The Time Traveler’s Admirer


The Time Traveler’s Wife was not a disappointment. Hurrah!

I think this may be my favourite book (or at least, one of them!), so I was understandably nervous about seeing the movie. What if they wrecked it? What if Henry and Clare didn’t look like Henry and Clare? I worry about these things, you know.

When I read the book, it was one of those compulsive, obsessive, I-can’t-possibly-do-anything-else-until-I-have-finished-this situations. It’s so well-written that you just find yourself completely immersed in the story, and – as I have a tendency to do – I formed a worryingly strong emotional attachment to the characters. I could feel Clare’s pain, and I wanted Henry. There’s something about the men in well-written novels. I spent a large portion of my teenage years dreaming dreams of Mr. Darcy, which explained my later (and enduring) crush on Colin Firth. Wow, it’s been a long time since we’ve had a picture of Colin Firth on these pages.

PrideDarcyCloseThat’s better. Anyway, Henry DeTamble had a similar effect on me. Maybe greater. The story of The Time Traveler’s Wife captures my imagination, the writing captures my attention, the characters capture my heart, and I just love it. There was every danger that the film would wreck it, but it didn’t. Obviously the book will always be better – and I don’t think I’d have enjoyed the movie nearly as much if I wasn’t watching it as a fan of the book – but they’ve done a really good job of sticking to the story, keeping in the key events, and condensing complicated parts. The ending was done perfectly: exactly as I’d pictured it in my head while I was reading.

I am now bidding on a used copy of the book on eBay (I sadly left mine in Tallinn when I fled the country) because I absolutely must read it again now. The film was great, but it can’t give you the sense of the depth and strength of feelings and emotions that the novel does. Not that that stopped me bawling my eyes out of course.

I forgot to bring tissues! I whispered to Bessy in alarm as the opening credits rolled and I suddenly, for the first time, remembered going through an entire packet of tissues when I was reading the book. What was I thinking?!! She reassured me that she had some in her bag, and I sat back, relieved.

Now, I remember, in the olden days (of my teens), that the cinema stayed dark for at least a little while after the final scene of the film. This gave a person the chance to compose themselves at the end of a Weepy – 30 seconds was all you needed to hastily wipe away the tears, force a smile on to your traumatised face, and possibly pull your hair forward so that you could hide the blotchiness behind it.

Not only do I no longer have long hair to hide behind, but the lights came up the very second that the last scene faded out. Horrified, I shrank down in my seat and murmured something about a tissue to Bessy, who had not, thus far, offered me one. A rummage through the handbag revealed that she didn’t have any after all. This was highly embarrassing, as there were tears running down my neck, my nose was running, and the offensive glare of the cinema lights was highlighting my plight to everyone around. Still, at least other people were wearing the same embarrassed expression, and there was definitely a lot of public sobbing going on. I was still crying as I got into the car, as a matter of fact.

What a bizarre way to choose to spend your Friday night, actually, when you think about it…


7 thoughts on “The Time Traveler’s Admirer

  1. Nothing like a good weepy film to clear out Gerty Gloom!

    Madame X and Love Story were the big tear jerkers in my young days. I remember going to Love Story with a young man and coming out totally embarrassed… HE was the one with a face like Niagara Falls while I was dry eyed and unmoved by the film. Not sure what that says about me! :sad:

  2. bessybumblebee says:

    I really thought I had those tissues! lmao!!

    I don’t think you should have felt embarrassed though! Everyone else looked the same – except me – I started feeling left out cause I wasn’t crying! he he he!

  3. Hmm, I seem to have had this conversation before, probably with Ms Moser.

    I am sorry, but I hated that. (What? There is a film? Well, the chances of me seeing it are slim to nil. Actually, they are nil.) The book was so full of itself, the writing so ‘look at me, I am so clever, this could be literature, dontchaknow’ that it repulsed me from the first few paragraphs.

    Her knowing sentence construction, setting it up, tugging you along, winking at you in its sly superiority, the whole thing. It annoyed me with its trying too hard to be something, to mean something, to be remembered. Trying to be clever without any wit, verve or flair. Flat, dull, boring and irritating. I didn’t like it, can you tell?

    As it happened, Cassandra disagrees with my thoughts on it.

  4. Nelly – I’m really looking forward to reading it again. And also, remember when you said you suspected that Stray might not have been a fan? I think you might have been on to something there. ;)
    Joel – The best men, in my humble opinion, are those who can cry at a book. Nothing at all to worry about!
    Grannymar – I have never been the one who doesn’t cry. I cry at everything from Disney films to classic tear jerkers, and have no control over it…
    Bessy – Still, though. You’d prefer *not* to cry in public, given the choice!
    Stray – No, but what do you *really* think?! I have no such feelings about the majority of books. If a story is good and the author draws me in, I won’t notice any of the things you mention. I just loved it, and that is all. I may never be a literature critic, but hey, I get lots of pleasure from reading!

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