As Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine unfolds, the reader gradually learns the full extent of Eleanor’s traumatic past: that her mother, burdened by the responsibility of having children, intentionally set fire to her house when Eleanor and her younger sister, Marianne, were children, killing herself and Marianne, and forcing Eleanor—the sole survivor—to endure physical and psychological scars from her traumatic childhood. As the reader learns more about Eleanor, it becomes obvious how heavily the lingering psychological effects of this childhood trauma affect her grasp on reality, her sense of self-worth, and her ability to make positive, healthy decisions about how she lives her life and the type of people she allows into it. Repeatedly, Eleanor acts on the warped belief that her trauma makes her a damaged person who is unworthy of love, respect, and happiness, and that she has no means to separate herself from her past. Honeyman uses Eleanor’s unstable grasp on reality and contorted sense of self-worth to illustrate the lasting impact of trauma and abuse.
The persistent condescension Eleanor received in childhood from her mother causes her to expect disrespect and small acts of cruelty in her daily life from other people. Honeyman demonstrates this in the way Eleanor allows her coworkers to make fun of her. In the beginning of the novel, Eleanor walks in on her coworker Billy entertaining a group of others at the graphic design company where she works, telling them about how Eleanor had invited him to attend a concert, and what an uncomfortable experience the night was for him. “She’s mental,” he says, relating to them how freakishly Eleanor had behaved at the gig: “she just sat there frozen; didn’t move, didn’t clap, anything.” After behaving so strangely, Billy continues, Eleanor had abruptly abandoned him, leaving before the intermission could begin. Billy’s audience laughs at this story, agreeing that Eleanor is, indeed, crazy. Eleanor’s coworkers fail to notice Eleanor enter the room and remain unaware that she overhears their cruel remarks, but she refrains from correcting them, even managing to laugh internally at their jokes about her questionable mental state. Although Eleanor knows her coworkers are cruel and that Billy’s recollection isn’t fully true—Eleanor hadn’t been frozen because she hated the band, but because she was fixated on band’s lead singer, Johnnie Lomond, whom she decides is her soulmate from the moment she first lays eyes on him that night—Eleanor’s past experience with her cruel mother have instilled within her heightened capacity to expect abuse and meanness from other people. Because she doesn’t believe that she deserves to be treated with respect at work, she allows her coworkers to make jokes at her expense. Eleanor’s silence in the office mirrors her silence in phone calls with Mummy. When Mummy screams at Eleanor for lying to her about having friends, Eleanor’s initial response is to flinch and drop a book. Even afterward when she tries to defend herself to Mummy, she does so timidly and desperately rather than assertively. The inaction Eleanor demonstrates in the office and on the phone with Mummy shows how pervasively Mummy has conditioned Eleanor to accept cruelty in her life.
Growing up with an abusive mother normalized physical and verbal abuse for Eleanor. As a result, Eleanor has a higher tolerance for abusive romantic partners in her adult life, which she validates with the belief that the abuse is her fault. Eleanor tells Raymond Gibbons, an IT worker from the office, about her ex-boyfriend Declan, whom she dated while she was still in college. Declan had been physically and mentally abusive to Eleanor, “fractur[ing] twelve bones, all in all” and openly cheating on Eleanor. Eleanor admits that she hadn’t responded to Declan’s violence and abuse with rage: “it was my fault, all my fault,” she remembers thinking. Although Eleanor tells Raymond she knows now that she hadn’t brought Declan’s abuse upon herself, it was difficult for her to see otherwise at the time. When Declan broke Eleanor’s arm for a second time, sending her to the hospital, medical staff suspected the truth about her injury. Eleanor recalls how a nurse had explained to her “that people who truly love you don’t hurt you, and that it wasn’t right to stay with someone who did.” The nurse’s words were revolutionary to Eleanor, who had learned from experience to expect abuse and mistreatment in her relationships, even from people who supposedly loved her. In a session with her therapist, Dr. Temple, Eleanor remembers how her mother pulled her and her sister Marianne out of school after a teacher “had been asking about [her] bruises.” Eleanor believes that she brought this misfortune upon herself by talking to Mrs. Rose, despite the fact that it was Mummy who both chose to drag the girls out of school and inflict the bruises in the first place. Eleanor’s memory demonstrates an early instance of Eleanor misdirecting blame at herself when it should have been directed at her abuser.
Eleanor’s imaginary phone calls with “Mummy” further emphasize the lasting impact her mother’s abuse has on her self-esteem and capacity to maintain abusive relationships. In one such phone call, her mother states: “the bond between a mother and child, it’s […] unbreakable. The two of us are linked forever, you see—same blood in my veins that’s running through yours.” At the end of Eleanor Oliphant, the reader learns that these phone calls never actually happened—that in reality, Eleanor’s mother had died long before the events of the novel take place, and that the conversations were merely a projection of Eleanor’s negative self-worth and a manifestation of her fear that she would become as abusive to others as her mother had been to her. Eleanor’s conversations with Mummy show how severely Eleanor’s trauma continues to haunt her into her adult life. Eleanor hears the abusive “voice” of her mother so intensely that she imagines it to be an actual, existing voice on the other end of the telephone line. The “bond between a mother and child” of which “Mummy” speaks also signifies the bond Eleanor still holds between her abusive past and her present life, highlighting how trauma doesn’t just disappear overnight.
