Romy Hall is serving two life sentences for killing the man stalking her. Her only concern—her son, who’s been swallowed by child protective services, adoption and time. The story becomes a hero’s journey of Romy dealing with the angst of incarceration while struggling to find a way to her son.
During my 26 years of incarceration, I’ve always read novels to break up the time. And for the last decade (or so) I’ve written book reviews for San Quentin News.
Recently, I came across The Mars Room by Rachel Kushner (2018). It’s a story about a women’s prison with a narrative that’s supported by extensive research. But, Kushner’s literary beauty and polished words stood in contrast with my experiences because of the unsavory nature of her plot. It made me think that I was reading an urban novel written by a cultured author.
Still, I was seeking insight into women’s experiences and comparing them to mine.
I’ve spent nearly 15 years in higher-security prisons where frequent lockdowns hamstrung the chance for rehabilitative programs. In 2007, however, I was transferred to San Quentin State Prison where lower security concerns let a variety of self-help programs thrive.
The Mars Room is centered on everything bad that happens to a person while locked up—things beyond even being stripped away from friends and family. It addressed accepting responsibility, being accountable for the harm you’ve committed against innocent folks, and sitting in the fire of regret and remorse. Being in the latter myself—the regretful and remorseful kind—I wasn’t very excited to pick up a novel about the worst and least bearable parts of prison life. Nevertheless, I kept turning the pages.
Kushner’s plot in the fictional Stanville prison simply misses what brings people together as human beings. Even in high-security prisons, with lockdowns and violence, people still look for the tenderness found in community. Such moments and situations are the ones rarely seen in literature or popular culture exploring life in prison.
The uniqueness of The Q is that there’s a caring community of prison staff, volunteers and incarcerated mentors, all looking to serve folks seeking to change their lives. Thus, people doing time in other state prisons are working their way to The Q with hopes for betterment. These efforts are supported by California’s policymakers as access to introspective programs, built on the principles of restorative justice, is one of the cornerstones of the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation.
Nevertheless, to Kushner’s credit, she does capture the remorse and regret that incarcerated people struggle with: “The quiet of the cell is where the real question lingers…The one true question, impossible to answer. The why did you? The how. Not the practical how, the other one. How could you have done such a thing? How could you?”
The Mars Room has no characters with strong family ties. Although there’s tension, centered on the protagonist’s separation from her son, the action she takes is too farfetched and adds to the plot’s superficiality.
My incarceration experience has witnessed stable, loving and successful families, formed through letter writing, phone calls and visits. I know a formerly incarcerated father whose daughter and son were conceived on prison grounds. His son is now a doctor and his daughter is a counselor for children with parents in prison.
The truth is that prisons (with all their goodness, badness and ugliness) are a reflection of our society. So I humbly submit that stories about prison aren’t full unless all aspects of humanity are covered.
While I appreciate that Kushner wants her audience to viscerally feel the despair, injustice and cruelty of prison, it felt that she did so in a way that leaves you feeling dirty rather than refreshed by an unexpected encounter with a human being. In spite of my criticism, I found the novel full of thought-provoking lines, giving readers an idea of how repressed people live. As an example, I found it moving when Romy Hall realized “What I eventually began to understand, about San Francisco, was that I was immersed in beauty and barred from seeing it.”
In addition, Kushner’s social commentary about who ends up in prison is poignant: “People from your family were in prison, whole swaths of your community, and it was part of life to eventually go there. So, you were born fucked. But, like the rich kids, you too wanted to have fun on Saturday night. All children are looking for a positive self-image. All children want that. It is obtained in different ways.”
The Mars Room, as a whole, gives the uninformed a glimpse of what it’s like to live the same day the same way year after year. Kushner also gives an important detail: “People say holidays are depressing in prison. It’s true. It’s because you cannot help but think of the life you once had, or did not have (emphasis added). Holidays are an idea of how life should be.”
I breezed through this novel, mainly because it’s so well researched and written, but it missed too much of the fullness of my experiences throughout California’s prison system—the human part. Still, I credit Kushner for revealing a basic truth—prisons are isolating, bleak and destructive to human wellbeing, because it’s hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel when you’re serving a life sentence.
