In the world of the 21st century, people seem to have forgotten about the cruelty of being deprived of freedom. With the impression of living as a free man, they have now become more focused on the notions of respect and equality. Only few, however, realize that every human being is at constant risk of their freedom being taken away for good. In order to raise people’s awareness of the issue, mass culture and literary world depict the real stories of the ones being kept in captivity. One of the most notorious stories of a kind is Room written by Emma Donoghue once she became fascinated with the story of a boy being held in captivity for five years.
The story opens for a reader the world of a five-year-old Jack who was born in captivity and did not have the slightest understanding of what was happening outside the Room he lived with mother. The book is written from the boy’s perspective and the ways he feels about their existence with Ma. Hence, the language of the story is created regarding the words and feelings a five-year-old captive may have:
Ma carries me into Wardrobe, she tucks Blanket around my neck, I pull her looser again. My fingers go choo-choo along her red line. (Donoghue 33)
However, while reading the story from such a perspective, one may notice the major focus is still placed on Ma’s character, feeling a great deal of empathy for the woman who was locked up and raped for years. The reason for such feelings may lie in the fact that while Jack did not see another life, Ma knew exactly what she lost outside these walls. Moreover, the story itself, although based on the real facts, is still perceived by a recipient as a piece of fiction.
In order to contrast the story, the comparison should be made with a narrative describing similar ideas. The one almost immediately coming to mind is A Stolen Life, written by Jaycee Dugard – a memoir of a girl who lived in captivity for more than 18 years. Although Jaycee was barely eleven years old when this happened, her memoir was written two decades later, with her being a traumatized mother of two kids. In the story’s preface, she indicates:
I decided to write this book for two reasons. One reason is that Phillip Garrido believes no one should find out what he did to an eleven-year-old girl… me… I’m also writing my story in the hopes that it will be of help to someone going through, hopefully not similar conditions, but someone facing a difficult situation of their own—whatever that may be. (Dugard 2-3)
While reading two of these extracts provided, one may feel how two different stories united by a sense of human right to be free make people question the sanity of today’s world. The dilemma here could only make someone ask themselves: could these stories even be compared in terms of the human suffering and living through something no one supposed to experience?
Alternate Ending
There’s the mark of Track around Bed. The little hole rubbed in Floor, where our feet used to go under Table. I guess this really was Room one time.
- “Do you ever miss the Room, Ma?”
- “Do you?”
- “It is not just the Room for me. I miss the Bed, how my legs touched the Floor under the Table when we were eating on Sundays.”
- “Right now, you have the Outside you dreamt so much about, don’t you? You will feel more Beds and Floors, and Sundays cannot be the only day to be awarded with food, right?”
As Ma was telling me about the Outside that was our home now, I was feeling how my Inside, the nose with which I breathe, was blocked to keep me away from the air. I fell to the Floor, hugging my legs. Ma started to worry.
- “Jack?
- Honey, what’s wrong? Should we leave?”
- “No”
It was a single word I could push from my mouth. There was no air to say more. I didn’t wanna go. It is the Room. It is our Room. Who needs Outside? I like to dream about it, I don’t like to be there. It is scary. There are People. They are not good. They don’t wanna be. But I know Ma loves Outside. Does she? Will she always be with me when I’m scared there? She always was in the Room.
I noticed how Ma was worried. She didn’t know I was talking in my head. There was a strange noise.
- “Ma, you crying?”
- “No, honey, no. It is just… Do you really wanna stay here? After you saw what the world could be when we’re not in the Room?
- “I… I don’t know. I don’t like it different. I don’t like it with People.”
- “Are you scared of them?”
- “Aren’t you?”
Ma stopped talking. Maybe she thought about People for a moment.
- “Do you think there are many Rooms like ours, Ma? Outside?”
- “I don’t know, honey. There might be. People can even make Rooms for themselves Outside.”
- “Why would they do that? Are they scared? Are there Old Nicks to make them scared?”
- “There are a lot of Old Nicks there, I guess.”
- “There was only one here. Isn’t it safer?”
I know she wanted to say yes. But she didn’t. She just lay on the Floor next to me and grabbed my hand. Her palms were soft. They were never so soft in the Room. I didn’t wanna move, the Floor just glued me to itself. Ma didn’t move. I don’t know how long we were there. An hour? A day? Five years? The only thing I know was that we belong here.
Works Cited
Donoghue, Emma. Room. Picador, 2010.
Dugard, Jaycee. A Stolen Life. Simon & Schuster, 2011.