The Hollow Places

Simon acts as the novel’s deuteragonist and serves as an essential confidant and foil to Kara. Where Kara initially approaches the impossible with skepticism and a need for logical explanation, Simon readily accepts the bizarre. His personality and aesthetic, that of a “thrift-store Mad Hatter” (17), signal his comfort with the unconventional long before a portal opens in the neighboring wall. He is the first to propose supernatural explanations for the corridor, suggesting they flip a coin for “black magic or aliens” (45), a reaction that helps ease both Kara and the reader into the story’s fantastical elements. His backstory, filled with tales of religious party clowns and alligator fights, further cements him as a character who is no stranger to absurdity, making him the perfect companion for a journey into an alternate reality. Beyond his eccentricity, Simon’s defining trait is his steadfast loyalty. He immediately offers Kara emotional and practical support, providing not just an alibi for a fantasized murder of her ex-husband but also the tools and courage to investigate and later seal the portal.

Simon’s most crucial role in the narrative is tied directly to individual perception. He reveals that he is likely a chimera, possessing his fraternal twin’s left eye, which gives him a form of color blindness and, more significantly, the ability to perceive dimensions of reality that Kara cannot. He explains, “Turns out my left eye’s got some rare form of color blindness that only women get. So they think I’m probably a chimera and ate my twin in the womb and it’s actually her left eye” (18). This unique vision makes him an indispensable, if sometimes unnerving, guide. He sees the creatures in the willows moving in negative space and perceives the school bus driver as a figure turning inside out, offering glimpses into The Fragility of Reality that Kara can only begin to comprehend. While he is a static character in that his core personality does not fundamentally change, he is round and layered, a dependable friend whose unusual nature becomes a source of strength and insight. His self-aware humor, demonstrated when he suggests they retreat to “discuss this like people who don’t die in the first five minutes of a horror movie” (43), provides both levity and a meta-commentary on their harrowing situation.

Uncle Earl is a pivotal figure who functions as both a mentor and the story’s primary catalyst. Although he is physically absent for much of the central conflict due to knee surgery, his presence permeates the novel through the sanctuary he has created and the values he represents. His defining characteristic is a profound and unconditional kindness that shapes the world of the novel. It is his offer of a room at the museum that provides Kara the escape she desperately needs, an act of familial love he dismisses as simply “what family’s for, Carrot” (15). This kindness is the animating force of the Wonder Museum, transforming it from a mere collection of oddities into a symbol of safety and belonging. His worldview is radically inclusive and nonjudgmental, extending from his acceptance of other religions to his belief that “God wouldn’t send all those good people to hell” (3). This gentle spirit directly contrasts with the malevolent, incomprehensible nature of the willow world.

Uncle Earl is the living embodiment of the theme of Belief Systems as Frameworks for the Unknowable. His mind comfortably accommodates a vast and contradictory collection of beliefs, including Jesus, Mothman, aliens, and the healing power of Vicks VapoRub. When Kara points out the conflict between evolution and a sign in the museum claiming the earth is four thousand years old, he reconciles the two through the existence of Bigfoot, demonstrating that his belief systems are not rigid dogma but flexible frameworks for interpreting the world with a sense of wonder. This eclectic faith makes him uniquely open to the impossible, creating a narrative space where a portal to another world seems almost plausible. His consistent goodness provides the emotional foundation for Kara’s journey and her ultimate decision to defend the museum. It is his love, infused into the museum’s very bones, that ultimately animates the taxidermy to protect Kara, making his kindness a literal, tangible force against the encroaching darkness.

The primary antagonistic force in the novel is a collective and non-humanoid entity, referred to simply as “Them,” whose nature is intrinsically linked to the willows. They are a static and flat antagonist, not in the sense of being simplistic, but in their utter consistency as an unknowable and alien presence. Their motivations are fundamentally incomprehensible to the human characters. As the victim Martin Sturdivant explains, their actions are dictated by a logic of hunger and play; when not hungry, they “play with you … take you apart to see what makes you tick … change you …” (143). This chilling description establishes Them as a force beyond human concepts of morality, embodying the central argument of The Fragility of Reality, where human understanding shatters against the truly alien.

These entities are characterized by their invasive and corrupting influence. The willows serve Them as a sentient ecosystem that seeks to colonize new realities. This process is facilitated by objects like the corpse-otter carving, which functions as a seed or key to create new portals. Their method of attack is as much psychological as it is physical. The graffiti found in the bunkers warns, “They Can Hear You Thinking” (97), revealing that They are predators that hunt via perception and are drawn to fear. They exist in what Kara perceives as negative space “behind the world” (118), able to manipulate and puncture the fabric of reality itself. Their presence is announced by an unnerving humming or gong-like sound and marked by the appearance of cone-shaped holes in the landscape, physical evidence of their ability to scoop away matter. As a character, They represent the cosmic horror of the unknowable, a force that does not merely threaten violence but the very structure of existence.

Mark is Kara’s ex-husband and serves as a minor foil. He represents the conventional, “normal” life that Kara is forced to leave behind. His character is rendered through phone calls, Kara’s memories, and his social media presence, where he posts platitudes about moving “bravely into the unknown” (23). This shallow performance of self-improvement contrasts sharply with the genuine and terrifying unknown that Kara confronts. His infidelity and the ultimate emptiness of the life they shared reinforce the novel’s argument that true safety is not found in normalcy but in genuine connection, which Kara finds not with him but with the eccentric community around the museum.

A park ranger who fell through a portal in a kudzu cathedral, Martin Sturdivant functions as a classic messenger or oracle figure. He is a tragic victim of the willow world, and his horrific physical state—his lower body unraveled and floating around him in the water—provides a visceral warning of the stakes. His testimony is crucial, as he is the first to provide exposition on the nature of “Them,” the behavior of the willows, and the rules of survival in the other world. He explains that They are drawn to thoughts of Them, vital information that later saves Kara’s life. His fate exemplifies the horrifying consequences of what happens when They capture someone but “aren’t hungry” (143).