Hidden Meanings and Life as it Stands

I have just finished reading ‘A Kestrel for a Knave’ by Barry Hines. It’s a brilliant book which nearly reduced me to tears.

When I stumbled across the Sainsbury’s Sports Relief Mile, during a coastal bicycle ride two weeks ago, I could barely talk as my throat wobbled with emotion. There's something very special about seeing everyday people determined to achieve something so pure, and endeavouring to do so in a shared public space. It seems ridiculous to me, even in the moment, but open access running events touch me so deeply, that I can barely control my emotions. The simple beauty of human achievement just bowls me over.

In 2005, I accidently stumbled across the end of the Berlin Marathon. I sat on the terraces at the finishing line, at the hugely symbolic Brandenburg Gate, and wobbled in exactly the same fashion.

It appears that emotionally, for myself as an onlooker, there is little difference between watching an exhausted female supporting her wounded male partner in the final stages of a 26 mile run, and hearing an announcer applauding a two year old for completing just one. They are both great achievements for the people concerned. To me, they are both quite magical to behold.

I hold back the tears for the row of smiling girls, tied together at their ankles, jogging in unity. I try to swallow the lump in my throat for the woman running with a small infant on her shoulders, with hands firmly wrapped around his small bouncing ankles. I cry for the 83 year old man as he completes his 26th mile.

I feel silly. I accidentally stumble across running events and something inside me just melts.

Thirty one years after writing ‘A Kestrel for a Knave’, Barry Hines wrote an ‘Afterword’ for it. The book became a film, and the novel a set examination test. He says:
“I’ve sometimes considered sitting the examination under an assumed name to see how I would get on. Perhaps my interpretation of the book would differ from that of the examiner and I would fail. Who can tell? I sometimes think that people read too much into novels and seek hidden meaning where none exist.”

I was always put off studying English Literature for this very reason. Barry Hines has perfectly summed up an opinion that I’ve held for more than twenty years. I love to read, and books influence my thought processes and emotions, but if there are secrets lurking behind the words as they stand, they are generally lost on me.

If a story is good, then I will enjoy it. When a book is really special, some startlingly moving word formations will absolutely blow me away. They will blow me away because of the way they read, and because of the picture that they paint. They won't blow me way because I’ve miraculously deduced that they're actually an allegory for something terribly profound.

I find it difficult to believe that writers, unless they are immensely pompous, would want to tell a secret story and hide it behind another. Why would they do that? Don’t they have the necessary skills to tell the story that they want to tell properly and maintain interest? Don’t they want people like me to know the all so important hidden message? If it's that important, make it clear. I’ve always guessed that in many cases the hidden meanings in books, that are studied for exams the world over, don’t exist. It’s easy to find a hidden meaning in anything if you look for it.

If you spend all of your time looking for hidden meanings, you might miss out on the magic of the story as it stands.

Barry Hines continues to write:
“I received a letter from man with a similar background to Billy Caspar [the lead character], who wrote that the book made him realize it was possible to achieve something in life however difficult the circumstances.”

That’s how watching everyday people complete a marathon or a mile long run makes me feel. Achievement doesn’t need to be fame, fortune or a successful career. People succeed in much more important endeavours every day. Achievement is often overlooked when it is at its greatest.