I finished Revolutionary Road last night. Not the most jolly book I've ever read, but very enjoyable. I can't write a serious book review without sounding pretentious, so I'll do it really quickly to minimise the pain (like pulling off a plaster whilst listening to Brahms).
It's one of those books about the human condition (you know: like all books). The characters are tremendously rich and complex, and there's some beautifully precise little behavioural observations. It seemed a bit structurally uneven and...
Oh, forget it. I don't think I can pull off 'structurally uneven', no matter how fast I do it. I could be The Flash and I'd still sound like a crimson prick.
One part of the book I enjoyed was the indictment of 50s America as a cowardly generation. I like to read about other periods where society was crumbling.
Because that's every generation.
We all think our generation is the one that's headed downhill, and yearn for an unnamed and non-existent past. There's a golden generation somewhere, years ago, that we should try to rediscover.
But there isn't.
I'm sure even cavemen were decrying the malicious new influence of fire, and yearning for the good old traditional values of darkness, coldness, and raw meat.
We always think our generation is the one that has turned the corner - that we've reached a milestone (usually a bad one). We like to attribute significance to our time more than any other, because it's difficult to accept that we're just a small part of a long continuum of incidents.
I just don't think people hundreds of years in the future are going to look back and see the Credit Crunch, or the War on Terror, or Kanye West as The Big Turning Point. Time is a straight road, and the curves are minimal.
(Except perhaps climate change - which may lead to those same future people living on inflatable crocodiles)
So, Richard Yates talks about the America of the 50s as being afraid and reserved. I was trying to weigh that up against our generation.
I think the world of the early 21st century is cruel and shallow, whereas the world of the 1950s was meek and aspired towards shallowness.
Not sure which is worse. Probably the 50s. At least we have energy and desire (even if that desire is to film obese karate on a camera-phone).
Then I thought about all the generalisations that entailed. It's US and Anglo-centric, it's middle class, it's sensationalist, it's ill-though out. In fact, making any proclamations about a whole 'generation' is a ridiculous idea.
Fun, though.
So, the book was really good. I don't have many complaints. But, at the same time, I didn't love it. It didn't grab hold of my soul.
I find that the soul-grab happens less and less often. Not just with books, but with TV and films too. I want something that's going to blow my mind, but I mostly just end up with a stale breeze in my face.
Maybe I was more open to soul-grabs in my youth. I suppose everyone is - we get completely swept away by our favourite band or film or novelty toothbrush.
Humans probably evolve to stop getting too awed in adulthood, so you don't get distracted from childcare. You wouldn't want to leave your baby on a bus because you were gawping at a beautiful sunset or an advert for car insurance.
But maybe the relative scarcity of adult soul-grabs makes them all the more valuable, like a rare orchid, or a Saints win.
Even if Revolutionary Road didn't grab my soul, quite a few things have over the past few years. I've probably written about them all:
- The Fall
- Daniel Kitson
- The Wire
- The Graduate
- the disembodied hand of James Brown (but he does that to everyone)
I fear the onset of middle-aged cynicism.
But I'm not cynical. I'm an optimist. I may be lazy and foul-mouthed and rational and sarcastic. But not cynical.
I think it's because my parents aren't cynics. Cynicism is a genetic disorder. And it's self-perpetuating. Every cynic cynically expects cynicism from everyone.
But as long as I can write long, barely coherent, structurally uneven blog posts, I can use them as examples of joyous, aspirational beacons. There's no such thing as a cynical beacon.
There's cynical bacon, sure. Cynical deacons, of course. But no cynical beacons.
***
Right, that's it. Even by my standards, this post has been all over the place. I keep creating nice little end points for myself, but at the last minute decide against it and keep on going. It's like an Ultimate Warrior promo.
Ah, there we go. A reference that no-one will get.
That should stop this runaway train.
***
Of course, a runaway train could....
never mind.
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