Yesterday I went to the hairdressers. I usually hate going to the hairdressers, not only because of the fear of them getting a bit too scissor happy, but also because of the awkward conversation that seems to ebb and flow with the awkward silences. Yesterday however was a somewhat pleasant experience resulting in a somewhat acceptable haircut, and it wasn't because she didn't talk about where I was planning on going on my holidays...
No, yesterday I met perhaps for the first time, a hairdresser who had a passion for literature. She was a 'mature student' about to embark upon a degree in English Literature and Language at Warwick University. Pretty impressive huh? Especially considering how I'd just sat there and told her about my getting into Nottingham through clearing, just to bring myself down to a level I thought she could relate to...
But there we sat (or I did anyway) discussing everything from George Orwell to Elizabeth Gilbert, and in surprising detail too. I mean, I don't even get this type of conversation usually with my friends at university - even ones that actually do study English! It was fantastic to be back talking about all of these minute details that we'd found in books and poetry, and not feel like a complete twerp for reading into even the slightest thing.
We'd both read pretty similar types of things, including Richard Yate's Revolutionary Road and surprisingly we also both agreed on our opinions of it. And I'm sorry to say what I'm about to say, but for the first time ever I actually preferred the film to the book. I know, shoot me if you want to, but I don't think I'll be the only one who thinks this.
We both agreed, whilst she was washing my hair, that for all of Yate's good efforts, the book was a little, well, flat. Now I'm not sure whether that was the whole point...whether it was supposed to be flat to represent how dull and flat the Wheeler's lives had become (or always were?). But either way, there was not enough volume in the parts that were perhaps supposed to lift the overall body of the book. I get that they were supposed to be on the edge of the typical suburban life, and I get that the whole thing is ironic in that they were perhaps never actually all that different to everyone else, but I do think that that could have been conveyed in a different way - perhaps without making the reader themselves feel like they had also been sucked in to boring suburban life.
Maybe I've got this all wrong, or maybe it was a little more voluptuous at the time, but both my hairdresser friend and I agreed that the film managed to convey a little more of the underlying subtexts that we both felt we found in the book. And it's pretty tricky for a film to convey a 'between the lines' reading of any text, let alone one of Richard Yate's infamous writings, but somehow I felt that it did more for me than this beautifully bound hardback copy sat on my desk.
So without wanting to overdo it on the flat hair metaphors, I shall leave it at that and perhaps we shall agree to disagree. Alternatively, perhaps you may see some sense in my madness and drag me out from the dark side where I shall sit casually and rightfully with my new hairdresser friend.
Perhaps we may even start a book club, and lord knows that will not be flat!
Ciao
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