All fundamental truths I learn from fiction. This surprises many to hear and makes some question my intelligence. An editor once ended a conversation on this subject with a rather condescending, “You mean non-fiction. You’ve learned from non-fiction. Fiction is story; non-fiction is fact,” believing I wasn’t aware of which was which, thinking that we can only learn if the information presented is factual.
But I’m not that different from most. We all learn through observation; through stories. There are many reasons we read to children, and many reasons children obtain the stories read to them. Where would Aesop be if we, as a contemporary society, learned nothing from his fables? Every time any of us pick up a book, whether or not it’s from the literature section, the inevitability of knowledge descends.
“Okay, if this is true, then tell me what insight you gained from ‘Revolutionary Road,’” challenges a friend over dinner.
This did give me pause. She was aware of my malaise and small depression over the book, and was perhaps lashing out because I refuse to see the movie with her. Not for the common reasons bibliophiles abhor movies made from books, no. In truth, I think if anything, this book will translate well to the big screen.
But I didn’t like the book, and wasn’t clear why. It was very well-written, taking on social restraints from which a young middle-American family of the 1950s attempts to break free. The undertones of Yates’ tale are picked up effortlessly. It’s easy to conclude this is documentary disguised as fiction about the inevitable demise of the romantic relationship, and the inevitable demise of our individual souls. We are bound by the ordinary, no matter how we lash against it; no matter our level of intelligence and integrity.
I began to get rather bored, but kept going. Understand, the book is powerful in its realism and successfully places forth the quandary of what constitutes insanity. In this age we have, for the most part, risen above provincial treatments of shock therapy and frontal lobotomies (as far as I’m aware). Postpartum depression; feminism; abortion; mid-life crisis; suburbia, are tackled in a quiet almost haunting way. The power of this book wasn’t lost on me, nor was the theme of betrayal to ourselves in the quest to become a member of “normal” society.
But there are those of us, even with this knowledge, who have no choice but to gravitate toward a more magical realism sort of entertainment. We comprehend the warnings a book such as this brings, but we don’t heed them. They aren’t necessary. We happily skip over to “The Princess Bride,” shouting “Aaaaaas yoooooouuu wiiiiiiiiiiish,” while rolling down a grassy mountainside, hoping no one will commit us to the nearest mental institution.
All of this runs through my head while thinking about how to best answer my friend.
“On a Friday evening, in the middle of this book, I tried to stay attuned. But my spirit was filled with even more hope than usual. I felt too mild and happy to delve into a commentary on the inevitable mediocrity our souls are bound for,” I told her.
And then I began to think of that evening I spent in the bookstore—how I dog-eared my paperback copy of “Revolutionary Road,” placed it in my bag, smiled at the fellow reading at the table to my right, and headed for the children’s section, where I happily picked up the new pop-up book “Brava, Strega Nona.” Now there’s a character from which we can learn. The lesson is simple and universal: Don’t attempt to copy someone else’s brand of magic or else you will be forced to eat three-ton portion of dry pasta.
Shannon Calder is a freelance writer, consultant, inspiration specialist and book reviewer. To read more go to postcardscalder.blogspot.com.
