A wonderful novel, written with the kind of self-conscious brio that I adore. Transposing (‘transtemporising’, I suppose) the action of Cocteau's Les Enfants terribles to a more revolutionary 1968 – when Adair himself had been in Paris – it re-examines the same themes of juvenile sexuality and death-wish in a closed environment, here with a restricted cast of just three: fraternal twins Théo and Isabelle and American student Matthew.Like Cocteau's closeted siblings, they live in ‘a misrule of isolation and disorder’, with an atmosphere that's claustrophobic, sexually-charged, prey to shifting power dynamics and random impulses. Free from adult supervision, they give way to what Adair identifies as ‘the licence of the masturbator to do, inside his head, whatever he pleases with whomever he pleases for as often as he pleases, a licence that must lead to ever more extreme fantasies’.As it does. If you've read Cocteau, you know how things are likely to end. But all the joy here is in Adair's precise and inventive prose. Here is a writer who is not at home to M. Cliché. His similes are sometimes long and a bit fussy, but I loved them: when we meet Isabelle, for instance, she is wearing a cloche hat and a white fox boa – but, we're told,she was as far from the sort of mutton-headed misses for whom such accessories represented a fashion statement as would be two athletes running side by side, shoulder to shoulder, one of whom has lapped the other.Often again the writing is succinct and exact and surprising. When Théo is made to undress in front of the other two, he stands naked and shivering ‘like some arrowless Sebastian’ – how I love that – ‘free from the grubby chrysalis of his clothes’. (The writing is particularly sensitive to the male nude, and later an ejaculating penis is described unforgettably, if rather off-puttingly, as ‘a purple-complexioned homunculus spitting gobs of sperm from its tight, lipless mouth’. Delightful.)Sometimes I couldn't even work out how he did it. There's a description of Isabelle asleep in bed that I loved, and re-read three or four times – but it seemed on the face of it so unremarkable that, despite underlining it, I still don't understand why it works so well.The book is much more explicit in how it can develop its themes than was Cocteau's novel: this opens up some interesting avenues but also closes others off. (Bertolucci's film adaptation keeps the explicitness, but strips away much of the homoeroticism.) Adair idolised Cocteau, even modelling his signature on that of his hero, and this book (his first) was clearly a labour of love. Sure enough, I loved it.
Having been a huge fan of the motion picture, I very much wanted to read the novel...especially when I learned that the novelist was responsible for the screenplay. From the Afterward, I learned that the original novel interested the filmmakers, and the writer completed this current version after writing the screenplay. What has emerged on the written page is not a novelization of the movie. In most cases, I would consider that very positive as I enjoy receiving further insight into the events depicted and the motivations of the characters. This time, though, the book would have benefited from adhering more closely to the writer's own screenplay. While I saw a parallel sense between the events depicted both inside of and outside of the apartment in the movie, they seemed entirely unrelated to me in the book.What I saw were two separate stories...the relationship between the brother, sister and friend as they cut themselves off from the world in their apartment, and the "revolution" going on outside of the apartment walls. In the film, there was a connection. In the book, I felt that I had to force a connection, and that was disconcerting.Now, both stories are interesting are interesting on their own. Before seeing the movie, I had not known of the protest revolt in Paris in the 1960's. The characters drew me in because I was also a cinephile, and the cinema history games they played resonated with my youthful memories.This aspect still drew me into the book. The relationship of the brother and sister made more sense in the book, yet some of the actions of the trio defied logic. The behavior seemed more of a device to keep them in the apartment, isolated from the events happening around them.I'm not certain how I would have felt about this work if I had not seen the movie first and had such high expectations. Perhaps the surprise I would have experienced from their emerging would have caused me to overlook the shaky framework. I don't know.It was worth the reading. I doubt that this version will linger in my mind as the movie has done.
Do You like book The Dreamers (2004)?
"The Deamers" is an interesting novel in that it takes place in Paris during the May student uprising as well as compulsive film going on the side. Therefore already in theory a great dinner dish, but there is something flat about the book that I can't put my finger on. I should have loved this book - because it touches all the subjects I am interested in - film passion, revolt, sexuality, but instead, I sort of yawned. Maybe me, more than the book.What I do remember is I bought this book in London - somewhere in Soho. And at the time I thought "what a great book to buy in Soho."
—Tosh
This novel is a finely made sandwich with a piece of rotten meat in the middle. Adair's prose is solid and beautifully crafted enough that it got me through even the most self serving, pompous parts of the story. I was all on board for the dreamy, incestuous threesome part of the book (which is much better than it sounds, trust me) but then suddenly the characters were eating cat food, spewing vomit at each other, before finally smearing poop on themselves like Indian war paint and I had to admit that a level of art house funk had been achieved that I couldn't swallow.
—Kitty
I was delighted, and somewhat surprised, to learn that Gilbert Adair was responsible for writing The Dreamers. I saw the film a few years ago and recall the shock I felt at its erotic content, but the story stayed with me. This book, which Adair insists is more like a pair of matching grey trousers than a novelisation, was rewritten from the screenplay and his original version, The Holy Innocents. It's obviously a text that has come to dominate Adair's professional life and reputation, and has been his career's biggest success.The story is one of perverse friendship and a deep love of cinema, and despite the characters having less room for expression in the novel, having seen the film it is easier to immerse yourself in the world of these romantic students.As a novel, the prose is fast, frenetic and passionate, though not entirely free from the occasional clunky phrase. Recommended along with the movie.
—MJ Nicholls
