Trauma and Memory in The Sirens: Inheritance, Transformation, and Reclamation

The Thematic Claim: Trauma as Inherited and Embodied

In Emilia Hart’s The Sirens, trauma is not a single event or a purely psychological wound. Instead, it is presented as an inherited, embodied force that crosses generations, surfaces in dreams, sleepwalking, and art, and ultimately transforms the body itself. The novel argues that trauma—whether from sexual assault, body shaming, or colonial violence—cannot be silenced or forgotten. It lodges in the bones, the skin, and the memories of descendants, demanding to be acknowledged and, at times, weaponized. Yet this inheritance is also ambiguous: the same siren song that protects women can lure men to their deaths, and the embrace of one’s own power can blur into violence. Through the intertwined stories of Lucy, Jess, and their ancestor Mary Kissane, Hart traces a lineage of suffering and survival, where remembering becomes both a curse and a key to reclaiming agency.

Plot Point One: Lucy’s Dissociation and the Awakening of Inherited Memory

Lucy Martin arrives in Comber Bay fleeing her own trauma: the non-consensual sharing of an intimate photograph by her classmate Ben, followed by a university administration that urged her to protect his “future.” The betrayal shatters her sense of safety and sparks a pattern of sleepwalking. In chapter 8, Lucy recalls how Ben “opened her slowly and carefully, like she was a gift” only to destroy that feeling by sending the photo to friends. Her body begins to act without her conscious will: she walks toward the sea at night, driven by an impulse she cannot name.

This dissociation deepens when Lucy starts experiencing vivid, intrusive visions of a convict ship and two Irish sisters, Mary and Eliza Kissane. She dismisses these as fantasies until she finds the Naiad’s passenger manifest in a library database (chapter 17). The names are real. Lucy realizes she is not simply imagining the past—she is inheriting Mary’s memories. The novel portrays this as a form of genetic or psychic memory: trauma that has been passed down through the female line, “like a disease,” as Lucy muses. The physical evidence of this inheritance appears on her skin: webbing between her toes, scales shimmering on her legs, an iridescent sheen that mirrors Mary’s own transformation during the storm (chapter 27). Her body is literally reshaping itself to contain the past.

Hart explores the complexity of this process. Lucy’s inherited memories are not merely instructive; they threaten to overwhelm her. When she collapses in the library after confirming Mary’s existence, she is terrified by the loss of control. Yet these same memories also give her a sense of purpose. She begins to investigate the shipwreck, to write the story of the drowned women, and to reject the institutional gaslighting she experienced at university. Trauma, in Lucy’s case, becomes a catalyst for uncovering truth and for finally feeling a “heady rush of mystery, of a puzzle to solve” (chapter 17).

Plot Point Two: Jess’s Art as a Reckoning with Past and Present Assault

Jess Martin processes her trauma through painting. Her series The Sirens visualizes the shipwreck, the cave, the two girls holding hands as they walk into the sea—images that also haunt Lucy’s dreams. But Jess’s art is not only about ancestral pain. It is also a coded record of her own experience with Cameron Hennessey, the teacher who groomed and assaulted her when she was seventeen.

In chapter 35, Jess recalls the ambiguity of their relationship: she was “almost seventeen,” he was twenty-four. She had just learned she was adopted, and her sense of identity was shattered. She sought someone to trust; he exploited that vulnerability. Jess’s journal entries break off into violent ink drawings, “darkest in the centre, like a cave”—a visual metaphor for the trauma she cannot put into words. The cave, a key symbol in the novel, represents both the site of sexual violence (Melody’s near-assault in 1981, Jess’s own violation in the art room) and a place of siren protection.

Jess’s paintings serve multiple functions. They are a means of remembering what she has tried to bury, but also a way of reclaiming narrative control. By depicting the sirens—mythical women who sing to lure men—Jess transforms victimhood into power. The siren song, which in the novel draws men like Daniel Smith to their deaths, is a force that protects women from their abusers. Jess’s exhibition title, The Sirens, announces this reclaimed agency. Yet the novel does not romanticize this power. Jess’s own actions are complicated: she maintains a secret affair with Cameron for years after the assault, and when she finally confronts him, the outcome is ambiguous. Hennessey’s death is ruled accidental, but Jess’s involvement remains unclear. Traumatic memory, Hart suggests, does not offer clean resolutions—only the possibility of survival.

Plot Point Three: Mary and Eliza — Colonial Violence and the Beginning of the Inheritance

The deepest root of the trauma narrative lies in the story of Mary Kissane and Eliza Kissane, Irish convict sisters transported to Australia aboard the Naiad in 1800. The novel opens with a Historical Note about British colonization, land theft, and the erasure of Indigenous culture—a framing that connects personal trauma to systemic colonial violence. Mary and Eliza are not only victims of the shipwreck; they have already endured the trauma of forced transportation, hunger, and sexual threat. In chapter 27, Mary remembers Byrne’s attempted rape at a stream, from which Eliza saved her by striking him with a rock. Mary feels guilt for “freezing,” a common trauma response that she carries like a wound.

During the storm that sinks the Naiad, Mary’s skin begins to change: “webbed and scaled, as if she is transforming into a sea creature” (chapter 27). This physical metamorphosis mirrors Lucy’s later transformations, suggesting that trauma can literally alter the body across generations. The webbed skin and scales become a symbol of adaptation—a survival mechanism that allows Mary (and later Lucy) to exist between worlds, human and sea creature, past and present.

