Breakout

The final section builds tension in several key ways as the novel moves toward its climax. As life in Wolf Creek returns to “normal,” there is a sense of anti-climax that accompanies the assumption that the inmates are long gone. Lizzie captures this succinctly in her reflection on authorities’ assurance that the search is “‘expanding in scope and might be less visible.’ I think that sounds like code for ‘We can’t find them, so we’re calling it a day’” (318). This eerie silence, where Nora even misses the sound of police sirens, implies the calm before the storm. The race to locate the inmates has been replaced by the relay race, and by pitting the protagonists against Cole and Walker, Elidee’s racist antagonists at school, the event conveys the sense that the race is about more than just bragging rights. Carnival Day, with all its build-up as the only event the breakout has not yet disrupted, is the natural point for novel’s conflicts to resolve. However, the plot follows the climactic race with another anti-climax when the inmates escape yet again. The format in these pages helps build tension as events are presented out of order to create a sense of the uncertainty the characters are feeling. By shifting suddenly from a recording of the relay’s start to text messages where Nora and Sean discuss the lockdown, the section creates confusion and emphasizes the characters’ chaotic experience.

This mixture of climax and anti-climax connects with the novel’s efforts to demonstrate how perspective shapes people’s view of the world and how each person has a different story. For the protagonists, the relay race was the high point in their story. The epiphany that the inmates might be using “cow shoes” to evade searchers is another climax. However, the events that follow, which provide resolution for the protagonists and other residents of Wolf Creek, are also the climax in the inmates’ story, one that the main characters only experience second-hand. As the novel concludes, the idea that it is important for people to have the opportunity to tell their own story from their own perspective—and equally important for others to listen—becomes the central takeaway. Different characters reiterate this idea in their own words:

Nora: “You can think whatever you want about me. But try to keep in mind that you haven’t been living through all this like we have. […] You can think whatever you want, but you weren’t here. So you can’t really understand” (396-97).

Lizzie: “Mom says we might never really understand. She says we’ll never forget what you did, but maybe we can forgive a little bit. […] I’ll come see you next time we’re allowed” (403).

Elidee: “I’m writing because I changed my mind about the time capsule thing. I was thinking I didn’t want to be part of your town’s story, only then I realized that I am anyway. It’s just a matter of who gets to tell my part of it. I decided I want to do that myself” (421).

Elidee makes the point that the inmates never get to tell their story, pointing out that what really happened is an open question “and the person left alive is the one who gets to tell the story. […] I just think it’s worth remembering” (431). Despite the use of Nora and Elidee’s letters to create a sense of resolution, the novel leaves several unresolved questions. For instance, it is never revealed why Troy went to prison. It is also never clarified whether Troy’s report was a coincidence or whether he gave the inmates the idea to use that tactic in their escape. Details about Lizzie’s grandmother’s sentence and the fate of the corrections officers accused of beating inmates are also left out. Through these deliberate ambiguities, the novel invites readers to draw their own conclusions, emphasizing that every story involves many perspectives and it is impossible to divide the world into good guys and bad guys. As Messner writes in the author’s note, “When we truly listen, we learn that no two people see any situation exactly the same way, and yet we can almost always find common ground” (436).