Connecting with "Mrs. Bridge"

The Fab 5 met tonight to discuss and dissect the life and times of Mrs. Bridge, the subject of the novel by the same name by Evan S. Connell published in 1959. This choice was my doing; I’ve been interested in reading the book for quite a while. Many years ago there was a Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward made-for-TV miniseries called Mr. and Mrs. Bridge (see photo to the right), based on this book and its companion, Mr. Bridge. I don’t remember being bowled over by it, other than I enjoyed seeing them act together, but I always wondered what the big deal was about the book. Since I’ve owned the book forever but haven’t taken time to read it, as I am wont to do I brought it to book club to inflict it on them so that I would read it too.

Mrs. Bridge is the wife of a wealthy lawyer and the mother of three children living the country club life in Kansas City just before World War II. Time is passing her by—her kids are getting older, the world is changing around her, but she stays just the same.

Tentative and polite to a fault, Mrs. Bridge (her real name is India, but she’s never felt it fits) has a complicated inner life, a life of quiet desperation, which rarely makes its way out of her brain. While she wishes to improve herself, she never can quite finish her projects--learning Spanish, doing charity work, improving her vocabulary.

World issues, politics, philosophy, art…all of these things interest her a bit, but she doesn’t feel qualified to offer opinions on any of them. She defers to her husband’s opinions, as well as his wishes on just about everything. She is uncomfortable with anything different, which includes people different from herself. Anyone of any noticeable ethnicity seems to be disturbing to her, in a ethnocentricity that goes beyond black/white race relations of the time.

She would’ve been a little concerned at the way we attacked the Mexican food we had for dinner. Far too ethnic, I think, and who knows what rules of good manners we were breaking, dipping our chips into take-out bowls of queso.

Mrs. Bridge is lonely and bored. She has everything she could ever want, including a maid to do all the domestic chores, but she has no one to feel really close to. Her husband works all hours to provide all the material goods they could want, but he offers no real companionship. Her children are rapidly outgrowing their desire to be anywhere near their old-fashioned and oddly unworldly mother. She has very limited ideas of everything, from manners to sexuality. When a friend commits suicide, she tells her grown children that the woman had eaten some tuna that had been left out overnight. When a cousin has a baby three months after her wedding, Mrs. Bridge mentions that first babies are so often premature. Since “appearances” are all that really matter to her, she never faces most of reality.

Sonya was so caught up in Mrs. Bridge that she immediately went out to buy Mr. Bridge and read it too. But of course we wouldn’t let her tell us about it, because we might read it too. Which made discussion rather difficult for poor Sonya tonight, because she couldn’t possibly discuss the book as if she were uninformed of Mr. Bridge’s side of the story.

We debated if Mrs. Bridge’s inability to do anything is because she is a product of her time or because her husband’s dismissive attitude made her to hesitant to make a move. In the end, though, it’s hard for a millennial woman to understand her. On the other hand, there are some very universal things, like the distance she feels from her children as they become independent adults. Or her fears about how the future is dark, that the world might just fall apart around her.

Connell’s writing is very unusual. Each chapter is a tiny scene in Mrs. Bridge’s life, and, especially in the beginning, it’s difficult to see where it might be going. But eventually all of these vignettes weave into a full portrait of a woman living half a life. He describes things so well. At one point, she has read a political book and decides she will vote differently this time around. She never gets around to talking to Mr. Bridge about the book, so she figures that for once they will each vote their own way. But on the way, she starts to feel doubtful about her choice. “And when the moment finally came she pulled the lever recording her wish for the world to remain as it was.”

While she is floundering in boredom and desperation, we wonder what her problem is. Why not take classes, or volunteer, or take over the baking, or whatever? A long time ago we read I Don’t Know How She Does It, which was the opposite—a woman who was killing herself “having it all”—children, husband, career. We’re looking for a happy medium—not too busy, not too leisurely. We can only hope our stories will end more happily!