The Children

Melissa Albert
69 pages2-hour read
Fiction
Novel
Adult
Published in 2026

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Chapters 14-25Chapter Summaries & Analyses

Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of death, death by suicide, child abuse, physical abuse, emotional abuse, mental illness, substance use, and cursing.

Chapter 14 Summary: “1998”

In 1998, the Sharpe family is snowed in at the Farmhouse. To cure their cabin fever, Llewellyn has Guin and Ennis use a Polaroid camera to photograph five interesting things in the house. They document a goblin face in wood grain and light patterns from a stained-glass window. On the third floor, Llewellyn shows them a carved lintel with human hands, explaining that it was made by the mistress of one of Edith’s ancestors, a so-called “cunning woman.” Guin notices a rhyme carved over the door to a seven-windowed room, which Llewellyn recites in full from a half-forgotten memory. The children then discover a hidden drawer of handmade games; Guin glimpses one card’s disturbing image before Llewellyn turns them face down and tucks them back into the drawer. After finding a beautifully stitched quilt, they locate their father alone in the seven-windowed room. He takes a photo of a blank wall, hides the picture, and abruptly declares, “Four is enough” (81). Later that night, as the snow stops, Llewellyn gives the Polaroid camera to Ennis as a gift, telling him he has a good eye.

Chapter 15 Summary: “Five Days Until Mother”

In the present, five days before Ennis’s art show, Guin leaves an interview and ignores a call from Regina. She travels to a desolate concrete building in Red Hook, Brooklyn, the supposed location for Ennis’s exhibition, Mother. Finding no sign of preparation, she enters the seemingly abandoned building and smells fresh paint. After hearing footsteps upstairs, she investigates and is stung by a honeybee on her ring finger. In the dim light, she sees a figure that vanishes when she calls Ennis’s name. As a feeling of dread prompts her to flee, a voice calls out “Stop,” halting her at the edge of a large, circular hole in the floor. Guin is convinced that the voice belonged to her dead mother, Edith, though she can’t be certain.

Chapter 16 Summary: “1998”

In 1998, the day after the snowstorm, Llewellyn tries to walk to his studio for tea but is defeated by the deep snow and a frozen lock. That night, Guin wakes when the carved wooden hand charm that she had placed under her pillow strikes her hard between the brow and socket of her right eye, drawing blood. In the hall, she finds Edith, whose eyes appear unnervingly dark. Guin asks for Llewellyn, but Edith claims that he’s “dead asleep.” While tending to the cut, Edith wears a new gold necklace and has what looks like fresh grass on the soles of her feet, which seems impossible given the snow. She makes a rare, bitter comment about her own mother and tells Guin that the cunning woman’s original small house stood where the great room now stands—torn down, its fireplace kept, and a new house built around it. When Guin says she doesn’t want to leave, Edith promises that they won’t. Guin is left with the disturbing certainty that her mother’s feet were grassy and that Llewellyn wasn’t in their bedroom.

Chapter 17 Summary: “Five Days Until Mother”

Back in the present, Guin processes her near-death experience at the abandoned factory by swimming in the ocean. The close call reminds her of the Farmhouse fire 21 years earlier, and she allows the suppressed memories to surface. She and Ennis were found in the woods two miles away, speechless but physically unharmed aside from cuts and bruises. She recalls how they were the sole survivors of the fire, which killed their parents, Llewellyn and Edith, and all their party guests. In the aftermath, the children “weren’t people anymore, they were representatives” (98), transformed into public symbols of their famous mother and reminders of what the world lost with her.

Chapter 18 Summary: “1998”

In 1998, the morning after Edith’s strange nocturnal behavior, Guin finds her mother in the great room with Llewellyn, who is lying on the couch. He’s awake but seems unwell, and his gaze fills Guin with an intense, undefined fear. Edith dismisses his condition as exhaustion from his trek through the snow. Over the next few days, Llewellyn doesn’t improve; he becomes emotionally flat and withdrawn, telling Guin that he’s “dead tired” and doesn’t dream anymore. His illness presents a deep change in his personality. One day, the sound of a typewriter leads the children to the seven-windowed room, where Edith is writing. She curtly tells them to shut the door.

