I have a friend with a passion for this book, which made me decide to read it.
To begin with I thought, "NZ blokes, bloody great (not)." And not just any bloke, the sort born and raised before the first world war, who'd fought in it and come back to NZ harder, perhaps with the expectation that home would make it all better. And these men worked, went to the pub, expected meat and 3 vege on their dinner plate, raised children they probably never helped nurture. Their wages made them the boss of their home and they did what they wanted while their wives stayed home and cleaned, cooked, and had babies.
The story of Johnson has little to do with the story of the domesticated NZ man. He's English, he wants to enjoy peace time. He wants to work hard, eat, drink, see women when he needs sex, but otherwise spend his time with men. He does all of these things, moving through NZ (Auckland to Hamilton to New Plymouth, Northland, and tiny NZ villages). Johnson has no wish to settle down or buy a farm. He is the Man Alone who lives, as we would say today, "in the moment".
Yet within this context there's echoes of the man alone in Greek and Roman myths. I was reminded of the Odyssey, the journeys from place to place, working, meeting people, moving through before becoming attached, never settling, the homeland Over There, in the subconscious, waiting.
Ancient Greeks believed that the greatest relationship a man could have was with another man. The Spartans encouraged homosexuality among its warriors because they would be incentivised to fight all the harder with their lover beside them in the fray. Once again this side-by-side-ness is echoed in Johnson's relationships with men like Scotty and Stenning. Here were people he spent long periods of time with either working or travelling. They are so close they do not need to speak, they share clothes, the sleep in tents together, they wake and hear the other person breathing next to them.
But one day Johnson makes a stupid mistake, which snowballs into catastrophe. He becomes a man alone and fleeing, a man no longer part of the army of men, but peripheral to it. He goes bush and manages to survive. He changes from the easy-go-lucky sort with no real worries to someone who struggles.
There's more to be said. This is a book with the interesting subtext of great change. Governmental change, economic change, the eroding of the hard working but relatively happy lifestyle and cheap land that so many colonists came out for. It's a book of contrasts, too, hard men, tough work, few words alongside fear and confusion, beauty and real pain as hopes are dashed.
I can't say this is a favourite book, but it's so clever and well written, it encapsulates NZ (working class NZ) so well it deserves my 5 stars. I don't believe it's the great NZ novel, actually I don't believe in any such thing in any country, but it holds a special place in NZ literature because it is a record of a particular time in our history, just as Jane Meander's novel, Story of a River, records that period of early colonialism and NZ as a land covered in kauri, totara, supplejack, and many other native trees. All important books worth reading even if you never love them.