on men writing about relationships, without explosions
Chris Killen’s In Real Life, Lara William’s The Odyssey, Matt Thorne's Eight Minutes Idle, Julian Barnes’ Talking It Over, and exploding generators
14 May 2023 | Vol 2 Issue 17
I’d like to be wrong, or at least given exceptions that disprove the rule. I’m talking about men writing books. Books about relationships.
I’ve just finished reading Chris Killen’s In Real Life. Long standing readers may remember I first mentioned this book from the time I accidentally put porn on Anne’s Kobo ebook [1 ]. I’m now reading Lara William’s The Odyssey. The authors are connected, as her husband plays in an indie rock band alongside Chris Killen. Both write humorous books. You can expect some overlap with them sharing a penchant for songs about cats.
What struck me is, had I been given white label copies — back in the day when records were the latest technology, some releases were given a test pressing, released with only a plain white label and no sleeve, sent out to DJs and journalists. During the seventies and eighties when Northern Soul was at its height in the North of England, the only way a DJ could source tunes was crate digging in second hand records shops, usually on a trip to the States. Should they have uncovered a particularly obscure floor filling stomper, to stop other DJs from knowing what the tune was, they would cover up the label with white stickers. Spotify and print on demand have made the world instant and knowable, although novels are still published for proof reading in plain white covers — had I been given my two most recent reads in plain jackets with the authors names redacted, I would have assigned the novels to the opposite authors.
Williams’ work is satire and features a disaffected, slightly quirky and not entirely likeable protagonist, while Killen has a small entourage of characters whose insecurities hinder them from forming meaningful relationships. Julian, don’t be so gender biassed. Boys can wear pink. Girls can write thrillers. Except, on the whole, boys don’t write books about relationships.
This is what I’m hoping to be proved wrong about. To have my mailbox filled with messages citing example novels. I’ll be more precise, I’ve read plenty of books by men where the boy gets the girl, but they are couched in something more manly. Time travel, eternal life, being an alien, zombie apocalypses.
Matt Haig, whose books I adore - in fact I refer to him as Britain’s greatest living philosopher, having bought daughter a copy of The Midnight Library, which upon reading caused her to quit her job and change her life plan - has a pull quote on the back of In Real Life “Very funny and wonderfully charming. Chris Killen writes with an understated beauty about things like Tesco Meal Deals and the internet and hospitals and Babybels and the distance between people. In Real Life is a book about love and failed dreams that is full of truth and tenderness”.
Matt Haig is definitely in touch with his feelings, so I feel a little guilty singling out two of his plots as manly examples. He belongs to a small club - that I’ve read - of male relationship writers. Again some clarification, where the relationship is central to the plot, is the plot, and not about something macho and angsty, his struggle up the career ladder, or battle overcoming a domineering father, or addiction, his struggle to prove his undiscovered genius, his struggle to overcome childhood poverty. Usually a heroic struggle of some sort. Never the everyday machinations of an emotional life.
I can think of Matt Haig, Chris Killen, Julian Barnes, Matt Thorne (pre Cherry), early Ewan Morrison. But Julian (me, not Barnes), you’re being so very genderist. Well, yes I am. It strikes me that men are extremely bad about talking about emotions, touchy feely shit. If I had a sociology degree, or researched any of my armchair theories I might proffer a reasoned cause. Instead I am going to blithely lay some of the blame on fear of ridicule, a consequence of capitalism. To succeed men have to be strong alpha man types — teamwork is what the people under you do, to succeed you must outperform your colleagues. This ridiculous focus on success framed by aspirational measures has made us men pretend heroes in a saga we can never conquer. Having made ourselves warriors in ties (or t-shirts if you're in tech) we have assigned ourselves a privilege we are now afraid to lose.
By coincidence, or because “they” are watching me, as I was half-thinking this post through during the week, Then and Now posted an interesting video Philosophy & the Manosphere, which discusses this loss of the illusion of agency rather well.
Then & Now — RedPilled: Philosophy & the Manosphere
So it’s not that women shouldn't be writing satires about the slacker age - The Odyssey is destined to become a classic of avoidance literature says Amy Key, poet and author of Lara Williams' novel - they should. Women have been silenced long enough. It's that men need to step up and write about their feelings in relation to others. Without it being a heroic struggle.
I've already recommended In Real Life, so I'm opting for Matt Thorne's Eight Minutes Idle, which without too much of a spoiler shares call centres with Killen's novel. Perhaps working in a call centre is the perfect metaphor for the loss of agency in the blue pill world. Except it's out of print. Available on Kindle, but I'm not linking to Amazon. It was adapted into a film which I haven't seen.
Which leaves me with Julian Barnes’ Talking It Over | Buy here
Shy, sensible banker Stuart has trouble with women; that is, until a fortuitous singles night, where he meets Gillian, a picture restorer recovering from a destructive affair. Stuart's best friend Oliver is his complete opposite - a language teacher who 'talks like a dictionary', brash and feckless. Soon Stuart and Gillian are married, but it is not long before a tentative friendship between the three evolves into something far different.
Also because when I was a young man living in Barnes, London, avoiding paying tax, paid in cash for handling the spotlight duties during Thomas Dolby’s concerts, my alias for signing for the wage packet was, yes, Julian Barnes. This is why I didn’t become a spy.
Also, if you ever wondered why Riverside Studios across the river from Barnes in Hammersmith was shut for a few months due to a blown generator, it had nothing to do with me being told during one of his shows “Never, ever, under any circumstances, turn these two spotlights on at once”. Coincidently his last show there. Since he stole the name Flat Earth from me and then grabbed the dot com domain I feel no guilt. Perhaps I should have been a spy after all.
Thomas Dolby — I Scare Myself
This week's heroes are Mr and Mrs Gingerbread, incognito, like all good spies, drawn by our artist in residence, Fatima Fletcher. Show your appreciation by following fatima.fletcher on Instagram. Her work is for sale at fatimafletcher.com, where she’s available for commissions. Her wonderful orchid place mats are for sale at fatima-fletcher.square.site/s/shop.
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Further reading
Laughing out loud at Riverside studios incident