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Mr. Bridge

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Evan S. Connell's "Mr. Bridge" stands, together with its companion novel, "Mrs. Bridge", as one of the outstanding works of Twentieth century American fiction. The two works, taken together, form the brilliantly wrought portrait of an upper middle class marriage in the years preceding and encompassing World War II. Linear in its narrative and meticulously realistic in its style, "Mr. Bridge" tells the story of Walter Bridge, a financially successful, but emotionally stunted, lawyer who lives out his proper married life in the wealthy Mission Hills suburb of Kansas City.

Mr. Bridge recognizes that his life did not begin until he knew his wife, India Bridge. His marriage is, in this sense, important to him. But he cannot articulate his deep feelings for his wife and, ultimately, gives up trying to express any emotion at all. "So the years passed, they had three children and accustomed themselves to a life together, and eventually Mr. Bridge decided that his wife should expect nothing more of him. After all, he was an attorney rather than a poet; he could never pretend to be what he was not."

Cold and emotionally repressed, Mr. Bridge spends all of his time at the office, becoming involved with his family only when necessary to ensure that proper middle class respectability is maintained. He spends his time visiting the bank, scrutinizing his stock certificates and counting his profits. Indeed, he is so focussed on wealth that he surprises his wife and children with stock certificates of Kansas City Power & Light on Christmas morning, only to take the gifts back into his possession so that he can properly manage them.

Manipulative and controlling, Mr. Bridge persuades his reluctant daughter, after she has won a contest, to accept a pony as a prize, even though she would much rather have a bicycle. When the day comes to accept the prize, "Mr. Bridge could not attend the presentation ceremony because he was again spending Saturday at the office." Like his self-centered Christmas present of utility company stock, this prize, too, becomes cheerless for his daughter because of his need to impose his will.

Deeply bigoted, Mr. Bridge cannot tolerate Jews or Blacks very well. When he has an opportunity to take investment advice from an obviously successful Jewish stockbroker, Mr. Bridge, instead, becomes offended by the man's ethnicity and ostensible pretension to be a successful upper middle class man like himself. Reluctantly shaking the man's hand, Mr. Bridge "could hardly restrain a shudder." Resonating with antisemitic feeling, "he withdrew his hand, which came away stickily. He wanted to wash it. His hand felt moist and unhealthy, as if during those few seconds it had become infected." Similarly, when his wife shows him horrifying pictures of a brutal lynching in the South, his only reaction is to ask, "what was this fellow doing that he shouldn't have been doing?"

A fiercely conservative man, with political views as deeply repressive as his stunted emotions, he cannot tolerate President Roosevelt. He even suggests that while Hitler was insane, "some of his ideas were sensible."

Indeed, the repressed feelings of Mr. Bridge find their darkest allusions in his feelings about his daughters, feelings that suggest powerful undercurrents of the sexuality that is absent from his marriage. Seeing his grown daughter, Carolyn, one night posing naked in front of a mirror, he cannot get her out of his mind. "He reminded himself that she was his daughter, but the luminous image returned like the memory of a dream."

"Mr. Bridge", like its companion novel, "Mrs. Bridge", is a stunning work of realism, a crystalline pure narrative of a marriage without feeling, a life without love, a man without the ability to move outside the bounds of middle class probity and respectability.

Evan S. Connell's "Mr. Bridge" stands, together with its companion novel, "Mrs. Bridge", as one of the outstanding works of Twentieth century American fiction. The two works, taken together, form the brilliantly wrought portrait of an upper middle class marriage in the years preceding and encompassing World War II. Linear in its narrative and meticulously realistic in its style, "Mr. Bridge" tells the story of Walter Bridge, a financially successful, but emotionally stunted, lawyer who lives out his proper married life in the wealthy Mission Hills suburb of Kansas City.

Mr. Bridge recognizes that his life did not begin until he knew his wife, India Bridge. His marriage is, in this sense, important to him. But he cannot articulate his deep feelings for his wife and, ultimately, gives up trying to express any emotion at all. "So the years passed, they had three children and accustomed themselves to a life together, and eventually Mr. Bridge decided that his wife should expect nothing more of him. After all, he was an attorney rather than a poet; he could never pretend to be what he was not."

Cold and emotionally repressed, Mr. Bridge spends all of his time at the office, becoming involved with his family only when necessary to ensure that proper middle class respectability is maintained. He spends his time visiting the bank, scrutinizing his stock certificates and counting his profits. Indeed, he is so focussed on wealth that he surprises his wife and children with stock certificates of Kansas City Power & Light on Christmas morning, only to take the gifts back into his possession so that he can properly manage them.

Manipulative and controlling, Mr. Bridge persuades his reluctant daughter, after she has won a contest, to accept a pony as a prize, even though she would much rather have a bicycle. When the day comes to accept the prize, "Mr. Bridge could not attend the presentation ceremony because he was again spending Saturday at the office." Like his self-centered Christmas present of utility company stock, this prize, too, becomes cheerless for his daughter because of his need to impose his will.

