A hand-drawn picture of Scudder (as played by Rupert Graves in the 1980s film) – the fictional character in EM Forster’s ‘Maurice’. He is the younger working class lover with whom the protagonist, Maurice, ultimately falls in love and escapes – to build a new life. Source.
I shall write, I imagine, under a pseudonym. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. In the novella, the protagonist is a 30-something middle-class man who lives in a vast and impersonal city; London perhaps. Although trapped by his class – he is in a relationship with a younger, profoundly working-class man. And to put paid to that rising assumption that will inevitably follow – it won’t be about the physical relationship. That’s far too easy. That’s transactional. It exists – of course – and it’s important. But that’s not it.
It, instead, is a deep connectivity that transcends class boundaries. Being in that relationship feels, to all intents and purposes, like travelling in a foreign land. The compass to which one has clung for so long doesn’t work here. But the colours of this land burn brightly – exotic almost. And that powerful, deeper connection usurps all that is rational, that is conventional, that is known. This is special. Different.
When your own class is steadfast in its assumptions – and its judgements – one feels a kind of… ‘dislocation’ I suppose, into a kind of ‘no-man’s land’. To have stumbled headlong into a trench and to have found solace in the arm’s of ‘the other’. A connection formed of something deeper. More primal. Not just the ephemeral that comes from your own kind. An overwrought description perhaps. But we’re in uncharted territory.
I have always wanted to write a book – well, to write something beyond this blog. But I’ve never really known what to write about – until now.
Note that this is a significantly shortened, abridged post to the one originally penned and unpublished. My motto, perhaps, is that actually ‘less is more’. Vignettes and asides – rather than the detail – should be this blog’s raison d’etre.