“Like a House on Fire” is the story of a couple navigating the challenges of love, pain, and family. When the unnamed narrator’s workplace injury puts a serious strain on his marriage, Kennedy portrays how he and his wife, Claire, rely on humor to keep their relationship alive, and to communicate with one another about things that would otherwise go unsaid.
Through the example of the narrator and Claire, Kennedy candidly depicts the nature of close relationships and suggests that stress and tension are sometimes inevitable. The narrator admits, for example, that he and Claire share “very little eye contact these days.” The stress in their daily lives—caused by the narrator’s ill health and their precarious financial situation—is evident in the way they now communicate with one another: “It gets so you can almost hear a head shaking in pained disbelief, or distant teeth grinding in the silence.” Indeed, lamenting the growing friction in their marriage, the narrator remembers how they “used to get on like a house on fire.” This is a significant symbol throughout the story, and the narrator initially uses the simile to evoke ideas of love and passion. Now, however, he acknowledges that the expression is misleading, and that it actually connotes danger and destruction rather than affection and intimacy. He concedes that “a house on fire is a perfect description for what seems to be happening now” because he feels that his marriage is at risk of being ruined. Presumably this isn’t the first time that the narrator and his wife have experienced stress together—they have three children, after all—but Kennedy suggests that the reason their marriage is particularly vulnerable at the moment is because they seem unable to communicate with one another effectively, and this impairs their ability to face challenges as a united team.
However, the interactions between the narrator and Claire also demonstrate how humor can stand in as a powerful language to overcome stress and lack of communication in intimate relationships. In the absence of effective communication, jokes and humor act as a barometer with which the narrator can evaluate the health of his marriage. He recalls how he and Claire had laughed about his diagnosis at the beginning, approaching the calamity with positivity and unity. Now, he accepts that it’s been a while since the two of them joked together, indicating the distance between him and his wife. But despite this diminished sense of fun in their relationship, Claire and the narrator still use humor as a coping mechanism. Among the unspoken resentments, they share fleeting happy moments when they are able to laugh together. When the narrator breaks the entire box of Claire’s childhood nativity figurines, she laughs, saying: “That's OK. It was made in the Philippines. Funny how everything except the Jesus broke.” Here, Kennedy provides a nuanced and realistic portrayal of married life, revealing how the couple uses laughter as a language of its own, expressing the feelings that might otherwise go unsaid. In the place of apologies or forgiveness, the couple is able to communicate their love for one another through humor, utilizing it as a form of relief from the daily stresses they are experiencing.
Through the narrator and his wife—who ultimately manage to rekindle their connection—Kennedy suggests that humor is essential for the long-term survival of close relationships. When Claire returns from her Christmas Eve shift, the narrator asks her to stand on his back to try and relieve some of the pain. Claire reluctantly agrees, saying “Well, maybe this isn't doing you much good, but it's working for me.” Her faux cruelty brings the narrator joy: “I smile into the floor, in spite of myself, feeling my sternum take the pressure.” The narrator is literally vulnerable in this moment—lying on the floor in pain, with his wife standing precariously on his injured back—as well as emotionally vulnerable—admitting that he is struggling and requires her help. Through humor, however, for the first time in the story the narrator is able to accept his weakness and embrace a moment of vulnerable intimacy with his wife. At the story’s close, Kennedy returns to the fire imagery in order to reveal how their shared humor has allowed them to reclaim the love that still exists in their marriage: “I look at her, feeling that small heat build between us […] This is how you do it, I think, stick by careful stick over the ashes, oxygen and fuel, a controlled burn.”
In “Like a House on Fire,” Kennedy explores the power of humor to bridge gaps and bring people together in the face of adversity. Ultimately, the narrator and his wife are able to reclaim their relationship’s intimacy through humor, and through their example Kennedy suggests that real-life intimate relationships might benefit from the same approach.
Intimacy, Communication, and Humor ThemeTracker
Intimacy, Communication, and Humor Quotes in Like a House on Fire
“Every sheep and cow, every adoring shepherd, broken. Only the baby Jesus in his crib, one leg raised in that classic nappy-changing pose, remains miraculously unscathed.”
Some days it feels like that's my entire identity focused there in one single space between two injured segments of a bone puzzle, shrunk down to one locus of existence, and seized there.
Footsteps, muttering, the sound of fingers stirring through ceramic debris. A tightly constrained hiss of frustration and fury. You get good at listening to sounds in a household when you're prone; it gets so you can almost hear a head shaking in pained disbelief, or distant teeth grinding in the silence.
A long while has passed since we'd made jokes […] I can't remember the last time my wife touched me with hands that were anything except neutral and businesslike […] It was a side to her I was seeing for the first time, this professional, acquired distance. At our house, in our script, Claire was the slapdash one.
“Look,' she says, 'either tell Sam to get it out, or forget about it. Just give the martyrdom and control freakery a rest.”
Listening to the two of us, you'd never believe that we used to get on like a house on fire, that even after we had the kids, occasionally we'd stay up late, just talking. But now that I think of it, a house on fire is a perfect description for what seems to be happening now: these flickering small resentments licking their way up into the wall cavities; this faint, acrid smell of smoke. And suddenly, before you know it, everything threatening to go roaring out of control […] And what am I? The guy who can't get the firetruck started? The one turning and turning the creaking tap, knowing the tank is draining empty, the one with the taste of ash in his mouth and all this black and brittle aftermath?
I look at her, feeling that small heat build between us. Our breaths fuelling it, close to the ground. This is how you do it, I think, stick by careful stick over the ashes, oxygen and fuel, a controlled burn.