timeless human dream; that by changing place you can change everything, including who you are. Some of the research I did for ROOM was into how refugees cope with transitions like the one Jack has to go through when he steps into the long-awaited Outside, and that's the theme that runs through ASTRAY too: the extraordinary challenge of adaptation to a new world.
Thanks for being adventurous enough to come with me on my journeys -Emma Donoghue
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
THE ROOM is about the special strength, determination and splendor of a Mother's love and of a woman's will to survive against all odds. This was a fantastic story! It is imaginative, creative, unique and beautifully written. This is narrated and seen through the eyes of a five year old boy, Jack. Imagine seeing the world from the perspective of a child, experiencing life for the first time, his innocent thoughts that adults could actually learn something from. Jack's mother had been kidnapped and placed inside a stifling small space, a bathroom, some basic cooking equipment, and a TV. Over a period of years, she gives birth to Jack, and he too is kept locked inside, so his view of "the world" is so limited, not even to have seen daylight. What imagination it had to have taken to create this realistic view of such horror and innocence. This is an experience to behold and nightmares maybe experienced long after.
In this warped tale of a ma and her 5 yr. old son, everything you know about the world is taken in to question. The child's perspective is unique as he has only ever known Room and when he is let on on to to world for the first time ever you will be saddened and overjoyed as he overcomes the obstacles of this big and different place. Not long in to the story I was truly captivated by the characters and rooting for their triumphs! This book should be read by everyone! Definitely worth your while..
Wow. Really, just wow. This book is, by far, my favorite read of 2010. I admit that coming into it, I was skeptical. SO much hype, so much buzz, so much chatter about how wonderful and fantastic and lovely this book is.could it really hold up to that? Could it deliver as promised? Oh yes.yes it could. It does. It did. Room is -spectacular- on so many levels. The story is told from the point of view of Jack, a 5 year old little boy who has never seen the world beyond that of the single room in which he and his mother live. His world consists of that room, his Ma, and the fantasy land inside the television. It's amazing how spot on the author was able to portray a curious, intelligent, and yet very socially handicapped young child. His voice was so plaintive, so real, that it makes the reader want to reach into the pages and hug him close. I could just go on and on about every tiny little thing that I absolutely loved about this book, but I still don't think that I could really do it justice. The novel just packs such a huge emotional punch that you really have to read it yourself to experience the beauty of the author's story. Read Room. You will absolutely not regret it.
Here goes harriet klausner again revealing everything. Her along with these other long winded posters needs to be banned and fined. They ruin a book by telling everything that happens. You plot revealers need to stop and realize that other ppl would like to read the book and be surprised, but thanks to your vain, god complex, there is no need to read the book. Look at other reviews, they simply state if they liked the book or not, they dont dissect every plot point. If you want to debate a book, start a web site, go to facebook, BUT STOP RUINING BOOKS FOR OTHERS!!!!!!
Just finished this emotional book...I must say one of the best books I have ever ever had the pleasure of reading. Dont read too much of what it is about, just know it is about a women and child held in captivity...if you dont know Anything else makes this book even more worthy!!!!!!! Im so sad Im done with it!!!!!!!!!!!!
Of all the books that I have ever reviewed, I think that this one is the toughest to do without any spoilers. I was very tempted to plaster a warning on my write-up and go for it, quotes and all, but have decided in the end for a quick, unrevealing version. Due to its celebrity, this was a novel which I approached with some caution. When a book is over-hyped, I tend to walk away disappointed because it didn't live up to my expectations. This was certainly not the best novel I ever read, but it stands out in several respects by virtue of sheer originality. Room is, in brief, the story of a nineteen year old woman who is abducted and held captive in an eleven by eleven foot square modified shed, where she spends seven years in captivity and bears a son, Jack. We see their minuscule world through the eyes of Jack, at the age of five. Jack as narrator was an amazing device for author Emma Donoghue to use and one she pulls off with astonishing aplomb. As I read her stream of conscience type prose, I could hear the voice of a young child in my head. Some reviewers have had difficulty adjusting to the style, but to me it was flawless and perfect for setting the tone of the book, especially in the second half. The second thing that really stood out for me was Ms. Donoghue's amazing attention to the smallest details. She thought of things that never would have even occurred to me, and as a result, the narrative was completely believable throughout. These two factors, the choice and deft handling of the narrator, and her incredible consideration of every possible element of setting and characterization, earn this novel five stars from
This book gave me great insight as to what its like to be a child....to experience everything for the first time...the demands that adults expect of children...how heinous some people in this world can be... Emma Donohue did a wonderful job with imagining what it must have been like to be locked away for 7 years. My imagination could never have fathomed the circumstances that occur in dwellings like that. (Sigh) Just a great book.
