Older men

I’d been wanting to read a Coco Mellors novel for a while when I took the plunge into Cleopatra and Frankenstein.

From the get-go, I loved it.

Wrapped in a multidirectional subtext, the novel follows the story of Cleo, a young artist, and Frank, a 40 something figure in the advertising industry, navigating their friendships, emotions, and self-hood. Firstly, one of the main characters in my own novel is called Frank, so I quite adored the name choice, however the underlying meaning between the nicknames they give each other is fascinating and considered. Take Frankenstein, for example. Usually perceived as the monster, Frankenstein is actually the scientist, struck by fear and horror at what he has created through his unchecked and swollen ambition. By delivering us this image, Mellors demonstrates in no uncertain terms how layered Frank is as a person, creating interesting elements for the conversation that will be the primary focus of this article.

On the other hand, Cleo is naive but driven. In her first meeting with Frank, she is strictly feminist and free-spirited, yet throughout the novel we see Cleo’s hidden insecurities, perhaps mirroring those of the (in)famous Cleopatra. There is an underlying sadness about her, a feeling that she is lost, which comes to the surface in the most harmful ways.

The whole older man-younger woman, or indeed older and younger partner dynamic, is very intriguing to me. Frank becomes a surrogate father for Cleo, as older women may do as mothers for younger men. As in many things, this may point back to a fractious relationship with said parent, but as Mellors shows us; this can be much more nuanced.

The generational rift between Frank and Cleo isn’t, in my opinion, hugely visible until the final chapters of the novel. While it is of course highlighted, in their manner and their behaviours, the most startling element of their relationship is how they fall into destructive habits. The drug taking and partying, with a man fearing ageing and a woman playing her “youthful” part, both parties are equally damaged by the relationship. They are not good for each other for reasons besides their age gap.

It cannot be denied that a generational difference adds a certain power dynamic, especially when the older person is a man [and the younger a woman]. In this case, the masculine dominance is supplemented with a knowledge and experience that younger people may not have yet, putting them at risk of grooming behaviours. This happens again and again, and it is important to differentiate these characteristics from what we are discussing today. The romantic tint in this book is not glorifying but revealing, speaking to us of our biases when everything seems rosy on the surface.

The events become more raw as we progress through the novel. While written as a romance, this novel is also a “Bildungsroman”, for Frank as much as Cleo. Cleo is constantly on the search for feeling, whether that be provoked by horrifying events or situations, or through thrill-seeking. She finds financial and emotional security (she thinks) in Frank, which ultimately leads to their quick engagement. They were both wild and in love when they met, leaping into something certain in a time of feeling lost.

No matter the age gap, coercion is coercion. People could be the same age or have a twenty year difference, it does not change the ill will that one may have when entering into a romantic interaction. While it is often the older person in an age gap relationship who wields this power, it does not mean that all older partners will exhibit these behaviours.

So all in all — who is our enemy here?

A key theme of the novel, and indeed a necessary question, is the idea of loving someone who is broken, who cannot (or will not) love themselves. There are multiple avenues to this, whether it be that both parties are troubled, or one is, adding pressure to the one who is not. However, this is wildly subjective, and therefore we cannot paint everyone with the same brush. Everyone has their own darkness, the bits of themselves that perhaps are only revealed when another becomes very close. Whether two people can work is not an abstract question with a definitive solution, but a personal and sensitive conundrum for the two parties involved.

The resolution of the novel is bittersweet. While our namesake characters separate in the end, it is not the final bell for their friendship. It is a mutual and changed relationship, and it left me saddened, but satisfied. Frank has met another woman, Eleanor, whose sense of humour and openness leads to their happier ever after. Eleanor has demons of her own (her father is living with Parkinson’s and dementia), however her range of experiences, the very nature of humans as multi-faceted, means that she and Frank connect on a different level.

There are so many beautiful and interesting storylines in this novel that I haven’t touched on here, from the slow reveal of Quentin’s character to the relationship between Frank and his half-sister, Zoe. Ultimately, I think it is a must-read for all generations — perhaps even, one may say, a modern classic.