Dear Richard Yates,I made sure to finish reading your novel Young Hearts Crying in time for your birthday. It’s now the February 3, and dude, if you were alive, you’d have been 84. 84, man, ain’t that swell? Anyway. Happy happy happy birthday to you. I hope you’re having a grand ol’ time wherever you are. You deserve it. I mean, you kinda had a sad life, and there was that terrifying period when no one was stocking your books, although no one could deny what a kick-ass writer you were—only unknown, and on the precipice of being forgotten.But that’s all in the past. I mean, you’re being read now. And I love you. You oughta know. [I’ve read three of your books—Eleven Kinds of Loneliness, Liars in Love, and, of course, Revolutionary Road, and damn, I think I have a crush on your skillz.] It’s nice to return to you.Young Hearts Crying is your second-to-the-last novel (1984), and there are echoes of your usual subjects. Michael and Lucy Davenport are two intelligent people, with quite a lot of flaws. We witness their whirlwind (whirlwind in its nothing happens one moment, it’s WTF the next) courtship, their marriage, the disintegration of said marriage, the lives they lead after. It’s after the war, so there’s that whole post-war-disillusionment (or misplaced illusions?) thing going on. Michael wants to be a poet-playwright, and Lucy–well, Lucy is a rich girl who doesn’t really pin her ambitions on anything; she just wants to be something else [a stint in a writing class, and then taking up painting--she notes a scene she thinks she could write about, but then reminds herself that she isn't a writer any longer. Girl's ambitions are in phases, for cripe's sake.] Michael and Lucy are so full of wanting and yearning, but a) they’re unaware of what exactly it is they want/yearn for; b) they don’t know how to go about it getting whatever that is; c) they’re constantly coming up against roles and their standing in society, their reputation, the glamorous artsy lives they imagine for their friends and peers.That’s one of the things that struck me about this novel, Mr. Yates. Besides all the wanting and yearning–which I’ll get to later–Michael and Lucy are so engrossed in ideas of non-comformity and reputation. Michael absolutely scorns conformity, he can go on and on about it–but he’s so swept up in it. That is, instead of just doing his own poet-playwright stint in their happy little cottage, he refuses to give up his job–because that’s what men do, apparently. Never mind that Lucy is a “millionairess.” There’s so much in Michael that’s dedicated to analyzing what people are thinking about him, about the Davenports. He’s constantly pointing out traits and flaws of his more successful friends, when we all know he wants nothing more to be like them. I mean, hello dramatic irony. And Lucy. Lucy, Lucy, Lucy. Confused Lucy, bereft Lucy, forsaken Lucy, you-have-four-million-dollars-and-you-can’t-freaking-figure-out-what-to-do-?! Lucy. I like Lucy. She’s all over the place.I am loving the depth of the secondary characters. How unassuming Thomas Nelson is, and how the Davenports are so wounded by this fact. The shiny-ness (can’t think of another word) of Paul Maitland, and how the Davenports are continually dazzled by this, even though they know they should know better. There’s the string of lovers for both Davenports, and I very much enjoyed playing voyeur to these affairs. Although, as usual, you seem to forget the existence of your couple’s child, Laura. Why do you do that? I mean, at first it’s admirable that you not talk about the kid at all–you meant to focus on the couple–but sometimes I think why you bothered about Laura. I do appreciate what Laura brings to the dynamics–that part where she has conversations with her imaginary sister was just damned awesome.And you know what I noticed? Your form. I see you busting out the technique. It’s so subtle, I’d missed it until I was two-thirds of the way through. Part I, it’s mostly Michael’s POV–until Lucy speaks up at the end (and she speaks up within the story, and in the novel, ya see?). Part II is pretty much Laura’s life. Part III, we return to Michael and Lucy. It’s all so organic. [In Revolutionary Road, I was conscious of the fact that it's pretty much Frank Wheeler all the way--right up until that pivotal chapter, where we get into April's head, that chapter where it's of the absolute importance to get into April's head.] I also noticed that the chapters work as short stories, especially in Lucy’s case. They’re so episodic, but you make ‘em seamless. It gives the dork in me goosebumps. My favorite’s Part II, Chapter 2: the one with Jack Halloran. That made me wistful.Your language gives me goosebumps too. It’s your usual straightforward style, and that just leaves so much room for depth, you know? It’s amazing. And you’re actually writing love scenes! Hah! That made me giggle. I love that you wrote them in Lucy’s stories–the scenes with her lovers, they’re so heartfelt, a little naive and heart-wrenching because of that.Another thing, you sly badger you–despite the ambiguities of that ending, I do believe it’s happy. Oh, baby pandas are weeping at the thought, Mr. Yates! Confetti for you! Richard Yates and a happy ending, imagine that. Then again, I might just be projecting, haha. Like Lucy said, “How could you ever learn to trust the things you made up?”So. I love Young Hearts Crying, although I am already Swimfan-crazy about you, so that may not come as a surprise to anyone. Still. I don’t know when I’ll get to read any of your other books, and that makes me sad. But, well, it’s always nice spending a couple of days with you, in your world. I’m so happy you’re part of my life now, haha.Lastly, I apologize for sounding a little drunk. And for my alarming tendency to speak in italics.Love always,Sasha
