Introduction

This article aims to offer an analytical reading of Kate Darbishire’s novel, Speechless, taking the theme of annoyance, examining the perspective of Harriet, the point-of-view character in the novel. Kate Darbishire evokes her experience as a parent of a child with cerebral palsy and as a teaching assistant in special schools, using this biographical novel to present an idea of inclusion that emphasises the importance of each child. This book is on the school reading list for primary and secondary schools for the English and PSHE curricula, encouraging young readers to consider everyone, whether disabled or non-disabled, as a valuable contributor to a liveable society.

The novel’s main character, Harriet, has severe speech dysarthria and cerebral palsyFootnote 1 confining her to a powered wheelchair and her annoyance at this and how others treat her spans a spectrum of entities from micro stresses to overwhelming episodes. Despite the variety of difficulties between her and her environment, the novel asserts that she possesses the full range of human emotion and thus rejects any position that tends to dehumanise her. In so doing, it contests the undermining of her rights and dignity on the basis of the unjustified segregation of Harriet and those with cerebral palsy from the consideration of what care and regard must be afforded to all human beings. As she navigates the details and diverse scenarios of everyday life, the reality of Harriet is one wherein she is not silenced, does not disappear or become invisible; she remains human and is consistently recognizable as such. The examinations of this article are framed by Martha Nussbaum’s expositions on the capabilities approach with regards to maintaining the dignity of a person.

Nussbaum’s thoughtful list of the components of capability is as follows: 1. life (being able to live to the end of normal length), 2. bodily health, 3. bodily integrity, 4. sense, imagination and thought, 5. emotion, 6. practical reason, 7. affiliation, 8. other species, 9. play and 10. control over one’s environment. (Nussbaum, 2007, p. 76). Elsewhere, she clarifies the idea of capability as the ‘capabilities approach’. The capabilities approach can be provisionally defined as an approach to comparative quality-of-life assessments and to theorising hypotheses of social justice. It argues that the key question to ask, when comparing societies and assessing them for fundamental decency or justice, is: ‘What is each person able to do and to be?’ In other words, the approach takes each person as an end, asking not just about the total or average well-being but about the opportunities available to each person (Nussbaum, 2011, p. 18).

Wiebk Kuklys (2005) whose research is centred on disability and poverty issues, was inspired by Amartya Sen, a Nobel prize-winning development economist. Kuklys explains that Sen’s idea of capability, which Nussbaum has built on in terms of the capabilities approach, is

what he or she manages to do or be. Functionings comprise an individual's activities and states of being, for example, being in good health, being well-sheltered, moving about freely, or being educated. Capability is a derived notion and reflects the various functionings he or she can potentially achieve and involves the person's freedom to choose between different ways of living (Kuklys, 2005, p. 10).

This essay understands this approach as what a person is able to do and to be as an individual by fundamental human right. Christopher Riddle closely relates his advocacy of capabilities in disabilities to human rights (Riddle, 2017, p. 51). Therefore, in reading Speechless, this article views the notion of capabilities as what Harriet should be able to do and should be able to be, not as a heroic persona but as a human being. Nussbaum states multiple and complex elements of good care for children, the elderly, the unwell, or those with disabilities that ‘focuses on support for capabilities of life, health, and bodily integrity. It also provides stimulation for senses, imagination, and thought.’ (Nussbaum, 2007, p. 168). What it constitutes should be a grounded sense of attachment, independent self-care as far as is possible and self-esteem.

It supports emotional attachments and removes “overwhelming fear and anxiety”; indeed, good care constitutes a valuable form of attachment. Good care also supports the capacity of the cared-for for practical reason and choice; it encourages affiliations of many other sorts, including social and political affiliations where appropriate. It protects the crucial good of self-respect. (168:2007)

It can be argued that this sense of self-respect embodies the sense of affiliation which leads to the practice of citizenship. The underlying cornerstone for all these facets is, according to what Nussbaum identifies, good care. In the novel, interestingly, Harriet does not seem to seek good care, but she believes she deserves it. Possibly quite like Sesha, who also has cerebral palsy and whom Nussbaum describes in her book, Frontiers of Justice: Disability, Nationality, Species Membership (Nussbaum, 2007, p. 96), Harriet herself does not particularly feel she is vulnerable. She might need some protection, just because, she believes, she experiences certain irritating obstacles as regards to her mobility, movement and talking, but in her mind, this does not make her vulnerable.

