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Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of child abuse, emotional abuse, animal cruelty, animal death, addiction, suicidal ideation, graphic violence, sexual content, cursing, mental illness, illness, and death.
In Five, Bannister mounts a pointed critique of a culture that holds mothers singularly responsible for their children’s behaviors and psychological struggles, interpreting nearly every parenting decision through the assumption that the mother is ultimately at fault. Through the parallel experiences of Emma and Luna, the narrative reveals how this relentless judgment—from strangers, professionals, and even family—shapes the way their actions are perceived, regardless of the circumstances they face. The novel argues that by casting mothers as the primary cause of their children’s struggles, society absolves itself of the responsibility to offer empathy or meaningful support, leaving women to shoulder impossible burdens while being blamed for the outcome.
The clearest form of this judgment comes from the anonymous public, exemplified by the commuters on the train platform. As Emma struggles with Gideon, Mrs. Worth observes her with scorn, internally dismissing her as a “useless” and “incompetent cow” (8). Within moments, she constructs an entire explanation for Gideon’s behavior, assuming he is merely “hyperactive or transgender or allergic to nuts like all of them these days” and that his behavior is a direct result of Emma’s supposed feminist negligence (8). This snap judgment, based on a few seconds of observation, reflects the novel’s larger critique of how readily mothers become the target of public blame. The narrator further reinforces this idea by directly addressing the reader: “Please do not judge this mother for having this thought” (4). By interrupting the narrative to anticipate the audience’s reaction, Bannister highlights how instinctive and pervasive the condemnation of mothers has become.
The novel further suggests that this pattern extends beyond casual observers into the institutions meant to support families. Rather than focusing on Gideon’s alarming behavior, the adults around Emma repeatedly scrutinize her decisions as a parent. A doctor questions her use of a night nanny with “naked judgment,” implying Emma’s work and need for rest are contributing to Gideon’s problems instead of recognizing the severity of his condition. Likewise, the succession of nannies who abandon the job reflects both Gideon’s escalating violence and the absence of meaningful resources available to Emma. Luna faces a similar dynamic, as her fierce advocacy for her son, Sonny, is met with institutional resistance. Teachers reduce Sonny’s neurodivergence to disciplinary labels such as “oppositional” and “noncompliant,” expecting Luna to correct behaviors that are far more complex than simple disobedience. In both storylines, institutions direct their attention toward evaluating the mother rather than understanding the child, reinforcing the expectation that maternal effort alone should overcome circumstances beyond any parent’s control.
Even familial relationships offer no refuge from this pattern of blame. Emma’s decision to have a child on her own is treated by her mother and sister, Anne, as a mistake for which she must eventually suffer the consequences. Her mother’s first reaction to the pregnancy is an accusatory demand to know the father’s identity, reviving the same criticism Emma experienced earlier in life. Later, when Emma seeks help after Gideon violently attacks her, Anne minimizes the seriousness of the situation, suggesting that Emma’s difficulties are a predictable consequence of her unconventional life. The people closest to Emma therefore reinforce the same assumptions expressed by strangers and professionals, leaving her with few places to turn for understanding.
Rather than asking readers to determine whether Emma or Luna are “good” mothers, Five repeatedly questions the standards by which motherhood is judged. Both women make flawed decisions, yet the novel consistently shows that other people magnify those flaws while minimizing or ignoring the extraordinary challenges they face. By tracing this pattern across public encounters, professional settings, and family relationships, the novel ultimately shifts attention to a society more eager to assign blame than to extend compassion.
Five demonstrates how unaddressed trauma reverberates across generations, shaping the ways people learn to express love and build relationships. The novel traces many of its characters’ emotional struggles to the unresolved pain of their ancestors, from the shell shock of World War II to the pressures of poverty and familial obligation. Rather than disappearing with time, these experiences become inherited patterns of behavior, influencing how affection is shown and how responsibility is understood. Through the parallel stories of Mrs. Worth, Liam, and Emma, the narrative argues that without confronting trauma, it reshapes love into something emotionally distant, controlling, or rooted in obligation rather than genuine connection.
Mrs. Worth’s cold, scientific approach to affection is a direct inheritance from her father, Gerald. A former WWII surgeon with PTSD, Gerald’s only available method of paternal connection was teaching his young daughter, Matilda, animal dissection. What should have been moments of paternal warmth instead became clinical exercises. As an adult, Mrs. Worth unknowingly replicates this detached manner. Her relationships with Nicholas, Livvie, and even her grandsons are governed by criticism, clinical instruction, and emotional distance rather than open affection, ultimately leading to their complete estrangement. She is most comfortable in the morgue among the deceased, who make no emotional demands. This inability to connect emotionally is a legacy of her father’s pain, a form of love so warped by trauma that it fails to nurture, instead creating distance and reinforcing the cycle of isolation.
