Looking back on my career as a storyteller, I think Who
is Rufus T. Weeks? was the first of my novels to have almost no
conformity with Paul Gallico’s advice to only write about things one has
experienced. Although it has any number of twists and turns, the plot has one
significant and over-riding revelation. Keeping my reader guessing what this
is, is the principal challenge running through the story. Happily, my early
readers and critics confirmed that, irrespective of their personal backgrounds
or experience, none of them guessed the answer to the question I pose in the title.
This is important because the story that unfolds is essentially the journey
followed by my hero, Markus Jenkyns, as he tries to discover the answer himself. To keep my reader as committed to the story I must keep him or her as puzzled as my hero.
Because this story has its
genesis elsewhere than my experience, makes it more difficult to explain how it
came to be written without revealing the plot. Having said that, like many of my generation, the imagery
of Jesse Owens, the black American athlete who demolished Adolf Hitler’s wish
that the 1936 Olympic Games in Berlin would demonstrate the supremacy of his
vaunted Aryan race is most vivid. The less well-known racial bigotry Owens
faced when he returned to the USA sadly detracts from his achievements on the
track in Berlin.
If they wish, creative
storytellers can choose which of any bêtes-noirs they choose to cast as the ‘baddies’
in their stories. In Rufus T. Weeks my sights fell upon the American
National Security Agency and the Roman Catholic Church although I stress that
my novel is not a hobby-horse for any opinions, rather that both organisations
seem inept at managing the responsibility that their strength and power gives
them. They are by no means alone though it would be equally fair to note that
it’s unlikely that Médicins Sans Frontières or Cancer Research are likely to
appear in this role in future stories.
Finally, on a related topic,
I do find that as I develop characters, especially strong ones, I sometimes
find myself thinking of people I’ve known who share some of my characters’
admirable qualities or traits. In I’ll be the brightest star..., I found
myself very drawn to the character of Alejandra who voices that line declaring
her undying love for my hero. In this novel, as I was describing Quentin
Salisbury, the ‘Old Africa Hand’ who plays a significant part in the
unravelling of the puzzle, I often thought of a man who’s been a constant and
loyal friend for some 60 years. Although my friend shares few of the specific experiences I credit to Quentin Salisbury, he does have the now-unfashionable sense
of doing what is right regardless of personal risk. Not for nothing was he
appointed to an honour he richly deserves and is one reason that I dedicate the novel to Lloyd Paxton, MBE.