The view this article takes is that Harriet is not a victim of her circumstances with barely anything in the world, nor is she a heroic figure that inspires the reader with her brave struggle. Rather, she is an entirely ordinary person, articulated by means of her cheeky and witty annoyance: a comic literary device employed to clarify a similarity between her and her fellow human beings by means of presenting her relatable reactions to her specific situations. In her annoyance, one sees an everyday and common human being dealing with one hurdle after another day by day, successfully or otherwise, much as is expected of any person.

What is Normal Should be Normal: I Want to Break Away from this Spellbound Body

Harriet in Speechless is an 11-year-old schoolgirl in a secondary comprehensive school within walking distance of her house. The school has admitted Harriet on probation for the first time. In the school premises, there are no facilities made with universal accessibility in mind.

Harriet’s mother is admitted to a hospital as a precaution due to her pregnancy symptoms, and her father is about to go on a business trip. She regards her situation with a cynical sensitivity one may begin to expect in an ordinary 11-year-old girl; she dislikes the fact that her mother is going to have another baby and even believes she should get an abortion. She is worried that the child will be too much strain on her parents, who are already struggling to look after her, and even worries whether the child will have a disability like her, burdening her family again.

Having survived all her primary school years and now in her second term of secondary school, Harriet has a clear idea of what she likes and dislikes, what she is comfortable with, and what she finds irritating. The reader has insight into Harriet’s thoughts and feelings as the first-person narrative reveals her deductive assumptions and the way in which she frames her reasoning. Whilst she may struggle to communicate verbally, her internal monologue is perfectly fluent, articulating her analyses and annoyance with a linguistic command common to all her peers.

Interestingly, Nussbaum, as a philosophical theorist much influenced by Greek philosophy, states that ‘Greek tragedy shows good people being ruined because of things that happened to them, things that they do not control’ (Nussbaum, 2001, p. 25). It looks unfair and yet what has already happened is undeniable. Nussbaum adds, ‘it is an ordinary fact of human life’ (Nussbaum, 2001, p. 25). What transpires is what transpires. It is beyond human control. Harriet’s view in Speechless is shaped by fairy tale, framing her life not primarily as a girl with a disability, but one who has been cursed, as if by a witch. She muses that if only she was a witch herself, she could be free of it, thus rebelling against her circumstances and wishing for something different.

If only I really was a witch, perhaps I could undo some of the bad spells thrown at me by this stinking lottery of life. (3)

Harriet’s rational mind takes her physical obstacles as an accidental outcome of a lottery-like external force. She finds this entrapment irritating and would like to defy it and throw it out of her way. We see here the complex sensitivity with which her imagination interprets her life with cerebral palsy. She conflates it with the characters in Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, expressing her abhorrence and discomfort with a multi-faceted intricacy that would be lost in her plain verbal explanation. Although hidden to those around her, this ineffable discontent is revealed to the reader through her imaginary self-substitution. Harriet muses whether her spell can be broken in such a manner. She wonders; ‘which enchantress put a spell on me?’ (68).

Which enchantress put a spell on me? I wondered as I clambered into my armchair and kicked off my shoes. (68)

As she kicks off her shoes, she can dream of walking off, dancing as freely as she could imagine without any physical obstacles. However, the spell on her is an annoying shackle.

She indulges in fanciful musings regarding a boy she likes for whom she would like to cancel what she sees in the mirror: a physical hindrance in her mind. She fantasises about Andy, Jake’s school friend, who lives in the neighbourhood and offers sweets to Harriet when he comes round to visit Jake.

