"Oh, dead man, you're dead wrong," I tell him. "The world goes on stupid and brutal, but I do not. Can't you see? I do not."
That line is the best part of the whole book. The problem with this book is that the ability to understand what message is being told is easier than taking that intimacy inside of you and making it your own heartbreak. You know what they say about forgetting what you learned immediately after the test is over? You didn't really earn it. Experience can beat all, and it doesn't have to be your own. Some real bodily fluid loving is missing here.
I read Jennifer Donnelly's Revolution in mostly one sitting (um bedding) because I'm down with the flu. On a normal health day I might have slugged through it because it's kinda boring in a lacks any urgency sense. I appreciated what Donnelly did with a lot of it, but there's something missing from it. I always felt removed. Maybe I just feel bad already...
Teen-aged Andi is prescribed medicated and self-medicated for the past two years of her young life. Picture your stereotypical cynical disaffected youth. Not quite stereotypical, to the credit of Donnelly. The problem was that the storytelling voice relied too much on this disaffectedness (the pretensious art school kids arguing the merits of A Flock of Seagulls made me laugh out loud. Still, who cares if they play dress-up?). I can analyse it and take Andi as more than that, only she sure as hell presents herself that way in the narrative, and at those times I really wanted more. Hers isn't the kind of depression that I can relate to and take inside me, but I can understand it. She blames herself for the death of her beloved brother, Truman. Mom has checked out (and checked into a looney bin), and Dad bailed years before (and not fast like a band aid). It's the feeling of being let down that moved me the most, rather than unimportant relations with her fellow teens (that she cared that the school hated her over the Queen Bitch was silly- enough to leave the country!- considering that it was set up that Andi is beyond caring about that. Huh). The wearing anger to wear I'm not able to get into so much, but the sadness that it's a fact of life her father easily moves on to a new family? It's the doesn't have to force it sadness that was moving. "What is owed me?" by the rest of the world is harder to do. I couldn't get into how easy her new relationship with Virgil is, at least beyond surface stuff of cuteness and liking good music. On paper, I get it that it's easier with those who don't owe you anything (unlike your mom and dad). See, I wish the drugs had been left out of it. The numbness felt more like feeling killing exposition (for this reader) than it did state of being. The drugs come into play when it is time to gloss over the emotions, but doesn't feel like looking up at the world from the bottom of a swimming pool, as these stunting drugs really do. Andi is perpetually suicidal. Yet I never feel the helplessness of that, or her self-hatred. (Not even the reassuring fallback plan kind. Not even cry for help or punishment. It's just delivered information, period.) She doesn't connect to anyone at all apart from knowing her favorite musicians. Andi's favorite music is my favorite music (I have more favorites, of course, but there wasn't one artist mentioned that I don't love to bits). So why does she immediately take to the journal of revolutionary French teenager Alexandrine? There was nothing in those pages that was not (and much, much more) already in the lyrics of her favorite songs (I know because I've heard 'em all). (They sure as shit weren't as good as Morrissey or The Beatles.) I wish I'd felt the connection more than her telling the reader that she was riveted. Or Virgil's cute butt... (who doesn't like a cute butt? Okay...) Too Fred Savage in The Princess Bride enthusiasm for me, before it gets to the "good stuff". (Why do I always think of him?! I think of all telling and not showing as The Wonder Years bad narration. "And we both knew that..." "Really? She doesn't look like she cares.") (I've said this in another gr review, but I'm Kevin Arnold in real life. "yeah, sure" and then overanalysing everything in my head. "Really? He doesn't look like he cares.")
Picture it, Sicily. It was 1924 and a beautiful young peasant girl made a wonderful pizza. Her name was... Mama Celeste. Oops, I mean: Picture it, Paris, France. It was 1795 and a plain actor girl had ambitions... She wanted to be Hilary Clinton behind Bill... Whoops, I mean she wanted to charm the young Louis-Charles, and through him the world... Andi feels responsible for the death of her little brother. Alex blames herself for not being able to stop the brutal death of the young prince, whom she grows to love as a brother. It's hard to play the roles you set for yourself, let alone the world wants you to play, and then know how to go on pretending after the worst has happened.
When I was about Andi's age I was friends with a depressed Czech Au Pair girl, Lucia. We shared a love of shoe-gazing music and she'd tell me how much she hated watching other people's kids. (I still have some of her mixed tapes. Bands like Ride, Lush, Cranes and Swervedriver are on it. They made her sadder, unlike me, who felt better listening to sad songs.) I have no idea what happened to her. She was really depressed, even more than I was. (The last I heard of her was a post card from home, in 2000. It was of a Madonna and child.) Alexandrine's relationship with the young dauphin reminded me of that, for some reason. Alexandrine's journal is also too much telling. (Donnelly credits actor Gabriel Byrne for answering her questions about acting. I love Gabriel Byrne. That's cool!) I could understand how she wanted to play other parts to be someone else. Like with Andi, it is text book depression and not taking me inside that need to be in another's skin.
Anyway, I was listening to Radiohead in those teen years, same as Andi, and I still needed the relating to my friend to understand my own troubles with sadness. I wish I felt it more than that, though... Don't rely on me for this stuff, authors, 'cause I'm still confused.
I wanted to high five Andi when she started playing guitar like John Frusciante. I knew she was going to be a fan of his, too. (Probably likes Jim O'rourke too!)
Something I felt was to Donnelly's credit was that Andi's being from an affluent family (mama went to the Sorbonne. Dad won a flippin' Nobel) was not an issue. It wasn't even contrasted to Alex's situation in the Revolution. The haves versus the have nots. Something I believe strongly is that it doesn't matter what anybody else has, what anybody else goes through: heartbreak is heartbreak and nobody's negates anybody else's pain. I despise it when people tell you someone else has it worse as if you're supposed to feel smaller (these people always whine endlessly about their own problems, I've noticed). Anyway, I liked that. Not that it didn't bore the shit out of me to read about the rich people. I didn't agree with Alex that no one would want such beauty destroyed. There's beauty everywhere. There's beauty in destruction. It's just not familiar to me, I should say. I can relate to Alex's love of acting and Andi's music. I couldn't relate to feeling owed, or what has to be, other than just wanting emotional well-being.
Andi's breaking it down of history for her dad's fancy friends was great. I remember explaining the French revolution to my seventh grade class as this: "They just wanted to turn the tables."
They already had it... Sometimes you need the good music to tell you what you already had. Or a long lost journal dealing with the same old shit.