Young Hearts Crying feels like one of those stories about children growing up. The stories usually begin with a cast of characters in elementary school and we watch them grow and change through high school, college and into adulthood. This story portrays our cast beginning in college, in their early 20s, and as they grow into middle-age, we see how each character chooses to change and evolve. The times change around them; some adjust, some resist. Success and failures in relationships, career, and personal health plague each character, each react by either accepting their limitations, challenging themselves to grow, or stagnating. Stagnation is one of the most crippling fears that grip us as we age. Every character in the novel possesses a varying level of creativity: some are geniuses blessed with talent and success; some are clever minds who spark soon and fizzle, never able to grab hold of what they imagined would be a life-long career of creative success. My favourite character is a creative hobbyist. She throws herself into various creative endeavours: acting; writing; painting. She's very talented at some art forms, only minimally talented at others, but she throws herself fully into each project, and falls out of each just as easily, her attempts to find herself felt organic and open more to experience than success.Every character in the novels stays in contact with the others in one form or another throughout the course of the decades-long story. As they age, every meeting feels more forced and uncomfortable. It's an excellent message I've been advocating for years: as we age, we change; we cannot always hold onto the passionate friendships from our 20s into our 40s because circumstance and experience will change us, fundamentally. We don't stop changing once we reach adulthood; we do it our whole life. There might be people who you find when you're young that stay with you for life, but chances are better that they won't, and that's ok. Live fully inside the time you're in, and it won't matter that this relationship that means so much when you're 25 means nothing when you're 52. It's not a detriment of either person, whether in a marriage, friendship, or professional relationship, it all changes. Hold onto the people who are running along the same course as you, let the others go; attempt to do this without bitterness, and if you do come together again, years or decades later, your nostalgia will feel like a pleasant ache, and not as if admiring or loving this person from your past was a bitter mistake.
What do You think about Young Hearts Crying (1986)?
''Young Hearst Crying'' doesn't have one of Yates' most recurring motifs- that of a destructive wife and mother endeavoring to transcend her own mediocre life- yet it exhibits the figure of a home-to-work-commuting husband and father, one whose manhood's been taking a nosedive since the mid-40s. The moment they are married Michael and Lucy Davenport are faced with two predicaments: his ambition to become a poet and her private fortune he will not touch for fear of compromising his art. Lucy informs her husband about the money on the first day of marriage; for what purpose? To emphasize her independence, or simply make her young and insecure husband fell more (in)secure? I wanna make this clear: this is not a usual Yates novel! Yes, there is the American Dream and its casualties. Yes, the wives are proper as hell, with abundances of ''thank you'', ''please'' and ''dear'' clustering their sentences. Yes, all the protagonists pour whiskey as if it were on perpetual discount. First hundred or so pages generate a conception of ''Revolutionary Road'',''Disturbing the Peace'' and every other Yates drama, however the next three hundred (over 400 pages, this is his most extensive book but not the most consuming one) settle the ever anticipated tragedy into something....well, normal. No character is necessarily appalling or morally corroded. Their lives aren't an inescapable train wreck, the author allowed himself something uncharacteristic, to channel them through the narrative ''deprived of'' a heartbreaking moment at the end. Surprised after closing the book, by no means dissapointed, merely left in a bit of a msigiving.First part of the novel deals with their marriage, second and third with divorce from each point of view. My mother says that women grow older and men grow mature- an unfair but a biological truth. Men can reinitiate their life well into midife crisis, have kids and simply start over. Women, on the other hand have fewer options as the double digits continue to roll. We've seen it happen on numerous occassions. This happens to be my own conclusion about what Yates was all about in ''Young Hearts Crying''. Could be wrong, any input is welcome.Anyway, this makes me a Yates completist, however I'm not through with him, not by a long shot. 2014. will be the year of rereading. My first encounter wit ''RR'' and ''A Good School'' was almost 5 years ago. What was a kid of 18 able to construe from those book at that age?
—Bojan Gacic
Its chief flaw is not in Yates's adoption of a female perspective which, while not quite up to the standards of the perfectperfectperfect Easter Parade, is very well-handled—the horrid lovemaking description on p. 224!—but in the overlong episode involving Lucy's exploits in a New School creative writing class, the po-faced metafictioning of which hearkens back to "Builders", unquestionably the nadir of Yates's career. The usual good stuff is very good indeed: the excruciating party scenes, the portrait of a lonely childhood, the way a cancer patient "lowered her false eyelashes in embarrassment." But my favourite touch? Peggy's huge cookies, and how neither Lucy nor Michael, on separate occasions twenty years apart, are able to finish one.
—James
I love Richard Yates and have been rationing out his books for a few years as I will be gutted once I've read them all. Decided to treat myself and take this one on holiday with me this year. Expected to love it and it didn't disappoint. Richard Yates has such a succinct way of getting his points and the mood across and I think he was an absolutely amazing writer. The story is what I expected as it covers very similar themes and feelings to his other books, but that's part of the charm. Brilliant.
—GL
