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Ande Thomas (69 KP) rated The Time Traveler's Wife in Books
May 30, 2019
I've been thinking a lot about what I would write about <i>The Time Traveler's Wife,</i> partly because it seems one usually falls into one of two camps: Love it, hate it. It turns out, I belong to the latter. I won't bother with the sci-fi elements, the could he/couldn't he, the exploration of time travel as a plot device - I'm always willing to engage with a story as long as it follows it's own rules. My problems run deeper.
Spoilers abound.
<spoiler>
First, I'd be remiss not to at least acknowledge the creepy factor of a 40 year old naked man befriending a 6 year old girl. It's been discussed ad nauseum, but I've got to put my two cents in.
The whole experience reeks of grooming. Henry shows up, naked, in a young girl's life and (although true) casually explains that he's a <i>time traveler</i>. Her imagination is hooked. Her very own secret Magic Man. Over the following years, their friendship blossoms, and Henry refuses to tell her anything about the future. He is friendly, charming even, and always respectful. But he remains an enigma. Clare is pulled in by the mystery of the Magic Man. All she knows are the dates of his future arrivals. Until one day he begins to break his rule and tell her that they will be together. They'll get married and be in love and have a life. What changed? Why is he suddenly willing to tell her snippets of her future life? Puberty. She admits her desire to be with him and he basically says "keep waiting, it'll happen."
From that moment, her life has been decided - by Henry, and for Henry. Clare spends the entirety of her teenage existence (and beyond) waiting on Henry. The whole of her character arc is basically one big middle finger to the Bechdel test. Henry leads her by a leash with clues and vague promises of the future. We'll be together when you're older (we're destined). We'll have sex on your 18th birthday (wait for me). We'll meet in Chicago (move to Chicago). Even after his dying breath, he subtly slides direction her way. "I hope you move on, but by the way, I'll drop by when you're EIGHTY. But by all means...move on." Is it coincidence that Henry's time traveling mimics an emotionally abusive relationship? Clare tells us, "Henry is an artist of another sort, a disappearing artist. Our life together in this too-small apartment is punctuated by Henry’s small absences. Sometimes he disappears unobtrusively . . . Sometimes it’s frightening." Sure, you say, but he can't help it. He wants to be there for her. <i>It's just the way he is.</i> It's not even hinted at. Multiple people tell Clare <b>to her face</b> that Henry is bad news. But she won't hear it, because he spent her entire childhood molding her into his wife.
The author doesn't hide the allusion to Homer. Rather, she beats us over the head with it. And sure, it makes sense; Clare is the patiently waiting wife, Henry the distant traveler. Even Alba takes up her role as Telemachus, going on her own journeys in search of her father. But do we need both main characters referring to Henry by name, as Odysseus? We get it, girl. You want to write your own romantic Odyssey. Ease up.
Oh, and by the way - Clare's quote above? That's one of her first comments on married life. Her first thoughts after the wedding are "Why is my husband always gone? Why am I always afraid for him?" Henry's first thoughts? "How can Clare listen to Cheap Trick?" Let me remind you that this is the guy who's willing to rattle off a comprehensive list of early punk before jumping up to join in singing a Prince song, but he's upset that his wife listens to The Eagles instead of some obscure as hell French punk band. Also, this man who is thrilled to share musical tastes with a young teen with a mohawk then laments that the kid can't find his own music and has to take his? He preaches the meaning of punk before privately questioning why those kids want to be punk? Here's a guy who's entire life was shaped by music - both of his parents made livings playing music written before they were even born, yet he can't comprehend why two preteens could (or should) like The Clash, or why Clare would like The Beatles. <i>Stay in your own time,</i> he is essentially saying, <i>leave the time traveling to me.</i>
The guy doesn't even realize the pain he causes. Ingrid asks him "Why were you so mean to me?" "Was I," he says, "I didn't want to be." I know, I know. Everyone around her didn't want him to see her or speak to her. But need I remind you - dude time travels and frequently gives himself tips from the future. "Hey pal, take it easy on Ingrid," or "Bro, Ingrid is really shaken up, don't listen to her family or doctor, she needs some closure." But of course, nothing can really change, everything is the way it is.
This is all before I even begin to mention how much Niffenegger LOVES to name-drop. Of course there's the aforementioned punk band name-vomit, mentions of Henry's parents' work can't go by without naming a specific piece, despite adding nothing to the story or our understanding of the characters, there are two separate references to Claude Levi-Strauss (why?), and various other casual mentions of figures that seem to serve no purpose other than to prove that Henry is smart, and knows smart people things.
</spoiler>
I wanted to like this book more, I thought it had a fascinating premise and an interesting perspective. Obviously, I'm not a regular consumer of romance, and I realize that the problems I have with this book are problems shared by a large portion of the genre. But I am positive that we can have a love story that isn't mired by (at best) morally ambiguous relationships. I understand it was a different world when it was published, and that's not directly anyone's fault. Questions of consent and power and respect have been thrust into the spotlight in the short years since this book was published, but that's the lens with which I have to peer through. Stop glorifying these vapid, and frankly, abusive relationships as the paragon of romance. We're better than this. We need to be.
