I must admit, I did this the wrong way around: I watched, and was thoroughly enchanted by, the film of ‘The Time Traveller’s Wife’ before reading the novel. I’ve been told what a wonderful novel it is, even by the woman who sold me the book, and so I was quite happy to pack it as a holiday read, and it certainly wasn’t a waste of packing space.
The biggest flaw in the film, I found, was Gomez: gone was the cheeky blonde harbouring an unrequited love, and in was someone who frankly hadn’t left my mind as the guy who played Burger in ‘Sex and the City’. I much preferred the former, as it added depth to both Clare’s determination to weather any storms that may have hit her life with Henry, as well as showing the intensity of her grief by highlighting her desperation to recapture anything that could be likened to the intimacy she had shared with Henry.
Clare has to be one of my favourite female characters from a novel, and there aren’t many of those, as normally I find females have to be strong and independent, or submit to a turmoil of emotions. Clare managed to be emotional and strong; independent yet craving the uncontrollable love in her life: in short, she wasn’t perfect, but her flaws were legitimate and forgivable. The betrayal of Charisse seemed unimportant compared to the revelation that Gomez had been, and would later reprise the role of, Henry’s standby: Clare needed a physical form to embody everything she felt emotionally, illustrating her desire alongside her fallibility.
Henry is a character I have less to say about, mainly because I feel he was what he was: someone grasping onto his life with both hands once he found a point for it to centre around. His characters is innately wound up in Clare’s, which Niffenegger makes inherently clear in the title of her novel, which both solidifies and legitimises the hold the pair have upon one another: cause and effect cannot be revealed, because the one cannot be without the other.
The only character I really feel was let down within the novel was Benny: he seemed to start out as one of many pathways Henry felt compelled to take to control his future (or past, as it were), and yet while we’re told enough about him to feel a certain connection (his anger as his ex, Allan, for infecting him with AIDS strikes a chord with the cause and effect side of the novel, for instance), after the wedding and until the New Year party he doesn’t exist. Essentially, he is replaced by the more sage and infinitely more legal Kendrick, even down to his son’s suffering from Down’s Sydrome replacing Benny’s fight for his life. Apart from this, the major characters felt fully rounded and able to add to the three-dimensional view of the main storyline whilst also adding their own history to ensure nothing fell flat in terms of vulnerability, the interlinks between Henry’s life and the lives of those around him, and in substantiating how the individual contributed to the whole picture.
The couple of references to Henry playing Humbert Humbert to Clare’s Lolita is perhaps one of the things that caught my attention more than the other literary references: is it wrong that Henry loves Clare both at thirteen and thirty? In my view, I don’t see it as the same relationship as Lolita had with her guardian – I see Henry as more of a guardian angel, knowing he is acting on behalf of the woman he will love entirely by issuing a protective love to her younger self. The gun incident shows this perfectly, as while Henry knows there are limits to his aiding Clare, he cannot let her go undefended, and his return to the present-day Clare shows the difference between him loving the young Clare by his image, and him loving the older Clare emotionally when he kisses the cigarette burn scar. What I mean to say is, that the love for the younger Clare is based around Henry fulfilling a knight-in-shining-armour role, whereas in his present, Henry has to substantiate this image. The borderline of this is seen when he kisses a sixteen-year-old Clare in anger and she proclaims that it ‘wasn’t very nice’, showing that the physical cannot exist happily without the emotional side.
Audrey Niffenegger has achieved a rare thing, in creating a premier novel that can capture both hearts and minds without being overbearing or underwhelming. Whilst ‘The Time Traveller’s Wife’ is tragic, it is also softly beautiful, and this combination enables it to show both the whole image, as well as highlighting realistically the many compartments that create this whole, in turn causing the novel to be a timeless classic.