58 pages • 1-hour read
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Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of death, grief, graphic violence, and mental illness.
In Remain, Sparks and Shyamalan use the supernatural elements of a classic ghost story to explore the psychological weight of unresolved trauma. The novel posits that emotional wounds, left to fester, can imprison both the living and the dead, creating a cycle of pain that can only be broken by confronting the truth. Through the parallel suffering of Tate Donovan and the ghost Wren Tobin, the novel illustrates that healing requires acknowledging past horrors rather than trying to escape them.
Tate’s journey begins as he flees the trauma of his sister’s death, seeking refuge in a secluded house that, ironically, contains its own tragedy. His debilitating depression has left him isolated and emotionally paralyzed, demonstrating how unresolved grief can become its own kind of haunting. His connection with Wren’s spirit isn’t merely a supernatural encounter; it’s a manifestation of his own unaddressed pain. He’s uniquely receptive to her presence because he, too, is trapped by the past. The posthumous message to him from his sister, Sylvia, “I want you to be open to the idea that the encounter happened for a reason” (53), foreshadows that his path to recovery involves helping Wren find peace. He can’t move forward until he helps her resolve the trauma of her own violent death by exposing how it really happened.
Wren’s haunting is a metaphor for the splintering effect of trauma on the psyche. Her fragmented existence, split between a gentle “daytime” self and a tormented “nighttime” self, represents her inability to process her own murder. Daytime Wren is confused and disoriented, grappling with a past she can’t fully recall, while Nighttime Wren is locked in a loop, endlessly reliving the horror of her final moments. Her violent manifestations, such as smashing her head against the faucet, aren’t acts of self-harm but reenactments of her murder. This cycle of suffering underscores the novel’s central idea: That trauma, when ignored, doesn’t fade but instead gains strength, demanding recognition.
Ultimately, Remain suggests that resolution is the only path to liberation from the ghosts of the past. Tate’s investigation into Wren’s death forces him to engage with the world and his own emotions again. By uncovering the truth and ensuring that justice is served, he frees Wren’s spirit from its violent loop, allowing her to move on. In doing so, he also frees himself. The literal exorcism of the house parallels Tate’s internal process of confronting his grief for Sylvia, finally enabling him to heal and remain in the world of the living.
In the novel, Sparks and Shyamalan skillfully peel back the picturesque facade of small-town life to reveal a core of darkness and moral decay. The quaint, charming town of Heatherington, with its idyllic coastline and close-knit community, initially seems a perfect sanctuary for the grieving Tate. However, this placid surface conceals a web of greed, betrayal, and violence, demonstrating that a beautiful appearance can often mask a corrupt reality, and that pleasant behavior can conceal evil intentions and acts. The novel systematically dismantles this illusion, showing that evil can thrive in the most unexpected places.
The primary antagonists embody this theme of deceptive appearances. Griffin, Wren’s ex-husband, presents himself as a charismatic and successful festival organizer, a pillar of the community. However, behind closed doors, he’s a violent, abusive man driven by greed. His public persona is a carefully constructed mask hiding a capacity for cruelty, as the novel reveals through his physical destruction of Wren’s belongings and his attempt to claim her inheritance. Similarly, Wren’s seemingly friendly business partner, Nash, betrays her trust by embezzling from their store while creating a paper trail of false purchases to avoid suspicion. His amiable exterior conceals a self-serving nature, proving that even those who appear faithful can harbor deceitful intentions. Both characters are warnings against accepting people and places at face value.
The most shocking deception, however, is that of Reece and Louise Gaston, the seemingly harmless caretakers of the house. They project an image of simple, hardworking locals, yet their complicity in Wren’s murder for financial gain represents the ultimate betrayal. Their quiet presence masks a significant capacity for violence, making them the true monsters of the story. By placing the novel’s central crime in the hands of such unassuming characters, the authors suggest that the most dangerous threats often come from where they’re least expected. Reece and Louise’s motive (securing a portion of Wren’s inheritance) is a stark reminder that the serene setting of Heatherington isn’t immune to the corrosive effects of human avarice. Through these characters, the novel argues that a peaceful exterior can be a deliberate and dangerous illusion, hiding deep-seated corruption and wickedness.
Remain presents love not as a simple romance, but as a transformative force that can heal deep psychological wounds and even bridge the chasm between life and death. The novel argues that people achieve true connection through vulnerability, and that this connection is essential for overcoming personal darkness and finding a renewed will to live. This theme develops primarily through the relationship between Tate and Wren, whose shared pain allows them to form a bond that ultimately redeems them both.
Initially, Tate is a man closed off by grief. He retreated from the world after the death of his sister, Sylvia, whose final wish was for him to open his heart again. Her posthumous videos catalyze his character development, urging him to seek connection, and it’s in this receptive state that he first encounters Wren. Their bond forms rapidly because they’re both emotionally exposed; Tate shares his recent psychiatric hospitalization, while Wren reveals the pain of her failed marriage and betrayals. This mutual vulnerability creates an immediate intimacy that transcends their unusual circumstances. By opening up to a “stranger,” Tate takes the first step not only toward helping Wren but also toward his own recovery.
The unique nature of their relationship, particularly its physical limitations, forces their connection to become purely emotional and spiritual. This is exemplified through the no-touching game, a scene charged with intimacy that relies on proximity and desire rather than physical contact. In this space, their love develops in its purest form, unburdened by the physical world and emerging entirely from empathy and understanding. This love motivates Tate to seek justice for Wren. His mission to solve her murder is an act of love that pulls him out of depressive inertia and gives him a new sense of purpose.
Ultimately, their connection proves redemptive for both. By helping Wren find peace, Tate confronts his own demons and rediscovers his place among the living. As his friend Oscar notes, his interactions with Wren make him happy in a way he hasn’t been “in a long, long time” (108). For Wren, Tate’s love allows her to break free from the traumatic loop of her death and finally move on. The novel thus concludes that love, born from shared vulnerability, isn’t just a comfort but a necessary catalyst for healing, powerful enough to save a soul, both in this world and the next.



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