Revolutionary Road (alkuperäinen julkaisuvuosi 1961; vuoden 2000 painos)

The deliberate devastation, the humdrum of domesticity, the stifling deluded dreams in crumbling crevices of suburban living, Revolutionary Road is a post-war tale of a marred marriage swarmed by deceit and duplicity. Where there is yearning for escape from the past, from one’s self, expectations evaporate into stagnancy; two people disillusioned by matrimony’s happily-ever-afters are drowned in flaws uncompromised, childhood traumas buried, and potentials unrealised where the relationship continuously seesaws in perfect imbalance. More so restricted by heteronormative gender roles (wife stuck at home funnelled by household chores and taking care of the kids, husband’s ego constantly stroke at work, at home, at whoever who can give him attention in the midst of his own disdain for such pretences that to pretend is to cope) whilst surrounded by neighbours miserable in their own right. This novel encapsulates an inexorable entrapment. Be this entrapment caused by complete dependency on a spouse, sacrificial tolerance for the sake of the kids, or the legally binding prison of marriage where divorce is a non-existent utterance, Revolutionary Road is a pitifully painful affair. It’s personally easier to sympathise with the wife with her lack of body autonomy, ie., the topic of abortion / physical abuse, the lack of options other than donning the role of a meek, docile homemaker, and subjecting herself to motherhood. This seems to have been portrayed everywhere yet not as magnificent as in Akerman’s cinematic magnum opus Jeanne Dielman, 23 Commerce Quay, 1080 Brussels where the finale, once the threshold is reached, is similar to Revolutionary Road albeit the latter despairs with the inability to change anything / fooling one’s self something has changed / there’s no reason to change anything when everyone around you follows the same blueprint. But I daresay the sensitivities are lost in Yates’ novel which Akerman tackles so seamlessly in her film. Perhaps this is because of how we’re more exposed to the husband’s perspective where there are limited choices yet there are still choices. The lack of drive, contentment with what works (which doesn’t mean any better), contributes to these limitations (and maybe toxic masculinity too). Truth be told, it's always been easier to be a man than to be a woman.

Looking at it all through modern eyes definitely infuriates and frustrates. It’s quite a hard work to remind myself this is set in the 1950s. There are times when the book begs to be thrown across the room. And whilst these issues have somehow improved wives still find themselves unable to be independent and husbands are expected to provide all household income. The loss of one’s self in a relationship is a part of mourning when death is already recognised; if death is ever even recognised; if the idea of separation is even welcomed. If not mourning turns into selfishness where vitriolic hate seeps until an act of killing of whatever’s thought to be still alive is committed. ( )

Est-ce que quand je découvre qu’un film que j’ai aimé est l’adaptation d’un livre, je devrais éviter de lire celui-ci ? Cela m’avait déjà fait le coup avec [Légendes d’Automne] de Jim Harrisson, et c’est à nouveau le cas. J’ai vu le Revolutionary Road avec DiCaprio et Kate Winslet, et, moi qui ne suis pas une grande cinéphile, j’avais littéralement adoré ce film (que maintenant que j’ai lu le livre, j’aimerais revoir, d’ailleurs).
Le livre est assez différent et c’est peut-être cela qui ne m’a pas permis d’en profiter autant que je l’espérais. Dans le film, les personnages sont aimables (au sens premier, ils peuvent être aimés) et l’on ne peut que se sentir attristé par la façon dont le monde autour d’eux, le quotidien, a raison d’eux et de leurs rêves. Dans le bouquin, qui d’ailleurs se concentre principalement sur la figure de Frank Wheeler, les personnages sont beaucoup plus difficilement aimables (et personnellement, je n’y suis pas parvenue). Frank et April sont plein de failles, qu’ils ne reconnaissent pas et qui les empoisonne, ils sont bien plus responsables de ce qui leur arrive, de la façon dont ils mettent leur vie et leur couple, leurs rêves aussi, en l’air. Et ce n’est donc plus du tout la même histoire qui est racontée, ce n’est plus comment le rêve américain et le conformisme de la banlieue chic à l’américaine broie les espoirs, cela devient l’histoire de comment des adultes fêlés ne se remettent pas de leurs fêlures et sont capables de gâcher leur vie et celle de leur famille. Cela devient alors l’histoire de deux personnages particuliers, et non plus le roman d’une génération, ou au moins d’une partie de génération, prise dans un engrenage dont elle ne veut pas. Et pour moi, le livre devient tout à coup moins intéressant que le film.
J’ai bien conscience que je n’étais pas dans les meilleures conditions pour faire justice à ce livre et que je suis donc peut-être un peu passée à côté. Ce fut donc une lecture plutôt intéressante, dont j’attendais plus certes mais à laquelle je reconnais volontiers un certain mérite.

Loved this--beautifully and smartly written. Somehow it's at once very much of its time (the fifties) but also completely undated. ( )

There are any number of good reviews of this out there. I'm just going to say

WOW!!!!

and that goes for the film too, which really does justice to the book. A rare and felicitous occasion.

For the record, I read it in Vienna cafes, an oddly cultural and urban location for this tale of the new suburbia. ( )

There are any number of good reviews of this out there. I'm just going to say

WOW!!!!

and that goes for the film too, which really does justice to the book. A rare and felicitous occasion.

For the record, I read it in Vienna cafes, an oddly cultural and urban location for this tale of the new suburbia. ( )