He hates being told, anything, and he’s always up to something, and he cannot be stopped. The star of the show however is definitely Douglass, the boyest boy to ever boy. But the novel very clearly spells out a life. I can’t really explain any of the scenes, because they won’t really mean or add up to much. She’s not hateful and she’s not treated with disdain, just allowed to plod forth here and there with small social and emotional misadventures.
Mrs Bridge is a earnest, if naive, and political neuter person who defers to her husband’s (and the country’s wider) conservatism in all manners. The novel then spends a page, two pages, and sometimes a little more in successive 115 chapters each detailing some small event, part of the marriage, detail here or there, or events that cover the next 30 or so years in the marriage. Within a page or two more they have first one, then two, and then a third child–two older girls and a boy named Douglas. So the novel begins with a page and half chapter relating the meeting, courtship, and marriage of Mr and Mrs Bridge in the early 1920s. It doesn’t seem like it should be and if your parent also rented the Paul Newman/Joanna Woodward version of the film in the early 1990s, I don’t think that will do much to prove it.
I can’t begin to express how funny this novel is.
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