Here's another powerful image, as the rat's physical isolation in the cage parallels Christopher's emotional isolation. We might even compare Toby's scratching to Christopher's uneasy processing of his realization about his mother being alive. Deep.

Christopher has a difficult time determining when people are joking, which makes it especially interesting to imagine him sort of putting his fear on stand-by until he decides whether or not his dad is joking (about killing Wellington the dog). When he realizes his pop's not joking, he makes an immediate (logical, in a way) connection between his dad killing a dog and the thought that his dad would be capable of hurting him as well.

Christopher runs away from home, but he only gets to the backyard before feeling a little overwhelmed by his newfound freedom. What does he do, then? Well, he crams himself into a nice tight squeeze behind the garden shed, and, safely confined, feels much more secure.

This is a pretty moving speech from Christopher's father. We feel for him – we really do. We feel kind of bad dissecting his logic but, hey, that's our job. We're definitely with him about it being "bloody hard" to tell the truth all the time. Like when your friend offers to cook you dinner, but you know she's not exactly the best "chef." You don't want to hurt her feelings, so you tell her you have plans to go out for pizza with your parents. We know, it's okay. Heck, Christopher even has to find ways around telling the whole truth. Really, telling the whole truth all the time might be "impossible." But then how can he turn around and promise he'll always tell the truth from then on? What evidence does he have that it's somehow going to get easier in the future?