Spoilers abound.
<spoiler>
First, I'd be remiss not to at least acknowledge the creepy factor of a 40 year old naked man befriending a 6 year old girl. It's been discussed ad nauseum, but I've got to put my two cents in.
The whole experience reeks of grooming. Henry shows up, naked, in a young girl's life and (although true) casually explains that he's a <i>time traveler</i>. Her imagination is hooked. Her very own secret Magic Man. Over the following years, their friendship blossoms, and Henry refuses to tell her anything about the future. He is friendly, charming even, and always respectful. But he remains an enigma. Clare is pulled in by the mystery of the Magic Man. All she knows are the dates of his future arrivals. Until one day he begins to break his rule and tell her that they will be together. They'll get married and be in love and have a life. What changed? Why is he suddenly willing to tell her snippets of her future life? Puberty. She admits her desire to be with him and he basically says "keep waiting, it'll happen."
From that moment, her life has been decided - by Henry, and for Henry. Clare spends the entirety of her teenage existence (and beyond) waiting on Henry. The whole of her character arc is basically one big middle finger to the Bechdel test. Henry leads her by a leash with clues and vague promises of the future. We'll be together when you're older (we're destined). We'll have sex on your 18th birthday (wait for me). We'll meet in Chicago (move to Chicago). Even after his dying breath, he subtly slides direction her way. "I hope you move on, but by the way, I'll drop by when you're EIGHTY. But by all means...move on." Is it coincidence that Henry's time traveling mimics an emotionally abusive relationship? Clare tells us, "Henry is an artist of another sort, a disappearing artist. Our life together in this too-small apartment is punctuated by Henry’s small absences. Sometimes he disappears unobtrusively . . . Sometimes it’s frightening." Sure, you say, but he can't help it. He wants to be there for her. <i>It's just the way he is.</i> It's not even hinted at. Multiple people tell Clare <b>to her face</b> that Henry is bad news. But she won't hear it, because he spent her entire childhood molding her into his wife.
The author doesn't hide the allusion to Homer. Rather, she beats us over the head with it. And sure, it makes sense; Clare is the patiently waiting wife, Henry the distant traveler. Even Alba takes up her role as Telemachus, going on her own journeys in search of her father. But do we need both main characters referring to Henry by name, as Odysseus? We get it, girl. You want to write your own romantic Odyssey. Ease up.
Oh, and by the way - Clare's quote above? That's one of her first comments on married life. Her first thoughts after the wedding are "Why is my husband always gone? Why am I always afraid for him?" Henry's first thoughts? "How can Clare listen to Cheap Trick?" Let me remind you that this is the guy who's willing to rattle off a comprehensive list of early punk before jumping up to join in singing a Prince song, but he's upset that his wife listens to The Eagles instead of some obscure as hell French punk band. Also, this man who is thrilled to share musical tastes with a young teen with a mohawk then laments that the kid can't find his own music and has to take his? He preaches the meaning of punk before privately questioning why those kids want to be punk? Here's a guy who's entire life was shaped by music - both of his parents made livings playing music written before they were even born, yet he can't comprehend why two preteens could (or should) like The Clash, or why Clare would like The Beatles. <i>Stay in your own time,</i> he is essentially saying, <i>leave the time traveling to me.</i>
The guy doesn't even realize the pain he causes. Ingrid asks him "Why were you so mean to me?" "Was I," he says, "I didn't want to be." I know, I know. Everyone around her didn't want him to see her or speak to her. But need I remind you - dude time travels and frequently gives himself tips from the future. "Hey pal, take it easy on Ingrid," or "Bro, Ingrid is really shaken up, don't listen to her family or doctor, she needs some closure." But of course, nothing can really change, everything is the way it is.
This is all before I even begin to mention how much Niffenegger LOVES to name-drop. Of course there's the aforementioned punk band name-vomit, mentions of Henry's parents' work can't go by without naming a specific piece, despite adding nothing to the story or our understanding of the characters, there are two separate references to Claude Levi-Strauss (why?), and various other casual mentions of figures that seem to serve no purpose other than to prove that Henry is smart, and knows smart people things.
</spoiler>
I wanted to like this book more, I thought it had a fascinating premise and an interesting perspective. Obviously, I'm not a regular consumer of romance, and I realize that the problems I have with this book are problems shared by a large portion of the genre. But I am positive that we can have a love story that isn't mired by (at best) morally ambiguous relationships. I understand it was a different world when it was published, and that's not directly anyone's fault. Questions of consent and power and respect have been thrust into the spotlight in the short years since this book was published, but that's the lens with which I have to peer through. Stop glorifying these vapid, and frankly, abusive relationships as the paragon of romance. We're better than this. We need to be.