How I Live Now

As Daisy becomes involved in more complex relationships and situations, the simplicity of her diction and syntax stand out in sharp relief, highlighting her naiveté and inexperience with the realities of the world. To create this effect, Rosoff intensifies the strategy of using capitalization for emphasis. For example, when Daisy fears that adults in the area will insist on imposing new guardians on her and her cousins, she declares, “No we especially DO NOT NEED ANY GOVERNMENT SURPLUS PARENTS THANK YOU VERY MUCH” (59). Rather than relying upon verbose descriptions, Rosoff uses the typeface itself to convey the strength of Daisy’s opinion. The author further embellishes her informal approach by having Daisy use a list structure to convey the various rumors, conspiracy theories, and gossip that runs rampant after the war breaks out, creating the impression that the novel is an informal diary or memoir.

As the war leaves Daisy and her cousins without adult supervision, they begin to feel like the house is completely theirs, and Daisy takes a rather maladaptive approach to The Process of Finding a Home when she excitedly writes to Leah and admits “how totally great it was to have no grown-ups around telling you what to do all the time” (42). Once again, Rosoff uses simplistic syntax to convey Daisy’s equally simplistic view of her war-torn world; rather than worrying about the broader state of affairs, Daisy shortsightedly concludes that her current situation—and even her aunt’s status as missing—is “totally great.” However, while her descriptions accurately convey her misplaced glee over this new development, her future self—the one telling the story—soon interjects with a morose, retrospective tone to emphasize that this illusory freedom in her life could not last. As she states, “The magic we were trusting to keep us safe from the outside world suddenly seemed too fragile to protect us forever” (60). This distinct shift in the narrative marks an even greater shift in the teenagers’ circumstances—a development that begins with their encounter with Dr. Jameson. When soldiers later tell Daisy and her family that their house is being commandeered, they must finally face the full implications of losing their home amidst wartime conditions.

However, before this stark return to reality, the chaos of the war grants Daisy and Edmond the complete liberty to pursue their incestuous relationship and delve into The Complexities of Love in Wartime Relationships. Notably, Daisy’s narrative directly addresses the reader when she broaches this part of her story, candidly acknowledging the taboo aspects of her behavior and offering some form of rationalization. As she asserts, “It would be much easier to tell this story as if it were all about a chaste and perfect love between Two Children Against the World at an Extreme Time in History but let’s face it that would be a load of crap” (46). She goes on to declare that “the war […] provided a perfect limbo” (46) in which she and Edmond might follow any course of action that best pleased them. This aside marks a crucial metatextual comment, given that Rosoff, in the guise of Daisy-as-narrator, is essentially defending her choice to incorporate an incestuous romance into the novel. The author’s contention is that the characters are inherently flawed and that their transgressive love only arises in the absence of responsibilities or adult guidance. Ultimately, Rosoff’s assertion—for better or worse—is that because the teenagers are isolated from societal norms, they pursue connections that would otherwise be forbidden. 

Despite the somewhat radical nature of this choice, Rosoff soon proves that the protagonists’ problematic romance is not the primary focus of the novel. Instead, Rosoff’s true interest lies in describing the moment-to-moment experiences of mundane, ordinary people who find themselves thrust into extraordinary circumstances and struggle to cope as best they can. She therefore incorporates universal human experiences into the narrative, and The Presence of the Dead, whether literal or metaphorical, begins to take on a greater role. Although Daisy and the others aren’t close to the people who have been killed battling the nebulous, undefined “enemy,” she does briefly consider the realities of the many lives lost. However, her words once again reflect her extreme naiveté and self-centered approach. As she muses, “Most of the people who got killed were either old like our parents so they’d had good lives already, or people who […] were pretty boring anyway, or other people we didn’t know” (43). Rather than considering the grave loss that these casualties represent to the community, the nation, and the world, Daisy evaluates current events from the standpoint of whether she and her cousins have been personally affected. Her borderline-callous contemplation creates the impression that she automatically undervalues the lives of people whom she “didn’t know.” However, a kinder reading of the same passage might contend that this deliberate act of distancing is also an attempt to protect herself and her psyche from the intensifying chaos that surrounds her. 

This section also intensifies the presence of hunger as a near-physical entity in its own right. Notably, because Daisy’s eating habits are already disordered, she does not immediately miss food like the others do as the war begins; although her disordered eating is inherently unhealthy, it does prepare her somewhat for the deprivations of wartime, as she is accustomed to going without food. In addition to these physical issues, the author’s use of hunger as a symbol is also developed with Daisy’s intensifying emotional “hunger” for intimate relations with Edmond. No matter how often they are physically intimate, they still want more. As Daisy reflects, “I was starving, starving, starving for Edmond. And what a coincidence, that was the feeling I loved best in the world” (45). In this way, Rosoff uses strategic wording to link the concepts of physical and emotional hunger in Daisy’s mind.