59 pages • 1 hour read
Summary
Chapter Summaries & Analyses
Character Analysis
Themes
Symbols & Motifs
Important Quotes
Essay Topics
Book Club Questions
Tools
Eleanor is a character mired in isolation when the novel begins. In the narration, she accepts her solitude as inevitable and unchangeable, although her early fixation on Johnnie exposes her thirst for human connection. The moment her illusions about him shatter, she reveals an underlying depression and sense of worthlessness fed by loneliness. After Johnnie’s concert, she meditates on the scourge of loneliness in the modern era:
These days, loneliness is the new cancer—a shameful, embarrassing thing, brought upon yourself in some obscure way. A fearful, incurable thing, so horrifying that you dare not mention it; other people don’t want to hear the word spoken aloud for fear that they might too be afflicted, or that it might tempt fate into visiting a similar horror upon them (227).
Not only is loneliness toxic, but it is, Honeyman suggests, a self-perpetuating force once it has overtaken someone. Her sentiments underline the deep damage—indeed, the real dangers—of social isolation.
Eleanor learned to isolate early as a result of childhood trauma. Eleanor’s Mummy conditioned her daughter not only to avoid others but to judge and fear them. Moreover, her sister’s death convinced Eleanor that love comes at too high a price to maintain close relationships: “I had decided, years ago, that if the choice was between that or flying solo, then I’d fly solo. It was safer that way. Grief is the price we pay for love, so they say. The price is far too high” (198). Nevertheless, observing Raymond and Sammy with their families, she longs for the bond they share with loved ones.
Eleanor learns over time how to joke, express her feelings, and show compassion to new friends and acquaintances. Raymond leads by example, relating to others with a positive, open attitude. He unwittingly trains Eleanor to engage in fulfilling social interactions with everyone from a waiter at the cafe to her boss, Bob. As Raymond accepts her, so she accepts herself and others, flaws and all. At the end of the novel, Eleanor is much better-equipped to invite friends into her life.
Eleanor spends the story changing herself both inside and out. At the beginning of the novel, she considers how she must alter her appearance before meeting the musician:
Should I make myself over from the inside out, or work from the outside in? I compiled a list in my head of all of the appearance-related work which would need to be undertaken: hair (head and body), nails (toe and finger), eyebrows, cellulite, teeth, scars […] all of these things needed to be updated, enhanced, improved. Eventually, I decided to start from the outside and work my way in—that’s what often happens in nature, after all. The shedding of skin, rebirth (13).
Eleanor’s confidence improves with her new hair, clothing, and makeup, but inner transformation proves both more challenging and more rewarding. As she begins to socialize with Raymond and others, her heart comes alive again. She still clings to the idea of romance because she believes it will provide total transformation: “Tonight, I was going to meet the man whose love would change my life. I was ready to rise from the ashes and be reborn” (214).
During Eleanor’s mental health crisis, her inadequacy and shame rise to the surface: “I was Eleanor, sad little Eleanor Oliphant, with my pathetic job, my vodka and my dinners for one, and I always would be. Nothing and no one [...] could change that. There was no hope, things couldn’t be put right. I couldn’t be put right” (221). She feels powerless against her own shame and her Mummy’s disapproval, despite her attempts to remake herself and find love.
The remainder of the novel sees an inner work in Eleanor as she realizes she never deserved her mother’s abuse and is worthy of self-care. This process does not discount, however, the value of outward changes. During her leave of absence, Eleanor buys new clothes and cleans out her apartment. These changes come from a place of self-care, rather than self-contempt, and Eleanor allows herself to believe she deserves nice things. As she accepts her story and her feelings, Eleanor’s inner self begins to open and heal. She learns a difficult truth: that authentic, lasting change comes through self-acceptance.