Related Themes from Other Texts
The Enduring Impact of Trauma ThemeTracker
The Enduring Impact of Trauma Quotes in Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine
I do exist, don’t I? It often feels as if I’m not here, that I’m a figment of my own imagination. There are days when I feel so lightly connected to the earth that the threads that tether me to the planet are gossamer thin, spun sugar. A strong gust of wind could dislodge me completely, and I’d lift off and blow away, like one of those seeds in a dandelion clock.
Should I make myself over from the inside out, or work from the outside in? […] 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. Animal, birds and insects can provide such useful insights.
“You wouldn’t understand, of course, but the bond between a mother and child, it’s…how best to describe it…unbreakable. The two of us are linked forever, you see—same blood in my veins that’s running through yours. […] However hard you try to walk away from that fact, you can’t, darling, you simply can’t. It isn’t possible to destroy a bond that strong.”
[Polly’s] the only constant from my childhood, the only living thing that survived. She was a birthday present, but I can’t remember who gave her to me, which is strange. I was not, after all, a girl who was overwhelmed with gifts.
Jane Eyre. A strange child, difficult to love. A lonely only child. She’s left to deal with so much pain at such a young age—the aftermath of death, the absence of love. It’s Mr. Rochester who gets burned in the end. I know how that feels. All of it.
Even the circus freak side of my face—my damaged half—was better than the alternative, which would have meant death by fire. I didn’t burn to ashes. I emerged from the flames like a little phoenix. I ran my fingers over the scar tissue, caressing the contours. I didn’t burn, Mummy, I thought. I walked through the fire and I lived. There are scars on my heart, just as thick, as disfiguring as those on my face. I know they’re there. I hope some undamaged tissue remains, a patch through which love can come in and flow out. I hope.
I smiled at her. Twice in one day, to be the recipient of thanks and warm regard! I would never have suspected that small deeds could elicit such genuine, generous responses. I felt a little glow inside—not a blaze, more like a small, steady candle.
“But you’re not smart, Eleanor. You’re someone who lets people down. Someone who can’t be trusted. Someone who failed. Oh yes, I know exactly what you are. And I know how you’ll end up. Listen, the past isn’t over. The past is a living thing. Those lovely scars of yours—they’re from the past, aren’t they? And yet they still live on your plain little face. Do they still hurt?”
Some people, weak people, fear solitude. What they fail to understand is that there’s something very liberating about it; once you realize you don’t need anyone, you can take care of yourself. That’s the thing: it’s best just to take care of yourself. You can’t protect other people, however hard you try.”
I realized that such small gestures—the way his mother had made me a cup of tea after our meal without asking, remembering that I didn’t take sugar, the way Laura had placed two biscuits on the saucer when she brought me coffee in the salon—such things could mean so much. I wondered how it would feel to perform such simple deeds for other people. I couldn’t remember. I had done such things in the past, tried to be kind, tried to take care, I knew that I had, but that was before. I tried, and I had failed, and all was lost to me afterward. I had no one to blame but myself.
I suppose one of the reasons we’re all able to continue to exist for our allotted span in this green and blue vale of tears is that there is always, however remote it might seem, the possibility of change.
Grief is the price we pay for love, so they say. The price is far too high.
Polly the plant had died that morning. I’m fully aware of how ridiculous that sounds. That plant, though, was the only living link with my childhood, the only constant between life before and after the fire, the only thing, apart from me, that had survived. I’d thought it was indestructible, assumed it would just go on and on, leaves falling off, new ones growing to replace them. I’d neglected my duties these last few weeks, too busy with hospitals and funerals and Facebook to water her regularly. Yet another living thing I’d failed to look after. I wasn’t fit to care for anyone, anything. Too numb to cry, I dropped the plant into the bin, pot, soil and all, and saw that, throughout all these years, it had been clinging on to life only by the slenderest, frailest of roots.
All the doctor needed to understand was that I was very unhappy, so that she could advise me how best to go about changing that. We didn’t need to start digging around in the past, talking about things that couldn’t be changed.
As always, Mummy was scary. But the thing was, this time—for the first time ever—she’d actually sounded scared too.
Anger was good, she’d said, while I was putting my coat on. If I was finally getting in touch with my anger, then I was starting to do some important work, unpicking and addressing things that I’d buried too deep. I hadn’t thought about it before, but I suppose I’d never really been angry before now. Irritated, bored, sad, yes, but not actually angry.
It isn’t annoying, her need—it isn’t a burden. It’s a privilege. I’m responsible. I chose to put myself in a situation where I’m responsible. Wanting to look after her, a small, dependent, vulnerable creature, is innate, and I don’t even have to think about it.
The voice in my head—my own voice—was actually quite sensible, and rational, I’d begun to realize. It was Mummy’s voice that had done all the judging, and encouraged me to do so too. I was getting to quite like my own voice, my own thoughts. I wanted more of them. They made me feel good, calm even. They made me feel like me.
“People inherit all sorts of things from their parents, don’t they—varicose veins, heart disease. Can you inherit badness?”
“Good- bye, Mummy,” I said. The last word. My voice was firm, measured, certain. I wasn’t sad. I was sure. And, underneath it all, like an embryo forming—tiny, so tiny, barely a cluster of cells, the heartbeat as small as the head of a pin, there I was. Eleanor Oliphant. And, just like that, Mummy was gone.
“In the end, what matters is this: I survived.” I gave him a very small smile. “I survived, Raymond!” I said, knowing I was both lucky and unlucky, and grateful for it.
