All's Well

Grace is Miranda’s colleague and foil, embodying a worldview of robust health and pragmatism that cannot initially comprehend her friend’s debilitating condition. She represents the societal skepticism that forms a core part of The Gendering and Invisibility of Chronic Pain. Her character is defined by a brisk, no-nonsense competence; she is always dressed for practical action in items like a “hunting vest,” suggesting a readiness to confront tangible, observable challenges. This practicality makes her unable to accept the reality of Miranda’s invisible illness, which she dismisses as psychosomatic. When she tells Miranda that her pain is “all in [her] head” (34), this moment fractures their friendship and epitomizes the isolating disbelief that Miranda constantly faces. Grace’s inability to empathize underscores the communication breakdown that occurs when one person’s lived reality is invisible to another.

Despite her skepticism, Grace demonstrates a complex and strained loyalty to Miranda. Their shared history in the beleaguered Theater Studies program and their illicit smoking habit create a bond that persists even after their falling out. She offers Miranda practical assistance, such as closing a window Miranda cannot reach or offering to run errands. These gestures reveal a sense of duty and a remnant of their former friendship. However, this help is often delivered with an air of impatience, highlighting the emotional distance that Miranda’s chronic pain has created between them. Grace becomes an increasingly wary observer of Miranda’s erratic behavior and her sudden, miraculous recovery, acting as a rational anchor in a narrative that spirals into the surreal. Her skepticism casts doubt on the true nature of Miranda’s transformation, as Grace’s grounded perspective contrasts sharply with Miranda’s increasingly unreliable narration. Grace’s eventual firsthand experience with a mysterious illness, seemingly transferred from Miranda, completes her arc from a dismissive foil to an empathetic believer, shifting the power dynamic and ultimately rekindling their friendship.

Briana is Miranda’s student and begins the novel as an antagonist to Miranda. Initially presented as a flat character characterized by her youth, beauty, and entitlement, she develops into a round and dynamic figure whose transformation is central to the novel’s exploration of empathy and suffering. As the lead actress whose parents are major donors to the theater program, Briana wields significant institutional power. She is the physical embodiment of the effortless health and privilege that Miranda has lost. Miranda describes her as a “soulless leading actress” (15) with “wondrous bitchiness” (16) in her eyes. Briana’s desire to stage Macbeth instead of All’s Well That Ends Well stems from a craving for a more glamorous, traditionally powerful female role, and her mutiny against Miranda’s chosen play establishes the central conflict of the novel’s first part. Briana’s open contempt for Miranda’s physical state and directorial authority makes her a tangible representation of the disbelief and judgment that Miranda endures.

Briana’s character arc pivots dramatically when she becomes the recipient of Miranda’s magically transferred chronic pain. This event transforms her from a dismissive antagonist into a vessel of the very suffering she once invalidated, directly engaging with the theme The Gendering and Invisibility of Chronic Pain. Her physical and psychological decline mirrors Miranda’s former state: She becomes listless, her hair loses its burnished shine, and she develops the same debilitating limp. This experience of pain, however, paradoxically makes her a much more compelling actor. When she returns to the stage to play the ailing King, her performance is imbued with a gravitas and vulnerability she previously lacked, suggesting that true artistic depth can only be born from genuine suffering. Her journey from a place of privilege to one of profound pain forces her to confront the reality of invisible illness. No longer a simple villain, Briana becomes a tragic figure, and her body becomes a testament to the destructive and morally ambiguous nature of Miranda’s reclaimed power.

The three men at the Canny Man pub, who call themselves the Weird Brethren, are a mysterious supernatural force who operate beyond the boundaries of realism. They are static, symbolic characters rather than psychologically developed individuals, representing a demonic or otherworldly force that preys on human desperation. Their introduction marks the point where the narrative shifts from a realistic portrayal of chronic pain into a surreal, dark fable. They embody the seductive promise of a magical solution to suffering, offering Miranda a “golden remedy” that provides temporary relief and, eventually, a more permanent transfer of her pain. Their power lies in their ability to see and validate Miranda’s reality in a way no one else has. The middling man, their primary spokesperson, recites her medical history with unnerving accuracy. This acknowledgment of her specific, disbelieved pain is what makes their offer so irresistible.