He was gorgeous. If he could fall in love with me before my eighteenth birthday, perhaps the enchantress’ spell would be broken. I’d become the beautiful dark-haired princess and we’d live happily ever after. I pushed my chair back from the computer and pressed the knob to the right so that it spun on the spot like Beauty in the Ballroom Scene. (75)

This desire implies her tenacity in seeking to escape from her wheelchair. She frames her annoyance at the limitations on her freedom and wellbeing in terms of being spellbound, similar to Lacanian secondary identification in substituting her position for that of Belle or the Beast. However, her main point of contention is that she feels that her disability has happened upon her without her consent. There is no fragility or passivity in her reaction; there is only a sense of rebellion and annoyance at her circumstances. She considers them unjust and cannot accept them as her destiny.

Annita Silvers’s recounting of Jenny Morris’ experience runs in parallel with Harriet’s own understanding of her disability. According to Morris, a disability activist, to say that ‘one’s health state is incurably defective is imprudent to express’ (Silvers, 2010, p. 32). What Morris suggests is that ‘In the face of this prejudice it is very important to assert that anatomy is not destiny and that it is instead the disabling barriers ‘out there’ which determine the quality of our lives. Otherwise people would say “your lives weren’t worth living”’ (Silvers, 2010, p. 32). Harriet seems to strike the same chord as Morris. Spellbound she may be, but her life is worth living; she has desires, complex perspectives and an active engagement with her identity and her life.

I Want to Walk as Freely as Mum Does

The reader is informed that one of the annoying things that Harriet is mindful of is her legs. Her legs do not support her body as much as she expects. Every step requires all her effort just to move them. Her legs make her wheelchair-bound and her mobility is dependent on others to a certain extent as she wheels through the world. Her legs are her life’s burden. The visceral frustration with her legs fills her field of vision with legs. She sees her mother’s legs and becomes grouchy, bitter, and envious. She is fixated on the jarring reality that she, with legs that won’t carry her, was born from her mother, who walks without a thought.

Her walk was effortless and elegant as she left my bedroom…. I wondered if she ever thought about how lucky she was. Just being able to walk. (4)

This sentiment extends to her grandmother, whose casual posture catches her eye whilst they sit watching television. Her legs fold onto the seat, providing an everyday comfort that drives Harriet to distraction.

Just once, looking over at the sofa where Gloria sat with the lights from the screen flickering on her face and her legs curled up beside her, I wished that I was snuggled up there, all cosy, between Mum and Jake, like normal. (139)

Harriet thinks boldly and her mind is full of confident complaints. She is not coy or timid and her undiscouraged plaintiveness speaks volumes of the care and love she receives from her family. Nussbaum explains that an element of capability is ‘being able to use the senses, to imagine, think, and reason—Being able to use imagination and thought in connection with experiencing and producing works and events of one’s own choice…’ (76). Harriet’s possession of this quality seems to denote the care she receives.

During a swimming lesson, she has to wear swimming kit and reveal her legs. She immerses herself in the water with the aid of a hoist while feeling embarrassed. However, in the pool, she feels elated due to the fact that she is able to stand on her own, with even the wavy appearances of everyone’s legs under the surface adding to the tantalising sensation of normality.

Once I was in the pool, I felt almost normal - I could stand up unassisted and even walk, if I held onto my floats. And the diffractions of the water made everybody’s legs look deformed. (105)

It is a thrilling moment to be independent even temporarily. She takes in the details of this autonomous experience, quick to also note the apparent deformity of her peers when mulling over her enjoyment. This theme recurs throughout her plaintive recollections of her discomfort, unable to ignore her legs that are not only difficult to walk on but also perpetually cold.

Unable to hold her gaze I glared down at my feet which had their usual early morning purple hue. Always cold, my legs, no matter how many blankets Mum put on the bed. (2)

I’d need about six duvets over my legs to keep out the pain that whistles into my knees when it’s windy. (9)

These forthright and comic descriptions offer an insight into Harriet’s mind that is at once depressing and inviting. Her ever-present ache is painful to read about and yet it reveals a relatable reaction to her circumstances and struggles that would be commonplace in any ordinary girl; readers could readily empathise with her imaginative and emotional interaction with the norms within which she lives.

This revelation of self in the ordinary reactions to unfamiliar situations continues in her experiences with the care she receives from her peripatetic therapist, Mrs Molly. Her legs are placed in plaster casts in order to straighten them and her irritation is, once more, multifaceted, like herself. The casts announce their presence not only with pain but also with an incessant itch. Furthermore, she takes note of the uncomfortable and unwelcome attention they draw from those around her.