Deeply bigoted, Mr. Bridge cannot tolerate Jews or Blacks very well. When he has an opportunity to take investment advice from an obviously successful Jewish stockbroker, Mr. Bridge, instead, becomes offended by the man's ethnicity and ostensible pretension to be a successful upper middle class man like himself. Reluctantly shaking the man's hand, Mr. Bridge "could hardly restrain a shudder." Resonating with antisemitic feeling, "he withdrew his hand, which came away stickily. He wanted to wash it. His hand felt moist and unhealthy, as if during those few seconds it had become infected." Similarly, when his wife shows him horrifying pictures of a brutal lynching in the South, his only reaction is to ask, "what was this fellow doing that he shouldn't have been doing?"

A fiercely conservative man, with political views as deeply repressive as his stunted emotions, he cannot tolerate President Roosevelt. He even suggests that while Hitler was insane, "some of his ideas were sensible."

Indeed, the repressed feelings of Mr. Bridge find their darkest allusions in his feelings about his daughters, feelings that suggest powerful undercurrents of the sexuality that is absent from his marriage. Seeing his grown daughter, Carolyn, one night posing naked in front of a mirror, he cannot get her out of his mind. "He reminded himself that she was his daughter, but the luminous image returned like the memory of a dream."

"Mr. Bridge", like its companion novel, "Mrs. Bridge", is a stunning work of realism, a crystalline pure narrative of a marriage without feeling, a life without love, a man without the ability to move outside the bounds of middle class probity and respectability.

Too bad this little gem isn't better known! I came to it through the Merchant-Ivory film "Mr. and Mrs. Bridge," which combines both this and its twin, "Mrs. Bridge." "Mr. Bridge" is possibly the gentlest satire I've ever read -- looking piteously but critically at an upper-middle-class businessman in the 1940s who loves money and stocks so much that he actually gives each member of his family (including the kids!) shares in Kansas City Power and Light for Christmas. Somewhat reminiscent of Ishiguro's "Remains of the Day" in its sympathetic but potent indictment of a man who stakes everything on "business" and has absolutely no understanding of himself. Brilliantly characterized and beautifully written, this is a treasure not to be missed. The final chapter is virtually perfect.

I became aware of this book while looking for something good to watch on TV and came upon the movie "Mr. and Mrs. Bridge" starring Joanne Woodward and Paul Newman. I watched a bit of the film, then checked the TV guide and found that it was based on the books "Mr. Bridge" and "Mrs. Bridge." The movie looked good, so I immediately turned it off while vowing to get the books then watch the film. "Mrs. Bridge" was written ten years earlier than the "Mr.," so I decided to read it first. Actually, I don't believe it makes any difference which you read first - except, because of the last five anecdotes of the "Mrs. Bridge" book go beyond the ending of the "Mr." book, I might suggest you read him first. The style of both books is the same: a series of mostly short anecdotes strung together to tell the life of these individuals, each from their own perspective. They both love each other and their three children, who love them back, but their lives are so unconnected that they can't express any feelings. Their life stories encompass the same years between the two World Wars, existence in the same upper class home in Kansas City, contain the same experiences, yet which each focuses on in their own book is totally different. "Mrs. Bridge" has 117 anecdotes, the Mr. has 141. Yet, they hardly ever overlap. And even when they do, for example when describing their trip to Europe, they talk about different aspects of this highlight of their life, as if they went on separate trips. Mr. Bridge, when he can break away from his office, is a wonderful parent and husband. He provides all the monetary needs of the family and offers sound, sage, practical advice to each of them. Mrs. Bridge is a super mom. The kids, each different but ones you would be proud to have, find individual success, yet are hampered by their parents' inability to express their emotions. Mr. Bridge is aware of this shortcoming, but is unable to overcome it. Interestingly, though most of his life is spent in his rewarding lawyer practice, he hardly ever mentions any specifics of his long days at the office. He does express sorrow twice in the book, but only to himself. After seeing the cancan performed in Paris, he lies in bed next to his wife and bemoans that "something which rightfully belongs to every man had been denied to him." And later back home and suffering from a sleepless night he concludes, "all that he believed in and had attempted to prove seem meager, all of his life was wasted." Strong stuff. I wanted to shake him, smack him, and tell him no, his life was not wasted. But, judge for yourself. As for me, I'm going to watch the movie.

The emptiness of contemporary
American life, especially for
the American man, is on every
page of this book. Mr. Bridge,
while less forthcoming than
Mrs. Bridge, nevertheless conveys
an apt portrait of the comfortable
yet hollow American. The book
is, at times, a painful one to
read.

"Mr. Bridge," which Evan Connell published 10 years after "Mrs. Bridge," is -- if anything -- even better than that terrific book. "Mrs. Bridge" is about a life of quiet desperation of an upper-class matron but seldom gets beyond the confines of Mrs. Bridge's perplexed life; "Mr. Bridge" fleshes out the story, with insights into the marriage, the children, the friends and a certain kind of life in the '30s and '40s. The main character, lawyer Walter Bridge, is shown to be much more than the shadowy figure in the first book. And Connell, 10 years on, is a much more confident writer. Read them both -- you won't regret it.