Chapter 19 Summary: “1998-99”

From 1998 to 1999, Edith writes relentlessly. In April, exactly a year after their arrival, she returns from a meeting with an editor and excitedly announces a six-figure book deal. Llewellyn reacts with ambivalence, saying, “Of course I’m proud” (103), before offering a sarcastic toast and leaving the room, souring the celebration. After he and Ennis leave, the disappointed Edith tells Guin that the book is called The Ninth City and is about magic and “doors to other places” (104), promising that she can read it soon. Inspired, Guin decides that she will also become an author and begins writing a book in secret. She imagines Llewellyn praising her work and Edith giving her a private look that means, “I see you. And you are the same as me” (104).

Chapter 20 Summary: “Five Days Until Mother”

In the present, Guin gets drunk at a bar, trying to make sense of her day. She realizes that the title of Ennis’s show, Mother, is from the last line of the rhyme at the Farmhouse. At home, the bee sting on her finger has caused swelling, so she removes her engagement ring. She finds a video of her father performing in a production of Shakespeare’s Macbeth in 1988 and is struck by his youth and talent. Overcome with emotion, she calls her fiancé, Hank, and has him watch it before asking him to come over. They have sex, but he senses her emotional distance. Later, a nightmare about the Farmhouse wakes her. The next morning, the tension between them is palpable, and Hank leaves after a strained goodbye. Guin puts her engagement ring on a necklace and reflects on the fact that Hank likely gave the same ring to his former fiancée.

Interlude 2 Summary: “Three Months Ago”

Three months before the novel’s main events, Guin has dinner with Hank. She’s convinced that he’s about to break up with her following an awkward conversation about moving in together. After a tense meal, he walks her to the water, and she prepares for the end of their relationship. To her surprise, Hank gets on one knee and proposes. The idea of marriage has never occurred to her, and the sudden, clear vision of a conventional future as a “Wife” is so powerful that it overwhelms her anxieties. Believing that it’s the easiest path forward and that she does love him, she accepts.

Chapter 21 Summary: “2000”

In 2000, Guin meets Anne Read, a painter and neighbor, in the kitchen. Llewellyn, who has trimmed his beard and appears revitalized, greets Anne with a familiar touch that angers Guin. Anne, who is warm and open, explains that she lives two miles into the woods and is helping Llewellyn set up his own painting space. For the first time, Guin identifies herself aloud as a writer, telling Anne, “I’m a writer” (118). Later, Ennis speculates that their father will divorce Edith to marry Anne. Guin replies without thinking that at least then they would “have a mom” (119)—a comment that stuns her brother into silence. Guin herself is unsettled by her own words.

Chapter 22 Summary: “2000”

Continuing the flashback, Edith returns from New York to find Anne at the house. The atmosphere is immediately tense as Edith, Llewellyn, and Anne navigate their new dynamic. Llewellyn explains that seeing one of Anne’s paintings in a gallery window inspired him to take up the art form again, as his illness had made him unable to connect with words, and that Anne approached him there. He describes the encounter as an essential moment that helped him feel like himself again. Edith’s reaction is unreadable, but she suggests that they listen to music. As the three adults drink and dance, their gazes shifting between one another, Guin and Ennis feel ignored and retreat to the kitchen.

Chapter 23 Summary: “Four Days Until Mother”

In the present, four days before Ennis’s show, Guin reads a passage from her memoir, Ninth City Dreamer, which depicts a falsely idyllic childhood. Troubled, she re-watches a hostile interview with Ennis about the death of a student, Marla Kaufman, at his art installation, The Door Museum. In the video, Ennis raises the possibility that Marla’s death was a “choice” alongside “a terrible error,” and states, “There’s a price to pay for real art” (128)—stopping short of explicitly calling her death a necessary price. Wondering if Marla’s death was a suicide rather than an accident, Guin decides to contact the three friends who were with her that night. One friend, Antoinette Kelly, responds with anger. Another, Nisha Dey, a student at New York University, agrees to meet the next morning.