Serial plasters were a nightmare. Every week for six weeks, I would have to go to the hospital and have my legs put into plaster casts, which forced my feet into a ‘normal’ right angle to my legs. I couldn’t see the point: it wasn’t as if I ’d ever be able to walk. The plaster tickled and itched my feet all week, like red ants running up and down, but I couldn’t scratch them. My ankles ached with the constant pressure and everyone gave me sad looks and said, “What have you done to yourself?” or, “Ahh! Have you broken both your legs, dear?” as if to say, “How could you be so careless?” The only good thing was getting a morning off school every week to have the plasters changed. (22)

We experience both Harriet’s cynicism and her shame through her struggles with her legs. She is weary of them and therefore fondly regards a family photo in which she is held in her mother’s arms and her legs are entirely covered by her dress (39). She has hopes and aspirations of being able to walk: a desire that provokes discontent and envy as she regards her mother’s legs and her grandmother’s legs, comparing them to her own. These capabilities enable her to be petulant about her legs because she is able to reason as ‘truly human’ and express her justified anger (Nussbaum, 2007, p. 77). She feels she has been denied something better. Her legs are her life’s encumbrance. Nevertheless, she finds a means of dancing away in her imagination and cursing the “Beast” to process her feelings of irritation. She seems to know she is entitled to ask why that is and that she is allowed to get exasperated, thus revealing that she lays claim to her own dignity and self-love, rejecting the injustice of her hindrance. Nussbaum explains what Harriet expresses out of self-respect and self-assertion; ‘Other philosophers have insisted on anger’s close connection to the assertion of self-respect and to protest against injustice.’ Harriet’s irritation is born out of her defiant disposition as an 11-year old girl.

I, too, am Judgemental

The story has a poem Harriet says to herself in a mirror twice in the narrative, acting as an existential outcry Harriet has about herself. The reader is invited to discover how this poem articulates the thematic undertones of her story.

‘I cannot hide from what I see,

A mirror never shows the real me.

Inside I laugh, inside I crave,

Inside I cry, inside I’m brave,

I am not what you believe.

Inside – I am.’ (5, 207)

In this poem, one shares Harriet’s own perspective as she describes the dissonance between her physical appearance and the self that she recognises. She herself is keenly aware of how she is perceived by others, but in this poem, she rejects that outer image as the total sum of her parts and asserts a deeper self; gleeful, aspiring and intrepid. According to Nussbaum’s notion of capabilities, these are essential facets that denote her agency as with any ordinary girl, being ‘able to have pleasurable experience and to avoid nonbeneficial pain’ (76: 2007). She is born with the ability to choose and judge what she likes and what she dislikes.

Though Harriet feels she would like to distance herself from her body, she perseveres within the present reality nonetheless. However, this is not the manifestation of a rare and heroic stoicism, but the irritation of a young child. Harriet is presented as a brazen and mischievous secondary school girl, uncommon only in terms of the specifics of her struggles as opposed to those of her peers. This sense of self not only concerns her own self-image, but also the judgemental stance that constitutes its defence against external threat. Her mother is hospitalised and her father is on a business trip so her grandmother, Gloria, stays with Harriet. She notices at once that Gloria stays aloof from her, as if discounting any possibility that Harriet may be of any assistance. Harriet notices the undertone of undervaluing disregard when Gloria says, ‘I don’t suppose Harriet gets homework, does she? Poor little thing’ (35). Harriet responds in kind, gloating over her grandmother’s struggle to adjust to a new household and to manage her role in this unexpected situation;

Now she was on her hands and knees, like a skinny rat, searching through all the cupboards. I didn’t care. If Gloria didn’t think it was worth asking me where the sieve was then I couldn’t be bothered to show her that Mum hung it on a hook at the end of the cupboards. (36)

Gloria takes the mirror’s view, missing the self that it does not show. However, it is not merely a failure to see her that provokes Harriet’s judgemental repugnance, but also the resultant prioritization of mundane social affairs at a time when her grandchildren need her. Harriet’s self-respect is such that she demands greater involvement from her grandmother at a time of family crisis and Gloria’s shortcomings then provoke her repulsion. She synthesises an awareness of self and an awareness of family dynamics and an awareness of Gloria’s own person that produces this judgement. Harriet overhears Gloria’s telephone conversation:

