Thank you to midnight audiobook-surfing sessions on my library’s website spurred on by quarter-life crises and general ennui.
I was in the right mood to find Revolution, the beautiful dual-POV story of girls struggling against greatest sins of humanity: hatred and inaction. It’s also the tragic tale of one girl’s attempt to rise out of the waters of depression; another’s quest to make one little boy happy before his death, even in the face of certain death.
It’s a book that’s alive with the harmonic dissonance of the diabolus in musica and minor keys; it’s a book that roils with angry splatters of red blood and the swooping blackness of true despair; and it’s a book that crosses centuries and continents, ringing so profoundly true to real life that it’s beautiful and terrifying all at once.
I have not been so brutally wrung-out emotionally by a novel in a very, very long time. Not often do I simply sit motionless on a chair, transfixed by the words I am hearing. I could think only of a quote from Look Back in Anger, a brilliant drama from one of the Angry Young Men, John Osbourne, that says:
“I suppose people of our generation aren’t able to die for good causes any longer.”
Can I consider this a novel of two Angry Young Women? That the ecstasy of this novel should spur us to some kind of action? I’ll take it, and the pain that comes with it.
Just hand me my red ribbon.