Interlude 3 Summary: “The Door Museum (2024)”

This section details Ennis’s 2024 installation, The Door Museum, held in a textile mill in Los Angeles, California. It’s a disorienting, labyrinthine space of doors and corridors, with windows that seem to look out onto strange worlds. Visitors enter alone and report deep psychological experiences. In April, a film student from the University of Southern California named Marla Kaufman attends with friends but never emerges. Her body is later found on the ground floor, her death attributed to a fall. Marla’s death draws significant public attention, but Ennis’s career truly suffers after an interview in which he speaks about her with shocking indifference.

Chapter 24 Summary: “2000”

In 2000, the tense arrangement between Edith, Llewellyn, and Anne continues. Anne advises Guin to channel her parents’ toxic fighting into her creative work rather than internalizing it, telling her to “[p]ut it through the looking glass” (135). She describes Llewellyn as someone with a wound and Edith as compellingly unreachable. One night, Guin overhears Edith and Anne murmuring in the hall, followed by a strange bit of music. The next morning, Anne is gone. Edith evasively calls her Llewellyn’s “girlfriend,” while Llewellyn grows angry when Guin mentions what she heard. He warns her to stay out of Edith’s writing room.

Chapter 25 Summary: “2000”

After Anne fails to return for several days, Edith taunts Llewellyn about his “girlfriend,” causing him to get angry and physically pin her against a counter. He only releases her when she kisses him. Later, Guin sneaks into Edith’s writing room and is shocked to see her own name typed on the page in the typewriter. Llewellyn catches her and reveals that he spoke to Anne, who isn’t coming back. Fearing the worst, Guin and Ennis go to Anne’s studio. Her car is parked outside, and through the window, they see a dark, human-shaped form on the couch. Before Guin can process the sight, a horrified Ennis grabs her and forces her to run home. Back in their room, a shaken Ennis asks her to read one of her stories, after which he tells her with genuine admiration, “You’re a writer” (143).

Chapters 14-25 Analysis

These chapters deepen the mystery of the Farmhouse by linking its hidden spaces to the motif of doors and, eventually, to Ennis’s adult art. During the snowstorm, Llewellyn turns exploration into a game, leading the children through discoveries that make the house seem to contain a history that none of them fully understands. The carved hands, handmade games, and old rhyme culminate in his inexplicable photograph of a blank wall and abrupt declaration that “[f]our is enough” (81). When Guin later stands in the same place and knocks, her body reacts before her mind can explain why, suggesting that the apparent wall may conceal something the characters cannot yet perceive. Edith’s description of The Ninth City as a book about magic and “doors to other places” further blurs the distinction between the house’s mysteries and the fantasy world she’s creating (104). That uncertainty crosses directly into the present when Guin enters the building that will house Mother. A bee stings her on the ring finger, she glimpses an impossible-seeming figure in the darkness, and a voice that she believes belongs to Edith cries “Stop” just before she runs into an open shaft. The scene makes the supernatural atmosphere of the childhood chapters feel newly immediate rather than safely confined to memory. The same imagery also reappears in Ennis’s The Door Museum, an installation composed of “portals, and the liminal spaces between them” that destabilizes visitors’ sense of ordinary space (133). Marla Kaufman’s death makes the danger associated with such thresholds concrete, while Ennis’s claim that “[t]here’s a price to pay for real art” connects his work to The Difficulty of Distinguishing Between Exploitation and Inspiration in Art (128). The novel doesn’t yet explain what connects Edith’s fiction, the Farmhouse, and Ennis’s art, but their shared imagery increasingly suggests that imaginative creation and dangerous forms of access are intertwined.


