A Room Called Earth by Madeleine Ryan
“Connection with my own species has been difficult. I’m more at ease with the animal part of myself than the human part of myself.”
Madeline Ryan’s debut novel, A Room Called Earth (2020), takes us on the journey of a single night as a young autistic woman navigates the experience of attending a party. Ryan herself is a passionate advocate for neurodiversity and changing the narrative around autism. Through a series of brief conversations and deeper exchanges, Ryan introduces us to the complex prism of the narrator’s inner world and explores the meaning of connection and relationships.
Set in Melbourne the day before Christmas eve, our narrator is getting ready to go to a party. Like any “normal” woman, she has a set of self-care rituals she finds comfort in as she gets ready for her night out. Ryan gives an excellent depiction of these, as well as the anticipation that accompanies these events - which is especially heightened for our narrator, who is focused on the potential for interaction and engagement with others:
“Even if we don't get the chance to meet, or to talk, we can remain in a state of wonderment together. My dream is to leave people wondering and nothing more. It's safe, it's sexy, and I want to live there forever.”
Yet there are also challenges that come with this kind of event, especially those of connection and intimacy. She thinks to herself: “Connection with my own species has been difficult. I’m more at ease with the animal part of myself than the human part of myself.”
Arriving at the party, we view individuals and groups through the incisive, oddly charming and impeccably accurate lens of our narrator. Internally, she doesn’t hold back from her assessments of those around her. Noticing another girl in a gregarious outfit, our narrator observes her closed-off body language:
“Although she desperately wants to be seen, she doesn't want to take up space. She doesn't know who she is. She can barely concentrate on the people in front of her because she's so overcome with a desire to take who they are from them.”
Several such instances occur throughout the night, and each time our narrator’s internal monologue is broken-up by sparse dialogue with the people she encounters (including an ex-boyfriend). It’s a deliciously awkward and humorous accompaniment to the private thoughts we’ve been allowed access to: the rich the internal monologue of our narrator is juxtaposed with her reluctance (and knowledge that she can’t) share what she’s truly thinking as doing so would break the common social conventions she’s worked hard to understand. However, the result is that she appears anti-social, aloof, and even rude.
The unflinching analysis of male and female romantic relationships, as our narrator reminisces over past lovers, is something I feel most women will identify with (especially the sexual encounters). On a past love who refused to let her listen to the music he found meaning in, she thinks:
“His possessiveness in this regard said a lot about the relationship that he must have had to his own thoughts, and to his feelings, because if these musicians were giving a voice to them, and he didn't want to share that voice with me … Then I guess he didn't want to share anything with anyone at all. He wanted to experience himself, alone, in a room with the voices of people that he didn't know, and who didn't really care about him.”
From experiences like this, Ryan’s narrator learns to draw her own boundaries around what she will and won’t allow into her sacred life.
At one point, our narrator strikes up a conversation with a man she meets outside the bathroom. The rest of the story focuses on the dynamic between the two, once again spliced between her internal monologue and their dance of dialogue. They leave the party together to head to our narrator’s home. It’s here that we’re taken deeper into the growth of the narrator as she attempts to show her world to the man she has invited into it. His initial confusion and frustration softens as her questions cause him moments of introspection. What we are left with is an incredibly endearing moment where genuine connection is forged, as our narrator opens up her thoughts and home to the young man.
A Room Called Earth is a deeply enriching experience of what it means to understand and pursue one’s identity, to speak out about what it means to be “us” even when who we are is complicated and sits outside a “normative” pattern of existence. It’s a witty, effervescent and joyful account of one woman’s journey through life and her capacity to find true moments of living within it.
Ryan has been an outspoken advocate of neurodiversity for a few years, and since finishing her book, I’ve sought out a few of her articles online. They’re brilliant and well worth reading. Her debut was an extremely rewarding reading experience - one I encourage everyone to have.
Elaine Mead is a freelance writer and book reviewer, currently residing in Hobart, Tasmania. She is passionate about the ways we can use literature to learn from our experiences to become more authentic versions of ourselves and obsessed with showing you photos of her Dachshund puppy. You can find her online under @wordswithelaine.