I shall have to re-arrange my hair appointment tomorrow. I can't see Liz being allowed out of hospital before Wednesday ... Yes, it doesn’t look too good ... Can you believe it - I broke my nail, and with the party on Wednesday! Oh! I’m sure Liz will be out by then. Well I hope so ... no, I’m not really cut out for it ... yes - the bike convention - and Alan and I had planned to make a long weekend of it - exactly ... I don’t see why it comes down to me. That’s right. I’m no good at all with ... with the girl... (29)

It is of note that the use of the indifferent noun, “the girl”, is utilised to shock the reader: this is Harriet’s own grandmother, alienating herself from her relative, and failing her emotionally. But moreover, the hesitance with which she refers to her in this manner also suggests an internal reluctance to define her as a person at all, and to call her “the girl” is the kinder alternative to the lesser being she considers her to be. This hurtful emotional remoteness is keenly felt by Harriet, who opts not to think about her altogether.

What is certain is that Harriet is able to articulate her judgemental thoughts in her mind as an independent human being. Rather than ruminating over Gloria’s evasiveness that can weigh down on her, she is snappish and judgemental. She does not want to let Gloria’s unmotherly behaviour linger on her mind. She thinks very little of Gloria’s presence and her disappointment and frustration denote higher expectations and the belief that she deserves better than Gloria’s dehumanising insincerity.

This chip on her shoulder extends to having to receive any help at all, somewhat expecting the derision she has received from Gloria. Harriet’s classroom teacher organises a rota by which her classmates take turns to help Harriet. Charlotte is the one accompanying Harriet this month. She seems considerate and sensible, but Harriet is not initially open to appreciating Charlotte’s company; ‘I knew she didn’t want to be there, but she’d been given the job of getting ‘the cripple’ to her lessons this month’ (10). She thinks Charlotte only helps her because she has to (13). Harriet is cold and scathing. This offers an insight into the complex and conflicting experience of being one who receives help; those who give help cannot expect an endless supply of appreciation as a given. Offering a helping hand needs to be other-oriented and careful. Charlotte proves to be consistent in her duties and it takes time for Harriet to appreciate Charlotte’s support.

Harriet has another classmate, Greg. He taunts Harriet constantly without meeting any particular resistance from the staff or the other students. The book does not clarify his reasons. In French lessons, students are asked to match French food words to English translations. Greg raises a picture to Harriet by saying, “Cabbage… Chou” (18), which sounds similar to "shoo", as one would say to a fly. This harassment continues into lunch-time. Harriet gets nervous in case she spills food, but Greg attempts to spin Harriet’s wheelchair:

“Fancy a spin?” jeered Greg. My fork clattered to the floor, spilling sauce onto my clean white blouse. People on the nearby tables looked round… “You don’t mind coming for a spin with me, do you, Harriet?” … Now everyone in the hall was looking. I felt my face burning up. I hunched my back and looked at my knees, trying to hide from all the faces. It was Greg who should be squirming, but I knew he was proud of his display and was sauntering off to see Mr Elliot with an enormous grin on his face. (89-90)

In such an abominable environment with such an embarrassing moment happening every now and then, Harriet is unable to enjoy a fun and active time at school and a social life. A toilet should not be her refuge where she spends time on her own and shuns the company of others. It is horrendous that she ends up preferring a voluntary isolation. But the villainous Greg seeks every chance to chase Harriet and torment her;

Greg got down from his stool and deliberately tripped over my wheelchair, making it judder.

“Watch out, Spaz,” he sneered.