I purchased this book because of all the positive reviews it received. I found it difficult to get interested in because of the lack of ability of a five year-old to describe effectively the horror of the situation in which he and his mother were living. The child was unable to capture this reader, and likewise, develop empathy for the characters. Just like listening to a child of this age telling an oral story, a little goes a long way. The sentence fragments, limited vocabulary, and repetition made this novel very tiresome to read. To each his or her own, but I had to force myself to the finish line.
I thought the plot of this story was very compelling but the characters were lacking in depth. Responses and clarity could have been better. I chose this book because of the high rating but was very disappointed. I kept reading hoping that it would redeem itself but no such luck. Waste of time.
This book has become one of my all time favorites. The first few pages were a little difficult to adjust due being from a five year old point of view, but after page 5 you were truly captivated. Donoghue leaves no detail unmentioned and tells this sad story from a different light. When you normally hear of stories in captivity you always here about the negative, this story is unique in that it tells the true love between a mother and her son. A must read!!!
I read this book during my first business trip away from my baby son - big mistake! It's so moving and well-written, clearly based on the Elizabeth Smart story, but not sensationalist. The perspective of Jack as the narrator rings true throughout the book, which is remarkable given the emotional complexity of the issues and characters. It made me want to run home and nurse my son so badly it hurt! This would be a great book club book.
Room was a very interesting read. I honestly thought that I wouldn't be able to get into it because it was told from a 5 year old's perspective. I was dead wrong! Jack and Ma's relationship was detailed beautifully. Seeing the world from Jack's point of view was very honest. From the moment I began reading, up until the last page, I was intrigued. There are parts that are uncomfortable to read, but very important to the stories progression. I am very glad that I've read this book. :)
Room by Emma Donoghue is an fictional book about a five year boy named Jack. Jack and his Ma are living in Room , a 12 by 12 foot space that Jack loves. However , Jack doesn't fully understand that Room is a prison that his mom had been held captive for seven years. Old Nick comes every other night who Jack is frightened by to provide them little food and supplies. But Jack gets curious of this world called Outside and Ma can no longer keep the truth in no longer which the Room cannot hold. There are a lot of things I like about Room. I like how it is told in a five year old perspective and how Jack sees the world. I like how he uses ordinary things to keep his curiosity at peace by asking his mom questions which she annoys. I like the trials and tribulations they have in the room with ways to escape like the shouting through the skylight, which would only show how the characters is improving. What I dislike is how sometimes the book can be repetitive on some parts with Jack and his Ma. They seem to always go off in the tangents about other things not focusing on how to escape or talk about the outside world. They always refer to the books they read over and over again which can be annoying at sometimes. Also, how Jack always "needs some" when already older than his age. Despite the repetitiveness of the story , I think this is a dark, gripping tale that you can not stop once you start. You would fall deeply into the characters as they grow and how they cope with life. I think this book should be turned into a movie because it is just that powerful and moving. I would recommend this book to ages 13 and up to really understand the story and why Jack acts the ways he does. I give this book two thumbs up.
