The Front Runner is one of those rare books that defies a classical review. Considering that the book has been around since 1974 and that it has left its mark on the lives of countless millions, there doesn’t seem to me to be any point in discussing it academically. Besides, the Web is teeming with people who have done just that. Instead, I will give a more personal account of my experience with it.
This book was a swift but massively emotional 2-day read for me. Its speed came naturally from Patricia Nell Warren’s delightful capacity to give me characters to which I related and whose destiny I actually gave a damn about. The emotional wallop came mostly from the story’s way of not only breathing life into my own fantasies, but also both shattering beliefs that I have held as self-evident, and supporting beliefs that I had always relentlessly gripped, even though I had had my doubts.
Let me take these one at a time. First, Billy Sive is not just a fantasy, he’s a physical, mental, and moral piece of art. No wonder Harlan Brown feels so unworthy in his presence. Who wouldn’t want a lover of such caliber, or possess such qualities for himself? Not that such a man actually exists in this world...this is fiction, mind you. (I digress.) Watching him struggle to win the heart of his beloved or kill himself trying gave me enormous hope that my own capacity for intense, focused feeling is not abnormal, even if has proved detrimental in the past.
Second, although I think that I’d make a good dad, I have always believed that the children I might someday raise should not be my own. Simply, this is because half of my child’s genes would come from someone I could never fall in love with (plus, population growth is a more serious threat than most people believe). Yet, this book has a way of putting such an emotion spin on things that I’ve had to reconsider. I now must ask, is my immortality achieved because my genes will live on forever through my descendents, or because I have touched the lives of people who will then touch the lives of others, and so on?
Finally, I was relieved to find such a strong case being made for the concept of sex being inextricably tied to love. I have struggled with this for a long time, particularly in the presence of friends who have grown up in broken families or who think that it would be a shame to waste away virile, youthful years in that consistently dead-end quest to meet Mr. Right. Although it is still not settled for me, it was nice to see sex held up to such high standards and referred to as “making love.”
These were all happy emotions. The sad emotions eminated as the character’s destinies unfolded. I appreciated Warren’s ability to strike so many chords in me. Early on, however, I had trouble keeping in mind that the author was a woman, and wondered if a man could have composed such an erotic and passionate story with so little graphic detail. I needed to think only of Dave Pallone’s Behind the Mask to know that they can, but I wondered if he is an exception. Indeed, I was awestruck that she so perfectly grasped the nuance, joy, and heartache of the gay male relationship.
Most of all, I enjoyed how well the central subject—running—tied in with her overall theme. Throughout, the sport is portrayed as intensely competitive, but near the end, Billy’s biggest rival beautifully shows that running is not about winning against other runners, but winning against the clock. This sport, perhaps more so than any other, is all about the never-ending quest for self improvement, for the dazzling concentration of effort and release of energy, for feeding off the energy of friendly rivals, and most of all, for the freedom of being in front. This was one intense story that won’t disappoint. Not bad for a piece of fiction.