Spaz! Why do people think it’s so original and clever to say that? Of course, I am spastic, but only my muscles, not my brain. Greg was just an idiot, a worm under the wheel of my chair. (55)

Now, having heard such a derogatory statement, Harriet grows sarcastic and regards Greg as an imbecilic and invertebrate creature she would like to squeeze flat with the wheelchair she can so easily manoeuvre. She finds herself confident that she is absolutely normal and clever in her brain function, gloating over the difference in their minds just as Greg gloats over the difference in their bodies. This is clearly where she shows off her capabilities to assertively think and feel. Her capabilities feed and manifest in Harriet’s private judgements. On the day she learns in a history lesson of King Henry VIII and his six wives, Greg’s malice jumps up in Harriet’s mind. She is not cowed by it, instead indulging in a fantasy of Greg’s own execution;

I glared at him. Couldn't he be beheaded like Catherine Howard? He had the same enormous nose and ugly face I had seen on the internet that morning. I imagined myself as Henry’s youngest daughter, the nine-year-old Elizabeth, watching the execution of her hated stepmother, her small hand in her father’s. Catherine (a.k.a. Greg), wearing Mr Plumber’s scrap of grey silk, as the axe fell ... (90)

Harriet kills off the bully Greg in her imagination. There is no need for her to tolerate him. She grins to herself as she says ‘Good riddance’ (81) in her mind, expressing a tenacious desire to change her situation rather than her thoughts being an act of escapism. She does not adopt the poor and helpless image that Gloria projects onto her but maintains her own reaction. In the same vein, she rejects the notion of any other disabled sibling in her family. She does not wish to hand down her spell-bound condition to her future sibling. That is why she wishes her mother would abort the baby. She wants to break this hideous cycle. She does not want to have another ‘cabbage’ whom Greg would bully and tease.

Even with Dad around it would be too much to have two ‘cabbages’ in the house. (21).

She is concerned that her condition is genetic and that her sibling may be consigned to the same struggle as her, entirely beyond anyone’s control. For all she knows, it is an act of divine intervention, even prompting her to pray for an intervention of a different kind.

I kept thinking about the baby. Would everything be all right? Or was that baby curled up all innocent inside Mum’s belly but actually growing crooked and crippled like me? (20)

My eyes scanned the rows. There was the album from Jake’s birth, decorated in angelic babies with wings and halos. Please, if there is a God, can this pregnancy end like Jake’s (40)

Harriet is not an advocate of abortion per se, but rather she wishes to assert the dignity of a person, rejecting the notion of imposing hardship and hindrance on an unborn child much as she resents the reality that the same has been imposed upon her. Dignity is the crux of Nussbaum’s concept of capabilities. Harriet does not reject her own dignity, as seen in her unbridled self-expression and derision towards those who mistreat her, but neither does she have heroic amounts of hope and optimism regarding the notion of a sibling that suffers as she does. Her reaction is petulant and obstinate; a child’s judgemental reaction to a possibility she is emotionally unprepared for in tandem with an injustice she did not choose.

Un-judgemental Jake

Harriet has a dependable and refreshing relationship with Jake, a sibling who has no prejudice towards Harriet. She recalls an idyllic memory from their infancy when Jake insisted on being the first one in the family to take Harriet into the sea.

We were at the beach at Widemouth. Jake was carrying me into the water, knees bent, staggering under my weight but determined that he should be the first to take me into the sea. You couldn’t see our faces because Mum was standing behind us on the beach taking the picture but there was Jake’s perfectly formed back in his bright green swimming trunks and my arm behind him, legs and head dangling on either side. How Jake managed it without dropping me I couldn’t say, because we were laughing so much. (40-41)

There can be no doubting the immense fraternal love and trust that Jake has towards his sister. Harriet feels secure and carefree in his company, even when starting school.

It had felt so good to be going to school like Jake. Back then I had no worries, no fears, as I faced the big wide world ... And there was Jake helping me with my reading at the kitchen table. Oh yes, and Jake pushing the old wheelchair in the egg and spoon race at Sports Day. (40)

Harriet maintains her own dignity, but in Jake she has an unashamed other person who also values and protects it. In his relationship with his sister, the quality of her capabilities is enhanced. However, the transition into puberty lands at the same time as they are in the care of their unsettled and unprepared grandparents, in the absence of their parents. He is moody and stern around Harriet, not immune to worrying about his mother in hospital. His space of mind is crowded and he grows brusque towards Harriet. He plays truant; he does not come home sometimes. He uses alcohol and tobacco. Nonetheless, Harriet does not mind Jake’s sudden and dramatic change because she is still assured of his inner sincerity. Rather, she cares about his safety and wellbeing. When he does not come home on a couple occasions, Harriet is extremely worried and becomes overwhelmed by a nightmare wherein Jake is sitting on a wheelchair and falls off the cliff into the water. At night (at around 8 o’clock), she takes her grandfather’s mobile phone and wheels away to find Jake independently. She has never been out on her own (188).