Similarly, Liam’s conception of love as rescue is rooted in the trauma of his childhood. Growing up as the able-bodied twin of Danny, who has cerebral palsy, he comes to believe that loving his brother means constantly protecting him. This sense of responsibility gradually becomes central to his identity, persisting long after Danny no longer needs the same level of care. As an adult, he unconsciously seeks to replicate this dynamic in his romantic relationships, repeatedly choosing women he perceives as needing to be saved: an abuse survivor, a dancer, and a woman with a difficult past. His interactions with Emma are also filtered through this lens; when he sees her struggling, his impulse is to “take care of” her and Gideon (154), a gesture of control disguised as affection. Liam learned to equate love with responsibility, making it difficult for him to build relationships based on mutual trust rather than caretaking. His final act on the platform—dying while trying to protect someone he mistakes for Danny—becomes the ultimate expression of this lifelong pattern.
Emma’s story demonstrates that inherited trauma does not always pass directly from parent to child; it can also emerge through unresolved family relationships. Her strained relationship with her mother and constant rivalry with Anne shape the circumstances under which she chooses motherhood, turning what should be an act of hope into one influenced by resentment and competition. Later, as Gideon’s increasingly violent behavior isolates her from those around her, Emma receives little of the understanding she herself lacked growing up. The emotional distance she experienced within her own family leaves her without a reliable support system when she needs one most, allowing another cycle of fractured relationships to continue.
Although the novel repeatedly shows trauma passing from one generation to the next, it stops short of suggesting that these patterns are unavoidable. Mrs. Worth’s reconciliation with Nicholas demonstrates that long-damaged relationships can begin to heal, while Gideon’s final conversation with Danny hints at the possibility of a different future built on understanding rather than obligation or resentment. The novel ultimately argues that inherited trauma exerts a powerful influence over families, but it is not destiny. Healing becomes possible only when characters recognize the emotional patterns they have inherited instead of continuing to repeat them.
The delayed commuter train platform in Five is a microcosm of modern urban society, where anonymity encourages people to reduce one another to first impressions rather than recognize the complex lives hidden beneath the surface. In this impersonal space, characters instinctively become the incompetent mother, the arrogant businessman, the strange young man, or the difficult elderly woman, their identities compressed into conventional labels. Bannister repeatedly dismantles these assumptions by revealing the histories, traumas, and motivations that lie behind each commuter, arguing that the greatest consequence of urban detachment is the failure to recognize another person’s humanity.
This idea is reinforced through the novel’s alternating narrative structure. The real-time chapters present the commuters exactly as they appear to one another on the platform, while the extended flashbacks gradually reveal the experiences that have shaped each person’s behavior. Emma’s apparent inability to control Gideon, Sonny’s unusual appearance, Liam’s confidence, and Mrs. Worth’s harsh criticism all invite immediate assumptions from both the characters and the reader. As each backstory unfolds, however, those assumptions become increasingly difficult to sustain. The structure therefore mirrors the novel’s central argument: Strangers rarely possess enough information to understand one another, yet they routinely behave as though they do.
The commuters themselves repeatedly demonstrate this tendency to categorize one another based on brief decontextualized encounters. Seeing Emma struggle with Gideon, Mrs. Worth immediately dismisses her as a “useless” and “incompetent cow,” while Emma writes Mrs. Worth off as an “old crone” (8). Liam initially perceives Emma as a “bitch” when she rebuffs him, reducing her to a single unpleasant interaction without recognizing the desperation that motivates her behavior. Even the minor commuters participate in this pattern, as Bad Back and To Do List initially write off the escalating conflict as merely “nutters on the tracks” (16), a dehumanizing label that prioritizes their own schedules over the evident distress of others. These immediate judgments simplify complicated individuals into stereotypes, making emotional detachment easier than empathy.
This emotional distance is reinforced by the carefully constructed identities the characters present to the world. For example, Sonny’s unique and stylish appearance is a deliberate “misdirection,” with the narrator noting that “[t]here is so much to look at when one meets Sonny […] that people don’t actually see him. And he knows it, and this is how he prefers it” (10). This is designed to draw attention away from his gambling debt and suicidal intentions. Likewise, Liam’s expensive suit and polished demeanor project confidence and success, masking the lifelong weight of responsibility that governs his relationships. Each character performs a public identity that obscures their private struggles, allowing them to move anonymously through the city while remaining largely invisible to those around them. In this way, the novel argues that urban life often rewards these performances, encouraging people to recognize appearances rather than the individuals behind them.
The impersonal systems surrounding the train platform reinforce this same pattern. Railway officials reduce Liam’s death to a mere “customer incident” or a reason for a train to be “cancelled” (205), prioritizing operational efficiency over human life. In the aftermath, the wider public encounters the event through news alerts and social media clips, consuming the incident as information rather than understanding its lasting consequences on those involved. By contrast, the narrative has presented the histories behind every decision made on the platform. Bannister’s alternating structure therefore challenges readers to resist the same assumptions made by the commuters themselves. Rather than accepting anonymous public identities at face value, Five argues that every stranger carries a history that remains invisible until someone chooses to look beyond first impressions.



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