The Obsession

The root cellar emerges as the novel’s most potent symbol, representing both the hidden depravity that lurks beneath ordinary surfaces and the paradoxical birthplace of Naomi’s courage. Roberts constructs this underground space as a literal manifestation of buried evil concealed by layers of leaves, accessed through a door in the earth, and containing the photographic evidence of Thomas Bowes’s systematic brutality. The cellar functions as a prison for the living, where victims like Ashley are suspended between life and death. When 11-year-old Naomi descends into this space, she crosses a threshold from childhood innocence into adult understanding of human evil, yet paradoxically, this descent becomes her moral ascent. The cellar’s physical structure—requiring her to climb down a ladder and then back up—mirrors the psychological journey she must make: confronting the depths of horror before emerging with the strength to act.

The interplay of light and shadow reflects Naomi’s internal and external worlds. Roberts carefully orchestrates the lighting in crucial scenes to emphasize the psychological landscape of her characters. The opening sequence unfolds in darkness punctuated by flashes of lightning and the beam of Thomas’s flashlight, creating a chiaroscuro effect that mirrors Naomi’s moral awakening. The “thin trickle of moonlight” that allows her to see the ruined cabin represents the minimal illumination needed for truth to emerge from concealment (7). This motif extends beyond the rescue sequence into the family’s subsequent life, where Roberts uses Susan’s habit of drawing curtains during her depressive episodes to signal the cyclical nature of darkness and light in their household. A photographer’s professional relationship with light becomes particularly significant here, as Naomi’s developing skill with capturing and manipulating light through her camera represents her growing ability to control narrative and perspective.

Naomi’s character development reveals a complex evolution from passive witness to active agent, though Roberts carefully avoids creating a simplistic trajectory of empowerment. In the opening chapters, Naomi demonstrates remarkable resourcefulness and moral clarity despite her youth, yet she also exhibits the psychological fragmentation that trauma typically produces. Her ability to compartmentalize—such as when she “clos[es] her mind” while cutting Ashley’s bonds (12)—shows both healthy coping mechanisms and concerning dissociation. Roberts further develops Naomi’s character through her relationships with family members, particularly her dynamic with Mason, who serves as both the responsible one and her intellectual equal. Mason’s precocious analysis of their father’s psychological manipulation provides crucial insights. When he tells Naomi, “He wanted himself, and I wasn’t” (56), he reveals how Thomas’s narcissism shaped his self-perception. Susan’s inability to separate herself from Thomas, even after his imprisonment, demonstrates the insidious nature of psychological manipulation and establishes the stakes for Naomi’s future.

The narrative structure of these chapters employs a carefully calibrated progression that mirrors the psychological process of trauma integration. Roberts begins with immediate, visceral action—the midnight discovery that changes everything—and then systematically reveals the broader implications. The focus zeroes in on the rescue operation and then gradually widens to encompass family dynamics, legal procedures, media attention, and, ultimately, the fundamental question of identity reconstruction. Roberts uses temporal shifts and geographic relocations—from West Virginia to Washington, DC, to New York—to show how trauma follows survivors across time and space, requiring constant adaptation rather than simple escape. The progression from immediate physical danger to more complex psychological and social challenges demonstrates Roberts’s understanding that initial trauma represents only the beginning of a survivor’s journey.

Photography emerges as both a literal skill and a metaphorical framework for Naomi’s developing sense of agency and artistic identity. Roberts introduces the camera as a tool for documentation and evidence—initially through the photographs of Thomas’s victims displayed in the cellar and then through Naomi’s own emerging photographic practice. This contrast establishes photography as a contested medium for either exploitation or empowerment, depending on the photographer’s intent and the subject’s consent. Naomi’s growing expertise with composition, lighting, and perspective parallels her developing ability to frame her own narrative rather than allowing others to define her story. When she ultimately writes her own account for The New York Times, declaring it as “[her] life, [her] story” (78), she demonstrates the same principle of authorial control that governs her photographic work.