She guesses Jake is drinking with his friend, Cameron. The trip to Cameron’s house is not fitting for Harriet’s wheelchair and the reader accompanies her on a route that is fraught with obstacles. When she gets to a junction, she needs to take a detour to find the slopes in the curb, which finds her in the middle of the road before she spots slopes to get back onto the pedestrian path. She then turns a corner to face a downslope into an impassable array of bins blocking Harriet’s journey ahead.

All down the narrow pavement in front of me, green wheelie bins sat like an army of soldiers barring my way. It must be bin day in this neighbourhood tomorrow… I approached the first bin but there was no way could I get past. I reversed the chair. Looking both ways I went down the dip and onto the road. The pavement on the other side was even narrower. No chance! I would just have to go down the middle of the road. (189)

The reader of this book has become Harriet, experiencing what it is to be like Harriet in her wheelchair through the first-person narration. In a hedged park, she spots Jake drunk and unconscious, face-down in his vomit. Leaving her wheelchair, she thrusts herself into the gap in the hedge and crawls across the ground on her elbows, dragging her legs behind her. She tries to wake him up in vain. She rolls back down and gets an emergency service. However, being unable to articulate the words properly, she fails to communicate with the officer. She instead texts her school friend Charlotte, letting her know where she and Jake are. An ambulance comes and transports them to a hospital. It is important to note that having to pass through all this hostile and unfriendly environment does not deter Harriet’s desperate determination to get to Jake. Reaching Jake means reaching someone with whom she has shared a portion of her life, particularly during a time where her parents are absent; it is to reach for herself.

It happens that Harriet has saved her sibling’s life. However, Harriet persists in wishing for her mum’s abortion whilst she is hospitalised with Jake for a week. That being so, Jake argues “that would be like a betrayal to you” (204)….It would be like saying if she had known you would be disabled, she would have terminated you as well (205). Jake goes on to confirm that “if it wasn’t for you, Harriet, I don’t think I’d be here today. I think that would have been it…” (205). Jake, who is unbiased against Harriet, is in turn not prejudiced against a future sibling their mother is pregnant with. Jake reminds Harriet that she has saved his life and urges her to accept this new sibling no matter what, as it has a right to be born. It may be Jake’s message the author would like to deliver to the reader of this book. Nussbaum, in her writing on capabilities regarding women’s rights, argues ‘Nor would most people say, if asked, that the accident of giving birth to a child with severe impairments should blight all prospects, for the parents or one parent, of living a productive personal and social life’ (Nussbaum, 2007, p. 102). The novel does not go any further regarding Harriet’s reaction. This is a typical story device in this novel, presumably to reflect Harriet’s rather fragmented and multi-layered thinking.

Nussbaum’s capability framework offers an insightful lens through which Harriet’s filial compassion may be understood. The various components of capability are reflected both in her unrelenting act of rescuing Jake and also in her acceptance of the birth of her sibling despite her nervousness. Her sense of imagination and practical reasoning are demonstrated in the way she navigates the unfamiliar and hazardous path she takes to find Jake. Her tenacity in overcoming the difficult trip and in facing an uncertain future are rooted in her emotional intelligence and affiliation with other people. It is affirming that Harriet understands that her unborn sibling deserves as much life as he or she can have. His or her bodily integrity deserves respect. Her sense of sarcastic humour and playful bluntness depict a resilience and capacity for acceptance that gives the reader a sort of catharsis. Her capabilities eventually result in an affirmation of human rights that is visible in her filial compassion towards Jake and her unborn sibling.

Harriet Accepts What Will be Will Be

Harriet’s actions become known to everyone in the school and beyond. She is offered a children’s award from the Duchess of Ken: the Champion Award for Bravery. Before she goes to meet the Duchess to receive the award, she looks at a mirror. The thematic poem comes up once more in her mind;

‘I cannot hide from what I see,

A mirror never shows the real me.

