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The Running Man – an exquisite babushka doll of metaphors and insights – Reviewed by Scott Chambers
It may not come as a surprise to those of you who are familiar with the rock that I spend most of my life under, but the most recent addition to my top 10 favourite quotes of all time has come from a novel that was published more than seven years ago (yes I’m a tad slow on the uptake, but that’s unlikely to change).
For the benefit of those who actually give a rats about what it is I get up to under my rock, the novel in question here is called The Running Man, by Michael Gerard Bauer. Anyhow, before things get too uncomfortable there on the edge of your seat, I should tell you that the quote I liked so much goes like this:
“He had been prepared for savagery, but not for poetry.”
Sadly apt though this quote is for the majority of our 21st Century lives, it does beg the question: can one really ever be prepared for poetry? I mean, after all, regardless of your constitution the good stuff takes your breath away (and, as an aspiring author, is usually more humbling than your first glance at a chart of the known Universe). The bad stuff, on the other hand, is a fate worse than Country & Western and is capable of making your brain seep out your ears.
But there I go again, only a couple of paragraphs in and already I’m getting off track. So, before I lose your attention (again), please, make yourself comfy, ‘cos I’d like to tell you a story. Don’t worry, it won’t take long. And there’ll be no porridge of any temperature or Fairy Godmothers, I promise (there was a cute girl, but you know what editors are like).
Ahem … (a little quiet if you please – yes, that means you in the front, big ears).
Once upon a time there was a man who dreamed to become a teacher and to pass on his love of words. He succeeded; arguably on both counts. And his growing list of readers continues to live more happily ever after.
There you go. Told you it was short. As you were.
Now I’m free to get back to my rambling, right?
So … stay long enough on this planet that most of us like to call home (yes, we know who you are, and the appropriate authorities have been called) and you’ll eventually work out that there are two things you can never escape: Death and Taxes. Ok, well three if you include mother-in-laws.
Read The Running Man, however, and you’ll soon discover that even this expanded list of inescapable things is incomplete, because, try as you might, the other thing you can never really escape from is yourself. Deeply entwined in plush fabric of Michael’s story are the journeys of some – once quite ordinary – people attempting to come to terms with this rather disconcerting realization.
With greater cunning than a New York cab driver intent on milking a fare, Michael chooses a delightfully scenic route as he skilfully guides his readers through these journeys. He provides plenty of chances to marvel at the scenery (and bountiful insights), throws in a few twists and turns for good measure, and presents a few welcome opportunities to ponder a selection of Life’s questions that pop up along the way, like:
Which is greater, fear of the unknown, or the fear of not knowing?
and
Are miracles so common we’ve forgotten how to see them?
It is also the first book in which I have witnessed a metaphor being hijacked in broad daylight.
Of course, if you un-focus your eyes and read the story backwards, the underlying Satanic message to not do your homework (ever!) becomes abundantly clear, because – apparently – 14 year old boys who agree to take home school arts projects are at risk of being left to singlehandedly plumb the depths of hitherto uncharted psyches of deranged looking, reclusive keepers of dark secrets and, in doing so, diffuse the accumulated tension from years of neighbourhood gossip. <gasp, pant, wheeze … short sentences are overrated I tells ya>
So don’t say I never warned you. Take work home at your peril!
As we’ve come to expect from a Michael Gerard Bauer production – since he has quite a few books under his belt now (yes, I know you were probably all thinking it was just all that easy living and sedentary author’s lifestyle) – this is no WYSIWYG novel. Once you’ve made it to the end you’ll realise that it’s actually a cleverly disguised picture book for grown-ups; a work of literary art in what appears to be a moth-eaten cover. Mark my words, 10 years from now when IKEA are designing picture books they will be based on this template, but will never be as classy or hassle free (and they’ll probably still require an alan key). Yep, The Running Man is like a flat-packed 3-D colour picture book complete with textures and smells. Michael provides all the right words, and even sorts them in the necessary order, so all that is left for the reader to do is assemble them in their head. Batteries not included (unlike many American texts and sit-coms that labour so many dreadfully obvious points that any “foreign reader” with more than half a brain – apologies for the tautology – feels like they’re being battered by clauses … an unnecessarily catty remark, I know).
We all know that words can be weapons, but they can also be things of beauty. Not only is the pen mightier than the sword, but – in the right hands – it is capable of more than the biggest special effects budget Hollywood has ever seen. Escher – you might have heard of him – has been hailed a genius for creating wonderfully ambiguous images in simple black and white. In The Running Man Michael does the same – only, without a single brush stroke. Oh, you want an example? How about: “He danced, and roses bloomed on his chest.” Though you’ll need to read the text to see how that image transforms.
I would urge budding writers to pepper a copy of this novel with bits of Post-It notes until it resembles a yellow porcupine, and use it as a reference text for depicting emotion in their characters. After all, true emotion is far too powerful to be caught in any net, held in any cage, or hobbled by any chains; the only way to really capture it is by using the right words. Look no further than this for a “How To” manual. I only wish that Michael would stop using up all the good lines ‘cos sooner or later there’ll be none left for the rest of us.
The Running Man: How far will he go to find the truth? Wouldn’t it just rot your socks if you travelled the world only to discover that the truth had actually been lurking right next door? If details are the kind of thing that spin your wheels then it was published in 2004 by Omnibus Books (imprint of Scholastic), the ISBN is 978-0-06-145508-7 and it was probably aimed at mature secondary school students – though, like any decent Lego kit, who in their right mind would ever include an upper age limit?
By Scott Chambers
