I think it’s time to talk about Bromance.
The reason for this perhaps startling assertion is a little thread I found in We Aten’t Dead, which is a rather wonderful Terry Pratchett fan site. The thread was ostensibly about Pterry’s treatment of LGBT relationships – which, broadly speaking, he didn’t, probably feeling that what people get up to in their relationships is their own darn business. But one user proposed Fred Colon and Nobby Nobbs as a potential gay couple. Really. I cordially disagree with this, and not just on the grounds that the mental images it conjures up are frankly rather disturbing, given that Nobby had to have an actual note from the authorities stating that he was, on the balance of probability, human. Fred and Nobby are quite clearly mates. Bloke mates. Drinking buddies. Nothing romantic or sexual. Just mates.
This has sparked a blog post because I believe quite strongly that the whole notion of a non-sexual, non-romantic friendship between men is one which has been woefully under-explored in literature. And even when it has been explored, there is a regrettable tendency among passers-by to assume that the author is really hinting at a gay relationship. Don't misunderstand; I'm proud to call myself a LGBT ally, and I'm happy that there is a burgeoning canon of LGBT literature, and exploration of these things in "conventional" literature. But it isn't always about that.
Take, for instance, Brideshead Revisited. An entire critical industry seems to have sprung up around the notion that the friendship between Charles Ryder and Sebastian Flyte was actually a gay romance, despite there being only the flimsiest of evidence in the text for this proposition. Without delving too far into literary speculation (I’m writing this on my lunch hour, after all), if Waugh wanted to make Charles and Sebastian gay, he bloody well would have done, given that he includes in the novel a quite self-evidently gay character in Anthony Blanche. It seems to me to be sad when readers cannot accept that what Waugh is writing about is something which is, in its way, equally as precious as romantic or sexual love; that is to say, a simple friendship. It is as though, without sex, nothing can be of any emotional value. Have we really let 1980’s era Cosmopolitan magazines and Sex and the City burrow so deeply into our psyche?
Part of this, of course, is based upon the viewpoint that male friendship, as a relationship, is inherently emotionally shallow. There is, it must be admitted, some foundation for this. If you watch a bunch of ‘lads’ down the pub, and listen to their conversations, then it is evident that what is going on is not some kind of deep emotional interchange. Or is it? Is it perhaps not more the case that the emotional interchange is perfectly visible to all involved, they just don’t necessarily feel the need to talk about it? In any event, basing all of intra-masculine interaction on a bunch of soccer fans drinking Carling and watching Super Sunday is to miss more points than a drunken place-kicker.
This was brought home to me by a conversation I once had with a then-girlfriend, whom I will call Diane, because that was her actual name. One day, I had been out to the pub with my friend, Euan (may the various Gods be kindly to his departed soul). When I mentioned this fact to Diane, she smiled and said: “I can just imagine you two down the pub – beer, football and look at the tits on that!”. She meant it, of course, humourously and not unkindly, for she was in no way an unkind person.
In fact, on that occasion, Euan and I had been talking about fine art, cookery and our children; but the topics of conversation she predicated had, of course featured on our agenda on other occasions (although we were both bum men, as it happens). But this is the point (you were afraid there wasn’t going to be one, weren’t you?) - yes, of course men talk about alcohol, sports and the female form. Also cars. Those are the common currency of male friendship, the lingua franca of masculinity. But it doesn’t mean we’re incapable of talking about other things such as, for instance, our feelings; or of offering each other emotional support or advice. We just don’t make a big song and dance about it. In fact we’re a bit embarrassed about it, so it tends to be a bit understated, like those man-hugs where we pat each other on the back, so that it’s more manly and less of a cuddle*.
* Except soccer players. They do all sorts of unrestrained PDA.
And so, to literature. I want to read some books which actually deal with male friendship as it really is, and can be. It can’t just be restricted to Brideshead and Graham Swift’s sublime Last Orders (which has one of the most gloriously beautiful last chapters of any book, ever*), can it? Tell me about others, dear readers, please.
* I’d also throw in the last chapter of David Guterson’s "Snow Falling On Cedars" here.
No don’t tell me about The Last Great Radio Show. I know about that one. I wrote it. And, of course, I dedicated it to my dear friend Mike Prior who, in a tangential sort of way, was the model for Arko in the book. When I gave Mike his copy, he was startled. Then, having read it, he asked me – a little shyly – why I had chosen to dedicate the book to him. I replied: “because, at heart, it’s a story about friendship. And that made me think of you.” He nodded, smiled – pleased, I think, and probably a little embarrassed – and then the conversation turned to other matters.
Relationships, as it happens.
You thought I was going to say football, didn’t you?