I started reading the 'Room' by Emma Donoghue. I read about 10 pages. And I'm ending there. I'll explain why.
It might feel OK at times to look through a peephole, and at someone's life. Books do that. In a fantasy sort of way. But what you wish to find on the other side, is a totally different situation.
The book has an interesting approach. The narrator is a 5-year old kid, describing the world as he knows it, as his mother has presented it to him for his own protection. Protection from the reality of their confinement in one room, trapped there by some monster-man, locked away from the world for ever.
The story is horrifying, just because it could so easily be real. It might even be real; I didn't go as far as checking it. Unlike other readers, who may be intimidated by a terrible story (in ways that I cannot understand), I cannot take it in. Yes, it makes you curious at first. But living through such a situation, even through my imagination, is unbearable to me. Excuse me for being sensitive; too sensitive, as it seems. But I cannot.
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