Inside I laugh, inside I crave,

Inside I cry, inside I’m brave,

I am not what you believe.

Inside – I am.’ (5, 207)

At this point in the narrative, she can truly claim to be brave inside. This internal bravery came forward, inspired by her love for her brother; a familial bond that nurtures a person’s capabilities. It prompted her to save Jake during the family struggle. She uses all she has and all she is capable of. She did it as Harriet herself, autonomously and without assistance. In this vein, she conflates her position with that of another fictional character, thus explaining Harriet’s ordinary and straightforward action. One evening, she watches Disney’s Mulan and superimposes the character Mulan over her exact situation.

… about a beautiful Chinese girl who had to pretend to be a boy and go to war in place of her father. What a great film! I knew only too well what it’s like to feel you have been put in the wrong body and to have people look at you and assume they know what you are capable of. (139)

Harriet empathises with Mulan, who denied the boundaries of her body by disguising herself and going to war in order to save the family honour, pretending to be a man on the battlefield. In a similar way, Harriet may be mindful of people’s critical gaze. However, what is interesting is that Mulan’s plight is that she wishes to claim honour for her family and to prove she is worthy in her own way. She gets through hurdles to achieve her family merit using feminine symbols; she is using her fan which is a distinctively feminine element. This fan apparently overcomes the sword. She urges other male soldiers to disguise themselves as women and use sashes to climb the columns of the palace for her and the soldiers to reach the emperor in time. She retrieves her family honour as Mulan herself, not as Ping the man.

This is what transpires in Speechless. In a world where a disabled version of herself is seen by others and imposed upon her by others, she ends up fulfilling what her able-bodied version maintains by saving Jake. Harriet leaves her wheelchair to get through the hedge in order to reach Jake. As Mulan uses what she originally retains, Harriet uses the body strength she retains without any external support. In doing so, she keeps her family member from danger. It is not to be misunderstood to read Harriet’s action as a heroic endeavour, but rather as the choices of an ordinary girl made out of concern for her brother. She has no need for the heroic recognition given by the Duchess Children’s award.

The novel ends with a scene where Harriet and her grandmother Gloria watch two blue whales, one large and the other small, rise out of the sea and plunge back down, having their tails hover momentarily before being immersed into the water (210). Harriet now has a new companion with whom she will swim through another journey by helping him to be another ordinary boy, nurturing him with good care so as to have capabilities with his own human right. This unseen baby boy, whose future this book does not cover, is born with the human right for any person, disabled or not, of: ‘equality, human dignity and autonomy’ (53), as Riddle suggests. The character of Harriet enjoys many of these as a human being, not because she has had to earn all those elements, but by virtue of the judgemental impetuocity native to an ordinary girl experiencing situations she takes issue with. Therefore, as has been noted in the reading of this novel, Harriet’s capabilities as per Nussbaum’s theory are neither born out of what she learned nor of what she is told but of what she has as the basic human quality and dignity she is born with; she is ‘born free and equal in dignity and rights’ (9, Riddle).

Conclusion

In Speechless, the character of Harriet narrates in the first-person, leading the reader of this novel into her life directly. The reader is given an insight into her as a person, able to understand her and see what is going in her mind with her narrator’s blunt tone. As becoming Harriet becomes easier, this article discovers a complicated and relatable self beyond what the mirror sees. This experience moves further in depth by applying Nussbaum’s philosophy of capabilities and disability. Her wide range of human understanding and human love has brought about a human rights-based expansion of what humans should be able to do and should be able to be, as a basic quality of being a human being. Harriet’s irritation provokes her and the reader’s thoughts, maintaining an active and judgemental criticism. Speechless encourages the readers to consider the criticism of fundamental rights in relation to disability. The novel embellishes Harriet’s judgemental thinking with her capabilities as a human being, enhanced by her fraternal love. Using these capabilities, she saves her brother and overcomes her worries for her new sibling, accepting him regardless of what the future holds. An expanded human love and understanding is what Harriet leaves behind in the novel at the close of the book.