Their theatricality and mysterious nature connect directly to the theme of The Blurring Lines Between Performance and Reality. They inhabit a liminal space—the Canny Man pub—and their interactions with Miranda are highly performative. Their preferred name, the Weird Brethren, alludes explicitly to the Weird Sisters in Macbeth, who are a trio of witches who foretell Macbeth’s rise and fall. Like their theatrical counterparts, the Brethren operate through manipulation, offering Miranda a seductive view of the future while withholding its true cost. They are patrons of a dark and twisted form of theater, expressing that they “just want to see a good show” (229) as their only motivation for granting Miranda her powers. This desire positions them as an audience that is amused by the drama of human suffering and moral compromise. They give Miranda the power she craves, but in doing so, they indebt her to a system where wellness for one person is predicated on the suffering of another.

Ellie is Miranda’s favorite student and acts as a foil to the entitled and initially superficial Briana. She is a shy and melancholic, and Miranda thinks she is the ideal actor to play Helen. Described as a “dark mouse of a soul” (15), Ellie possesses an innate sensitivity and depth that allows her to empathize with Miranda’s suffering in a way other characters cannot. Motivated by a quiet ambition and a genuine admiration for her director, she is the only student who supports Miranda’s unconventional choice to stage All’s Well That Ends Well. This loyalty and intuitive understanding make her Miranda’s sole confidante among the student cast, and Miranda projects her own artistic aspirations onto her.

Ellie makes “restorative” herbal bath salts that she believes can heal Miranda’s pain, and these become a symbol of empathy, feminine care, and moral renewal. While Ellie sincerely believes in her own magical abilities, the novel casts doubt on the supernatural efficacy of her rituals. Instead, her true power lies in her emotional intelligence and ethical clarity. Her belief in her healing powers reflects her desire to offer care in a world marked by cruelty and disbelief. Ultimately, it is Ellie who facilitates the play’s resolution, both literally and figuratively. In the final performance, she enacts a moment of staged healing with Briana that seems to restore Briana to health and break the cycle of transferred pain, suggesting a path to resolution through compassion rather than vengeance. Her bath salts, gifted repeatedly to Miranda, likewise function as a counterforce to the golden remedy, encouraging Miranda to spurn the three men’s dark temptations and embrace a more ethical path.

Mark is Miranda’s physical therapist who represents the detached and often invalidating nature of the medical establishment. He is a flat, static character and serves as a composite of the many practitioners who have failed Miranda. His “handsome bro face a wall of certainty” (4) and his reliance on clinical jargon and simplistic mantras like “Pain is information” (50) reveal a fundamental inability to engage with the subjective, overwhelming reality of Miranda’s suffering. He adheres rigidly to his prescribed therapeutic models, dismissing Miranda’s feedback when his treatments worsen her condition. By insisting on exercises that cause her more pain, he embodies the system’s tendency to blame the patient for a lack of progress. Mark becomes one of the first victims of Miranda’s supernatural revenge when she transfers a portion of her pain to him with a simple touch of the wrist, forcing him to experience the agony he had previously minimized and psychologized.

Fauve is an adjunct faculty member and Miranda’s professional rival. Her character is static and flat, driven by jealousy and the precariousness of her academic position. She resents Miranda’s status as an assistant professor and actively seeks to undermine her authority. Described as having a “voice of false comfort, affected concern, deep strategy” (8), Fauve’s interest in Miranda’s well-being is purely performative. She quietly encourages the student mutiny led by Briana and meticulously documents Miranda’s perceived transgressions in a notebook, hoping to amass evidence that will lead to Miranda’s downfall and her own professional advancement. Fauve functions as a mundane, everyday threat whose petty machinations stand in contrast to the grand, supernatural forces at play.

Hugo is the theater’s set designer and Miranda’s romantic interest. As a handsome ex-con with a quiet passion for Shakespeare, he represents a potential for a life of normalcy and genuine connection outside Miranda’s world of pain and supernatural revenge. Initially, Miranda’s attraction to him is colored by her physical limitations and insecurities; he is an object of distant, unrequited desire. As she regains her health and power, a relationship between them becomes possible. However, their connection is ultimately thwarted by Miranda’s escalating transformation. She is unable to be authentically present with him, repeatedly confusing him with her ex-husband, Paul, and frightening him with her increasingly erratic behavior. Hugo’s simple kindness and attraction to her stand in stark contrast to the dark, transactional relationships she forms with the three men, but he is ultimately unable to penetrate the surreal world she comes to inhabit.