As a child, Eleanor endured not only a traumatic fire but also neglect and abuse. The fire left her without family, stability, or emotional care. Guilt over her sister’s death resulted in pitiless self-abuse in the form of pretend phone calls from her Mummy and, later, attempted suicide. Presumably, she pretends Mummy is still alive because she believes she deserves her mother to torment her from beyond the grave. She still hears Marianne, too, although she doesn’t remember whose voice it is:
Mummy’s voice hisses inside my head, and another voice, a smaller, timid one, nestles in close to my ear, so close that I can feel her hot, panicky breath moving across the tiny hairs that transmit the sound, so close she barely needs to whisper. That small voice; it breaks apart, pleading: Eleanor, please help me, Eleanor…over and over and over again. On those nights I need the vodka, or else I’d break apart too (130).
Eleanor’s secrecy, isolation, and denial throughout the novel are her attempts to overcome the past. She does not wish for others to see her as a victim and resists inquiries about her Mummy for fear of her mother’s lingering voice. The truth of her past is too painful for Eleanor to bear, so she buries it. When Dr. Temple helps her uncover memories of Marianne, Eleanor says she can’t talk anymore about her sister. Dr. Temple says, “‘Do you think that’s because you can’t remember what happened to Marianne? Or is it because you don’t want to?’ [...] ‘I don’t want to,’ I said slowly, quietly” (289). The severe abuse from Mummy directly informs Eleanor’s infatuation as well. She believes that if she procures a romantic partner her mother would like, Mummy’s terrifying voice will relent, and Eleanor will begin to feel whole again.
Despite her many attempts to cope, Eleanor can’t escape her triggers. When she finds herself surrounded by dry ice smoke, or at the other end of an angry comment from Raymond, she is reminded of the past and collapses. In a way, her mother’s taunting words that “‘the past isn’t over’” are true (113).
Eleanor’s path to inner healing involves facing the truth about her story. Once she does, she reaches an important conclusion about her Mummy: “‘I’ve come to realize that she’s…she’s just bad. She’s the bad one. I’m not bad and it’s not my fault. [...] I’m not bad for wanting nothing to do with her, for feeling sad and angry—no, furious—about what she did’” (297-98). Eleanor saves herself: she is finally able to place blame where it belongs, stop pretending her Mummy is haunting her, and forgive herself. Only then can Eleanor move forward with her life, truly free from the past.
The many comic moments in Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine come from Eleanor’s ignorance about common social interactions. Eleanor doesn’t know the “scripts” for many aspects of social life, leading to several awkward conversations Honeyman plays for comedy. This ignorance comes from a place of pain, as Eleanor lacked a parent who has educated her on common social mores.
Her disgust at Raymond turns on a dime as she follows his lead in an unfamiliar social situation: “We entered, Raymond wiping his feet elaborately on the doormat. I copied him. It was truly an unforeseen day when I would look to Raymond for social guidance” (137). Similarly, at Sammy’s bedside, Eleanor attempts to discuss the dangers of infection in the hospital. She does not understand that this topic is inappropriate given the circumstances, so Raymond must interrupt her and change the subject.
As Eleanor’s new friends accept and delight in her, she learns her idiosyncrasies are virtues, not vices. Eleanor possesses a unique lens on society and calls out certain social norms—such as the concept of being “fashionably late”—as confusing and arbitrary. Eleanor also explains that her direct (and sometimes abrupt) manner of speaking results from past trauma:
I wasn’t good at pretending, that was the thing. After what had happened in that burning house, given what went on there, I could see no point in being anything other than truthful with the world. I had, literally, nothing left to lose. But, by careful observation from the sidelines, I’d worked out that social success is often built on pretending just a little (198).
Raymond gravitates toward Eleanor for this very reason. He enjoys her nonconformity, intelligence, and bluntness. He says:
‘Aye, sure, you’re a bit bonkers—but in a good way. You make me laugh, Eleanor. You don’t give a fuck about any of the stupid stuff—I don’t know, being cool, office politics or any of the daft shite that people are supposed to care about. You just do your own thing, don’t you?’ (303).
While Eleanor will likely face more social mishaps in the future, she will also likely learn to laugh at herself more readily, taking her occasional awkwardness in stride.
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