This is a remarkable book. After reading it, I feel like I know this joyless man - - his repressed loves, hatreds, protestant work ethic, respect for hardworking white men and his sharp edges disguised as curves and his softness protected by guard rails.

Mr. Bridge is unable to express his feelings yet he moves forward in life guided by his loyalty and the emotions evoked by those he loves. His is a life without passion or joy. He is part of the economic upper class and a bastion of civility and control. He is always the parent, never the child. He is so sure of everything but ultimately wonders about it all. I could not help but love him a bit as I despised so much of what he stood for. I must read Mrs. Bridge!

Mrs. Bridge, the lead of the first book, written in 1959, is named India, and she falls in love with Walter, her husband, and they have two daughters, Ruth and Carolyn, and a son, Douglas. Walter is a lawyer and the second book, Mr. Bridge, is from his point of view, and was written in 1969. This decade difference shows. Mr. Bridge is the longer, more complex work, and while it covers many of the same incidents as Mrs. Bridge there are divergences. For instance, Mrs. Bridge focuses more heavily on the family life, and in it we witness the death of Mr. Bridge, and the ascension of Douglas to family head, just as the Second World War starts. Mr. Bridge focuses on his work, politics, and a wider range of social topics. The first book checks in at 117 chapters and 246 pages, while the second is a heftier 141 chapters and 367 pages.

That said, both are great books. Period. If you want character development, poetic moments, insight, a portrait of a certain time and place, these two books cannot be beat. The Bridges are petty, refined, bigoted, caring, aloof, devoted, rich, yet simple people. In a sense it is almost impossible to review one without the other. Significantly, both books start off with the wooing and marriage of both. It is as if the books' titles signify not only who are the main characters, but what they are. Both characters define themselves by their spouse, and, de facto, all we know, or need to know, about them revolves around their married personae. The only thing more important to the couple than each other seems to be what others think of them. In Mrs. Bridge it is phrased this way: `She brought up her children very much as she herself had been brought up, and she hoped that when they were spoken of it would be in connection with their nice manners, their pleasant dispositions, and their cleanliness, for these were qualities she valued above all others.'
Accordingly, these are not standard novels. There are no great, overreaching arcs. They are more like `blackout sketches'. Yet, each sketch is sort of like a minor point in the characters' lives, and each point paints a mere portion of the canvas. In this way I am reminded of the Pointillist style of painting. In both books we get essentially the same portraits of the two main characters, albeit slightly parallaxed. Mrs. Bridge is a feeler and Mr. Bridge a thinker. She realizes, at some level, the emptiness of their existence. He does not, at least not as deeply....Yet, Connell does not descend into caricature. Mr. Bridge thinks very ill of both blacks and Jews, as does his wife (to a lesser degree), yet is shown doing acts of kindness and charity for individual blacks and Jews. Then, he turns around and questions the motives of a lynching victim, and that of the first black girl who wants to pledge at Carolyn's sorority, or reacts queasily to the very presence of a Jewish investor, and wonders if Hitler was all bad, and not in the purest philosophic sense. Similarly, in her book, Mrs. Bridge has many moments of good and bad personal traits exposed: She is curiously fond of a young black girl who is friends of the children, she is utterly clueless as to the world of male bullying, she is scandalized at the thought of a dramatic presentation of Tobacco Road coming to town, and she floats through Europe until the Nazis invade Poland. Perhaps her defining moment comes when she discovers Douglas is looking at a dirty magazine, by going through his clothes while getting the laundry ready. He discovers her snooping: `He had followed her across the room and was now standing on the opposite side of the desk with his fists clenched behind his back. Seeing him so tense she thought that if she could only manage to rumple his hair as she used to do when he was a small boy everything would be all right. Calmly, and a little slyly, she began easing toward him.

Seeing that she was after him he also moved to keep the desk between them.'

Simply put, perfectly realized moments like this are no longer being published in contemporary fiction. Neither is the clarity. Poetry in fiction is not attained by over-the-top description nor baroque sentences straining toward Victoriana, but by the juxtaposition of the singularly beautiful, even if alone mundane, with another singular beauty. Yet, these moments, these points, alone give no insight, but arrayed in their respective clusters, then played off of each other in both books, they form two brilliant portraits, whose ends are excellent. Her book ends with mundane torture and his with continued delusion- fitting purgatories for both. Ah!, to recall more than just the art in a piece of art is always a great pleasure, and after getting neither the more nor the artwork in Henry Miller, thankfully Evan S. Connell restores faith in the way things should be in good art. In Miller, inherently exciting things are made to wallow in the worst sort of stupor and dullness, whereas Connell takes innately dull material, and weaves intimately exciting portraits by what he focuses on, and how. His poetry is bad, his short fiction wildly erratic, but these two books are aptly deserving of the appellation great. Damn, it feels good to write that!

simply one of the best books I've ever read. India will exasperate you and enlighten you. Through her and the other characters in Connell's masterpiece, you will have a feeling that your own life is unfolding before your eyes, complete with a beginning, a middle, and an end. It is simultaneously a disturbing and reassuring experience. Don't miss it.

I read this right on the heals of Mrs. Bridge. What a pair. I couldn't put this book down, either.