Room ~~~~~~~~~ It's been a while since a book had me speed-reading through to see what would happen. This book, quite literally, had me on the edge of my seat the entire time. It was fast-paced and intense and so incredibly interesting.. it felt real. The story is like nothing i've ever read before, except there are stories just like this in the real world - it makes the book all the more powerful. Its haunting. It's the kind of book you read in one sitting. Its the kind of book that leaves you different. Its the kind of book that gets added to your favorites list and that you tell people about. Its one of those. I fell in love with Jack. His innocent perspective on everything was not only refreshing and cute, but powerful. At first, it took me a while to get used to his five-year-old voice. Some of the things he said just didn't quite sit well with me. Like in the bath tub when he would say, "penis floats." or his "I want some" when referring to his desire to be breastfed - all that was a bit grating in the beginning, but I got used to it. I do suppose it helped authenticate the novel. All in all, this is one of the most enthralling, haunting, and raw stories I have read. Not only is it hard to put down, but it's even harder to stop thinking about. Emma Donoghue wrote an amazing, bone-chilling story about something tragic. And she did it well
I didn't enjoy this book at all. The concept was interesting, but telling the story in the voice of a five year old quickly became very annoying. I wouldn't recommend this book to anyone.
I enjoyed this book very much, it was hard to put down as I hated "leaving" Jack and his mom. Thank you so much to the author for showing us the life and world through the eyes and mind of Jack. I can imagine how much research when in, to bring this book to life.
A touching story of a mother-son venture and told from a view-point of a five year old, Room proves to be one of the most peculiar and moving books I have ever read. Never have I encountered or heard of a situation similar to theirs. This proved to be a decent and “disturbing” read.
I could not put it down ,
Upon reading some of the "book report" type reviews, I did not see the point in reading entire book when I knew most of the outcome.
This book is written completely in the point of view of a 5 year old boy. It took some getting used to but once I understood how he speaks/thinks I read more fluently. Once I started this book, I was invested and I had to find out what happened through the end. This author does a great job of developing the characters. I read this book in a weekend. The content is serious. It's about a mother and son who are forced to live in a room. The story unfolds as to why they are in the room and how they live day to day in a room. I recommend this book if you're looking for a quick psychological read.
The story of an abduction and escape told from the pov of a 5 year-old is great in theory but truly fails to deliver. Jack's diction is distracting, irritating, and often times completely unbelievable for a child his age. Also, the book frequently felt more like a story about a little boy's daily games, including play-by-play of the rhyming game he played with Ma. I often found myself skipping paragraphs to just avoid reading about every single thing Jack did in day. As another reader mentioned I was uncomfortable with the constant references to nursing a child that old, especially with him pulling up her shirt at completely inappropriate times. It was the small glimpses into his mother's mind through the use of dialogue that gave me the motivation to finish the book at all. This is definitely not a book I would recommend.
There isn't a word to describe this book. It may be the most emotional story I have ever read, but that is probably because I very much related to the characters as a mother of a 5 year old, and as a teacher. This is a story of the amazing strength of love and determination of 2 individuals with no one to rely in but each other. I recommend it to anyone who loves children, heroes, love, family, or freedom!
This book was a little disturbing at times. This could happen to anyone down the street and you not even knowing it. But the little boy, at first, was so brave! I would be scared out of my mind! I loved his point of view on everything: his mother, Old Nick, Grandma, Steppa, and the things he possessed in that Room. What I loved most of all though was his deep relationship with his mother, and their love for eachother. You have to read this book if you aren't into the whole "fairytale, fantasy" thing for a moment, and you want to put your pants into the reality of what can happen to the everyday person. I truly enjoyed this book :)
I bought this book because someone told me it was the the best book they'd ever read. After starting it, I got disinterested and kept reading other books instead. After reading four books, I finally got back to it and was committed to finishing it. It was pretty tough going and I had to start skimming in order to finish. The main problem is that the narrator is a five year old boy. Imagine reading a 300 page autobiography by a little kid. It was very tedious. Throughout the book there is also the annoying tidbit of how Jack likes to breast feed and how the milk from the left breast is so creamy. A detail I could have lived without but he was only too kind to repeat over and over. I was extremely disappointed in this book.