Who Started The Fire In 'Little Fires Everywhere'?

The fire in 'Little Fires Everywhere' was started by Izzy Richardson, the youngest daughter of the Richardson family. She’s the rebellious black sheep who feels suffocated by her mother’s perfectionism and the family’s rigid expectations. The fire is her ultimate act of defiance—a way to burn down the carefully constructed facade of their picture-perfect life. It’s not just arson; it’s a symbolic rejection of everything her family stands for. The irony is that Elena Richardson, her mother, spends the entire novel trying to control every detail, only to have her own child destroy it all. Izzy’s actions force the family to confront their secrets, lies, and the cracks in their suburban paradise.

Let’s peel back the layers of this fiery mystery. Izzy Richardson lights the match, but the real spark comes from years of emotional neglect and misunderstanding. She’s the outlier in a family obsessed with appearances—Elena, the mother, prioritizes status over connection, while Izzy craves raw authenticity. The fire isn’t impulsive; it’s calculated. She targets her own home because it represents the prison of expectations she can’t escape.

What’s fascinating is how the fire mirrors the novel’s central themes. Just as Mia Warren’s art disrupts the Richardsons’ stability, Izzy’s act forces everyone to face uncomfortable truths. The flames consume more than property; they destroy illusions. The investigation becomes a metaphor for digging up buried tensions—racial biases, class divides, and the cost of conformity. Even the title hints at this: the 'little fires' aren’t just Izzy’s. They’re the small rebellions and secrets smoldering beneath the surface of Shaker Heights’ pristine facade.

Izzy’s arson in 'Little Fires Everywhere' is less about destruction and more about liberation. She’s not the classic troublemaker; she’s a sensitive soul crushed by her mother’s relentless control. The fire is her scream when no one listens. What makes this moment chilling is its inevitability—every interaction between Izzy and Elena feels like kindling waiting to ignite.

The brilliance of Celeste Ng’s writing is how she ties the fire to broader societal fires. The Richardsons’ adopted daughter, Mirabelle, becomes a battleground for white saviorism versus cultural identity. Mia and Pearl’s nomadic life challenges Shaker Heights’ obsession with permanence. By burning her house, Izzy rejects these toxic ideals. She doesn’t flee afterward; she watches. This isn’t a tantrum—it’s a statement. The flames are her art, her rebellion, and her only way to be seen.