The sisters’ fate is ambiguous. Lucy finds them listed on the manifest but cannot discover whether they lived. Jess’s dreams hint that they may have drowned, or perhaps swam to shore. What is clear is that their memory—their terror, their hunger, their fierce bond—survives. Lucy feels “Eliza’s fingers in hers, the damp heat of her skin” (chapter 17). The inheritance of trauma is not abstract; it is tactile, sensory, inescapable.

Complexity and Contradiction: The Ambiguity of the Siren Song

Hart complicates the theme by showing that the same mechanisms that protect can also destroy. The siren song, which Melody describes as “beautiful, lilting music” that made her feel safe, also drew Daniel Smith to his death. Melody herself admits that the song brought her “wonder,” not fear, even as she witnessed Danny fall (chapter 28). The song is gendered: it protects women from predatory men, but it does so by luring those men into the sea. This raises difficult questions about vengeance and justice. Is the siren song a form of trauma processed into power, or is it simply another kind of violence?

Similarly, Lucy’s violence toward Ben—she attacks him during a sleepwalking episode—is presented as both a consequence of her trauma and a necessary step in her journey. In the epilogue, she reflects that the violence was “necessary for her journey.” Yet the novel never fully endorses this. Lucy is suspended from university, and she carries guilt. The transformation of trauma into action can be dangerous, even self-destructive.

Even the cave itself is dual: a place of violation (Melody’s assault, Baby Hope’s remains) and a site of revelation (where Lucy first sees her webbed skin, where the siren song emerges). The webbed skin and scales are both a mark of victimhood and a badge of power. By refusing to resolve these contradictions, Hart insists that trauma and memory are never simple. They are lived, embodied, and constantly in flux.

Symbol Connections

The Cave: As the setting for Melody’s near-assault and Daniel’s death, the cave represents the place where trauma is enacted and where the siren voice offers ambiguous protection. It is also the site where Lucy discovers her physical transformation and where Jess’s art originates.
Webbed Skin and Scales: A physical manifestation of inherited trauma. Mary’s skin changes during the storm; Lucy’s skin becomes iridescent; Jess’s paintings depict scaled figures. This symbol connects the female line across centuries, showing that trauma reshapes the body.
The Siren Song: A force that both comforts and kills. It represents the power women reclaim from their abusers, but also raises questions about morality and intention. Melody’s experience shows it as a protective presence; the disappearance of multiple men suggests it can be deadly.
Jess’s Painting “The Sirens”: The visual record of inherited memory. The painting shows two girls walking into the sea, but it also encodes Jess’s own trauma. Art becomes a method of externalizing and processing pain, making it visible to others and thus harder to dismiss.

Study Questions and Answers

How does Lucy’s sleepwalking function as both a symptom of trauma and a pathway to ancestral memory?
Lucy’s sleepwalking begins after Ben’s betrayal, suggesting her conscious mind cannot process the violation; her body acts out the desire to escape or reclaim control. The sleepwalking also draws her toward water, linking her to Mary’s drowning experience. As the novel progresses, the sleepwalking gives way to vivid visions of the Naiad and the Kissane sisters, showing that her trauma has opened a door to inherited memories. The sleepwalking is thus both a psychological response to personal assault and a physical conduit for ancestral suffering.
In what ways does Jess’s art serve as a method of processing trauma, and how does it simultaneously conceal and reveal the truth about her past?
Jess’s paintings depict the shipwreck and the sirens, but they also incorporate visual motifs (the cave, the webbed hands) that mirror her own experiences. The paintings are public enough to win awards yet private enough that Lucy initially cannot read them as autobiographical. The series title The Sirens hints at protective feminine power, but Jess never explains the connection to Cameron. Art allows her to speak without explicit confession, preserving her agency while ensuring the memory is not lost.
Compare Melody’s experience in the cave with Danny to Jess’s relationship with Cameron. How does the siren song offer different outcomes for each woman?
Melody is a teenager on the verge of assault when the siren song draws Danny away, effectively saving her. The song is protective and even wondrous to her. Jess, however, has no such intervention during her years-long grooming by Cameron; she only later learns about the sirens through her art. The difference suggests that the siren power is not always available or triggered. Melody’s story shows direct protection; Jess’s shows the absence of protection and the need to reclaim power afterward.
Why does Hart include the Historical Note about British colonization, and how does this frame the personal traumas of the characters?
The Historical Note establishes that the Naiad convict transport is part of a larger system of colonial violence—land theft, cultural erasure, forced migration. Mary and Eliza’s transportation is not an isolated event but a consequence of empire. By grounding the personal stories in this history, Hart argues that trauma is not only individual but structural. Lucy and Jess inherit not only their ancestors’ memories but also the legacy of dispossession and systemic injustice that shaped those memories.
The novel ends with Lucy deciding to write the stories of the shipwrecked women. What does this choice suggest about the relationship between memory, testimony, and healing?
Lucy abandons university journalism to become a chronicler of the Naiad survivors, choosing to bear witness to their lives. This act of testimony transforms passive inheritance into active storytelling. By writing the women’s stories, Lucy gives shape to memories that were previously disorienting and frightening. The ending suggests that healing from trauma—ancestral and personal—requires not forgetting but reframing, and that sharing those stories can build connection (with Jess, with the past) rather than isolation.