THE
LONELINESS OF THE LONG DISTANCE RUNNER -
ALAN SILLITOE
In the introductory blurb to Alan Sillitoe's The Loneliness Of The
Long Distance Runner it states that this particular tale is
'perhaps as profound a study of the rebel mind as has ever been
written', and at the time of its first publication in 1959 this
was undoubtedly true. Before then the subject matter of the British
working class had hardly been touched upon in a novel let alone any
description of the mind-set of a typical youngster from that class,
as written from their point of view.
The narrator is a seventeen-year-old inmate of Borstal though this
isn't the reason why he's in possession of a rebel mind. No, he's in
Borstal because he's been caught by the police and he's in possession of
a rebel mind through being born into poverty. He's at perpetual war
with those he sees as holding the whip-hand over him: 'cops,
governors, posh whores, penpushers, army officers, Members of
Parliament' etc, and it's a war that he was born into. The only
weapons he has are his cunning and his personal interpretation of
honesty whilst his enemies are armed with Remand Homes, Borstal, jail
and ultimately the rope.
Sentenced to Borstal for the burglary of a bakery, he's been
recognised as being good material for long-distance cross-country
running so the Borstal governor has entered him into a race and is
counting on him to win. The narrator, however, has other plans. He's
no-one's race horse to have bets placed upon and there's no way in
this world that he's going to do anything that might raise the
reputation of the governor and the prestige of the Borstal.
Whether outside in the wider world or inside a correctional facility
such as Borstal there's no such thing as a truce and there's
certainly no waving of white flags. The war goes on and as the
narrator sees it, it's all down to who is the most cunning as to who
is going to be victorious: 'I'm telling you straight: they're
cunning, and I'm cunning. If only 'them' and 'us' had the same ideas
we'd get on like a house on fire, but they don't see eye to eye with
us and we don't see eye to eye with them, so that's how it stands and
how it will always stand'.
Such a state of affairs - certainly for the narrator, at least - is
just the ways things are. There's no sense of him offering up any
special insight at all, he's merely describing and talking about
something that to him is everyday normality. Being declared 'as
profound a study of the rebel mind as has ever been written' then
is a statement that speaks volumes in itself and it doesn't take a
genius to see that it's only profound to those who have and have
never had any connection to the working class. What is actually
profound about the story, however, is its degree of honesty. The
narrator has no delusions, nothing to hide and nothing anyway to hide
behind. On the surface he's all 'yes, sir, no, sir, three bags full,
sir' but underneath there's a whole other life going on that the
Borstal governor and his ilk have no concept of.
'And I'll lose that race,' says the narrator 'because I'm
not a race horse at all. By Christ I will. I'm a human being and I've
got thoughts and secrets and bloody life inside me that he doesn't
know is there, and he'll never know what's there because he's stupid.
I suppose you'll laugh at this, me saying the governor's a stupid
bastard when I know hardly how to write and he can read and write and
add-up like a professor. But what I say is true right enough. He's
stupid and I'm not, because I can see further into the likes of him
than he can see into the likes of me. Admitted, we're both cunning,
but I'm more cunning and I'll win in the end even if I die in gaol at
eighty-two, because I'll have more fun and fire out my life than
he'll ever get out of his. He's read a thousand books I suppose, and
for all I know he might even have written a few, but I know for a
dead cert, as sure as I'm sitting here, that what I'm scribbling down
is worth a million to what he could ever scribble down. I don't care
what anybody says, but that’s the truth and can't be denied'.
And indeed that's exactly the truth, and The Loneliness Of The Long
Distance Runner is indeed worth a million to what any number of
better-educated writers could ever attempt to create.
For all that, however good The Loneliness Of The Long Distance Runner
might be, it should be pointed out that it is but the title story in
a collection of nine short stories in total and that it's not
actually the best one of that collection. Even more enjoyable are two
other short stories in the book: Noah's Ark, and The Decline And Fall
Of Frankie Buller. Both being depictions and reminiscences of
childhood as spent in a poor, working class area of Nottingham just
prior to the start of World War Two.
Noah's Ark is the story of two young boys doing their utmost to enjoy
all the fun of a fair that's arrived in town though without actually
having any money to spend there. It's a beautifully composed tale
containing such evocative lines as: 'With imagination fed by books
to bursting point, he gave little thought to the rags he wore (except
when it was cold) and face paradoxically overfleshed through lack of
food'. Anyone even in this day and age who's ever been in the
same situation will surely recognise themselves in it.
And the same goes for The Decline And Fall Of Frankie Buller which is
the story of a gang of boys and their leader, the simple-minded
Frankie Buller of the title, playing at being soldiers and waging
innocent war against rival gangs of boys from the neighbouring
estate. It's written as a memoir, with Alan Sillitoe looking back on
those days with much fondness and ruminating how big a part such
characters as Frankie Buller played in the formation of his own character.
Of the nine stories, it was of course The Loneliness Of The Long
Distance Runner that was turned into a film that was an epitome of
the kitchen sink/angry young men style of film making synonymous with
British cinema in the late Fifties early Sixties. Why The Decline And
Fall Of Frankie Buller has never been made into a film as well is
anyone's guess as it would make a wonderful coming of age drama,
similar to and potentially just as successful as Stand By Me, the
film based on the Stephen King novella.
Alan Sillitoe is rightfully acknowledged as being one of the most
important British writers of the postwar era though I'd suggest
that his greatest influence has been upon those readers who have
grown up under similar conditions to those which he describes in his
books. The inspiration he has given to young, working class readers
is incalculable and the knock-on effect of that inspiration continues
in countless ways to this very day.
Alan Sillitoe - Do they owe us a living?
John Serpico
No comments:
Post a Comment