Language and empathy intersect with isolation throughout Clear. At the beginning of the novel, there is a strong language barrier between John and Ivar. John speaks English and rudimentary Scots, and Ivar speaks the language of the island. With little overlap in their languages’ terminologies and pronunciations, John and Ivar initially struggle to understand each other. With time, however, language and empathy act as bridges, helping the men forge a meaningful connection.

Despite the initial difficulty, Ivar begins associating specific words in his language with John, even before he sees John for the first time. When Ivar sees John’s satchel floating in the water, he thinks, “There was a word in his language that described the covering and uncovering of a sunken rock by the sea, and it would have also described exactly the way the dark and lumpy object kept sinking beneath the shallow waves and then appearing again” (17). Ivar sees a sign of John and thinks of a specific word, and this word appears again when Ivar finally finds John and John wakes up from his injuries, he looks at Ivar. This look makes Ivar consider the word again, thinking, “It was so long since anyone but Strachan had looked at him properly, and if he’d been asked to describe his feelings, he might have reached for that word in his language that described what happens when a rock is covered and uncovered by the sea” (67-68). This time, instead of the satchel being the uncovered rock, Ivar is the rock. Ivar discovers the satchel and views it as an uncovering of John’s presence, but once John looks at him, Ivar feels discovered and uncovered, as another human has not looked at him in years.

John and Ivar’s work to build a dictionary of shared terms to better understand each other helps build their relationship, and they become able to communicate with each other. As their bond deepens, John feels greater empathy for Ivar, and his guilt about being there to evict Ivar grows. Once John understands enough of Ivar’s language to better speak with Ivar, John feels obligated to tell him the truth, thinking, “It would not be an elegant speech, and it would be full of grammatical mistakes, but it would be clear enough. And yet he shrank from delivering it” (142). It is not the grammar issues that make John afraid of talking to Ivar about the eviction; it is the empathy John now feels for Ivar.

Seeing the beauty of the island and the home Ivar has built, John understands Ivar’s attachment to his home. This understanding sets the foundation for the continuing empathy that motivates John to help Ivar find a new home with himself and Mary instead of having him remain isolated and alone.

The island as a setting is crucial to the construction of Clear. The island is a point of contention, as the landlord wishes to evict Ivar, the last remaining tenant, and sends John to do so. However, the island also has an emotional dimension, with both John and Ivar’s experiences there speaking to the power of place in shaping identity.

The island appears in Chapter 1, as John approaches the shoreline aboard the Lily Rose. When John touches land, he attempts to remove the cold of the ocean from his body: “He squeezed the sea, as best he could, out of the sleeves and pockets of his coat and jumped up and down a few times in his sodden footwear in an effort to warm up. He thanked God for his deliverance” (2). John attempts to remove any trace of the water from himself, and he gives credit to God for arriving safely on the island. John’s immediate distaste for the island demonstrates the starting point of his character arc: He feels disconnected to the place he’s been sent and remains closely connected to his faith, identifying himself as an outsider.

By contrast, Ivar feels connected to the island and his daily rituals. He thinks about his chores, “It gave him a good calm feeling to do the work—climbing up onto the roof and down again, trudging back and forth over the boggy soil and every so often pausing to sharpen his knife” (3). Ivar is calmed and comforted by the everyday monotony of life on the island and the sensations of the natural world around him. Ivar knows the island like he knows himself, even viewing himself through the context of the island itself. He knows exactly what to expect from the island, so much so that when he walks past the Baillie house after John’s arrival, “he’ll remember that he looked down at it and saw nothing unusual, no smoke, no open door, nothing he wouldn’t have expected to see” (11). Ivar has clear expectations of what he’ll see on the island because of his familiarity with and love of nature, so he doesn’t know that John has arrived yet, as John has not disturbed the island’s landscape and has not yet been shaped by it himself.

John’s presence on the island does not remain unknown. When John leaves after his fight with Ivar, Ivar notices the door to the Baillie house open:

Exactly when the wind had succeeded in tugging open the unlocked door is hard to say. For weeks, ever since John Ferguson had headed off […] without locking it, it had been shaking and rattling in its loose, half-rotted frame; now it was flapping like a broken wing against the wall (145).

The island itself shows Ivar the truth, further illustrating the importance of the island’s role in shaping Ivar’s character. The open door also demonstrates John’s impact on the island and his own openness to change and transformation through his experiences on the island and with Ivar, as like the Baillie house with its open door, he is changed, growing in empathy and self-awareness as his relationship with Ivar deepens. In a similar vein, Ivar ends the novel by leaving the island with Mary and John: While he still loves the island, he now feels committed to his newfound human ties, and therefore sees himself and his identity in a brand-new light.