At the same time, the childhood chapters make the relationship between Edith’s creative ascent and Llewellyn’s decline increasingly surreal. His condition doesn’t resemble an ordinary illness; the narration observes that he is “not just unlike himself but unlike the person he was when he wasn’t himself” (100). He becomes withdrawn, loses interest in reading to the children, and tells Guin, “So tired I don’t even dream. Just—pass out” (101). Edith, meanwhile, seems almost unnaturally energized. During the snowstorm, Guin encounters her awake at night, strangely warm and wearing a new gold charm, and then notices blades of grass clinging to her feet despite the deep snow outside. The image is especially alarming because it introduces physical evidence that Edith may have been somewhere the ordinary conditions of the Farmhouse should make inaccessible. Soon afterward, she begins typing relentlessly and sells The Ninth City for six figures. Anne’s arrival temporarily complicates this apparent transfer of vitality. She helps Llewellyn return to painting and offers Guin a healthier model of artistic creation, advising her to “[p]ut [painful experiences] through the looking glass” rather than allow them to consume her (135). The later revelation that Anne died by suicide in 2000 darkens her unexplained disappearance without yet explaining it; the chronology invites suspicion while withholding any causal answer. Guin’s own desire to write also becomes increasingly important. She imagines authorship as a way for Edith to finally recognize her, fantasizing about a look that means, “I see you. And you are the same as me” (104), before later discovering her own name in Edith’s typewriter. Her writing also begins to acquire a meaning independent of Edith. After the siblings’ frightening visit to Anne’s studio, Ennis asks Guin to read him “[s]omething [she] wrote” and responds, “You’re a writer” (143), making storytelling a source of recognition and comfort within the sibling relationship itself. The juxtaposition sharpens The Harm Caused by Parental Exploitation: Guin wants to become an artist partly to be seen by her mother even as the novel begins to suggest that Edith has already begun turning her daughter into artistic material.


The adult chapters create an enormous contrast between this increasingly uncanny childhood and the orderly stories that Guin has built around it. In Ninth City Dreamer, she remembers “days spent rambling the woods” and insists that “the privileges of this unusual upbringing far outweighed the more ordinary pleasures [she] missed” (127), language that transforms neglect, isolation, and instability into the texture of an enchanted artistic childhood. Yet the chapters surrounding that passage show what the memoir leaves out: Llewellyn becoming inexplicably diminished, Edith behaving in ways Guin can’t explain, the children navigating their parents’ volatile marriage largely on their own, and Anne disappearing under ominous circumstances. The contrast complicates the idea that Guin is simply lying to the public. Her adult life repeatedly shows her embracing coherent stories that can contain experiences that she can’t otherwise organize. The fire also marks the point at which this private history becomes public property. After Guin and Ennis emerge as the sole survivors, they “[a]ren’t people anymore, they [a]re representatives” (98), valued as living remnants of Edith and the fictional world she created. Hank’s proposal offers another ready-made story when Guin suddenly sees a future rendered in the reassuring categories “Husband” and “Wife”; the idea is so powerful that it “drown[s] out everything” (115), temporarily filling the unanswered space inside her. Her memoir performs a similar function, giving shape and meaning to a childhood whose actual memories remain fragmented and disturbing. This tension develops The Impact of Trauma on Memory while also explaining why Ennis and Marla increasingly draw her attention. As memories of her own past begin forcing themselves back into consciousness, Guin becomes less willing to accept the available story about Marla’s death and begins investigating what actually happened inside The Door Museum.


Albert heightens the instability of these chapters through tonal contrast, child-centered perception, and dialogue that often allows frightening material to remain funny or strangely ordinary. The snowbound chapters initially have the rhythms of a family adventure: Llewellyn stages a photography expedition, jokes through his disastrous trek to the studio, and returns announcing that the “[m]otherfuckin’ lock was frozen” (90). Against that domestic comedy, supernatural details arrive almost casually. Edith tells Guin, “There are no ghosts here,” prompting the much more unsettling question, “If there aren’t any ghosts. What is here?” (94). Because the childhood narration remains close to Guin’s limited understanding, the novel rarely explains such moments when they occur; she notices grass on Edith’s feet, her father’s altered behavior, and the strange room but lacks the adult knowledge necessary to connect them. The structure gives the reader additional pieces through the present-day chapters and interludes without resolving the mystery too quickly. Dialogue also complicates the adults rather than reducing them to villains or victims. Llewellyn can be affectionate, theatrical, bitter, and frightening, while Edith can recoil from Guin’s touch and moments later tend her injury with unusual tenderness. Anne’s advice that “[a]rtists are sponges. Like kids” captures the section’s larger tension between childhood and artistic creation (135): Guin is absorbing everything around her before she has the ability to understand what any of it means, and the novel is beginning to show how those absorbed experiences may later be transformed into stories.

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