Revolution by Jennifer Donnelly
A dark, historic tour de force that lives on my favorites list.
Published June 28, 2024



BROOKLYN: Andi Alpers is on the edge. She’s angry at her father for leaving, angry at her mother for not being able to cope, and heartbroken by the loss of her younger brother, Truman. Rage and grief are destroying her. And she’s about to be expelled from Brooklyn Heights’ most prestigious private school when her father intervenes. Now Andi must accompany him to Paris for winter break.
PARIS: Alexandrine Paradis lived over two centuries ago. She dreamed of making her mark on the Paris stage, but a fateful encounter with a doomed prince of France cast her in a tragic role she didn’t want—and couldn’t escape. Two girls, two centuries apart. One never knowing the other. But when Andi finds Alexandrine’s diary, she recognizes something in her words and is moved to the point of obsession. There’s comfort and distraction for Andi in the journal’s antique pages—until, on a midnight journey through the catacombs of Paris, Alexandrine’s words transcend paper and time, and the past becomes suddenly, terrifyingly present.
For a period of about five or so years, Revolution was my top, indisputable favorite book. It's still a favorite (although others have joined the list) but recently, I got really nervous about rereading it in case it didn't stand up to time. (Also, when I was about twelve and first starting this blog, I emailed Jennifer Donnelly asking about book blogs. It was very out of the blue of me, and she very kindly responded with thoughtful comments about a blog that was truly hideous.)
Anyway, Revolution's always been significant for me. When I reread it on a plane this past year, it held onto and re-earned its status as an all-time favorite, with the added patina of appreciating new, impressive layers I absorbed as a 26-year-old rather than a 12-year-old. I looked up in tears.
Basically, the book focuses on Andi, a high school senior guitar prodigy who's sank into a deep depression after the death of her younger brother. Her parents and school are riding her to just finish her thesis and graduate—but she can't seem to stop reliving the accidents. She's on antidepressants, antipsychotics, you name it, and is basically a thundercloud. Her dad's a hot-shot scientist winning top prizes for DNA research, so when he swoops in to force her to finish her thesis, she has no choice but to go with him while he works on his next assignment: identifying a heart in Paris that may or may not belong to a lost prince during the Revolution. When Andi finds a diary that belonged to the prince's companion during the Revolution, she gets swept into a historical mystery that could unravel everything (and has awful parallels to her own situation.)
For context, I am not a historical fiction person. Two of my favorite books are historical fiction: Code Name Verity and Revolution. But for the most part, I avoid them. I find them largely boring unless they're voicey enough (ironic, as I was a history major.) Luckily, this one is.
It does have a speculative element. A time-loop moment. I normally hate books with those, as I find too many of them just rely on a "what if you could do it all over?" twist, but this is done the right way. Still, tried-and-true traditional historical fiction readers might not appreciate the blurring of the lines.
I just love how ambitious and capable this book is. It tries to do a thousand things at once and I believe it does at least 95 percent of them impeccably.
As a warning, Revolution{' '}itself is heavy. The main character is actively suicidal throughout most of the book, and its darkness can be a lot to stomach. I can't think of many other books that capture this same desolate feeling, so I'd be careful if that's going to affect you deeply. (Recollection: I'm reflecting on another book I've read at one point, Romancing the Dark in the City of Light, which is equally troubled and takes place in Paris?)
The tone overall is very sad, angsty, and druggy. It's very Brooklyn privilege too, which upsets some reviewers (?) and its heavy-handedness may be a turnoff for some. I found the grief and emotion to be powerful, lyrical, and frankly gutwrenching rather than being dramatic for the sake of it. The guilt and confusion felt by Andi and Alex in the past dovetail in such a polished, crescendoing way that I cannot comprehend the amount of planning and detail that went into aligning each layer. The book does so much impressively that I simply cannot imagine pulling this off.
As a history major, the amount of research is staggering. I can't speak to its accuracy, as I didn't study the French Revolution in depth, but Donnelly has a wild amount of citation and references in the back of the book if you'd like to check, wink-wink.
I also adore the depth of the musical criticism and knowledge that seeps into every pore of this book. Andi's thesis is on a French composer and how his use of the tritone chord "the devil in the music" changed composition history. And the sheer amount of expertise wielded, the passion she radiates, and more is so disarmingly emotional.
Upon reread, I did notice some picky aspects: certain phrases or patterns repeated in a heavy-handed way within the prose, how hard Andi could be to like at certain moments, etc,. but I do think some of that is because she's so far gone in her head that she comes across as more narcissistic in a way I didn't fully realize when I was young. It's not her fault necessarily considering her trauma, but it is a part of her character that struck me differently. So I see why some people could point at this book and say it's too ambitious, even though I view it as a perfect book. Not in that it doesn't have flaws, but in that it's such a powerful, distinctive story that it doesn't pull from anything else. It exists singularly.
It's one of those books you look up from and feel changed. It's so absorbing, with so much circularity and so many details that close the loop. For example, I'd love to study this book in school, and feel like you could talk about it for hours upon hours in a book club. The sense of place is divine, dripping with imagery that sweeps you away even when that's not a good thing.
As someone who loves theme, prose, and symbolism above practically all else, I love pointing out the various motifs. If all of the metaphors were actually intentional: damn. Even if they weren't, the ways in which the past and the present riff off each other in this narrative are so, so impressive. Revolution is a hall of fame-r.
Stunning, stunning, stunning.
Excerpt

