When Man And Boy was published 20 years ago, no one expected it to be the hit that it was, nor that it would be the novel to redefine single fatherhood. Yet, based on his own experiences raising his son after an acrimonious divorce, Tony Parsons’ book became the ur-text for stories about dads raising their children alone, desperately learning how to change nappies and make packed lunches. It eventually sold millions of copies, but initially, Parsons tells GQ, publishers wouldn’t touch it. “They all said: if he wants to write about fathers and sons and men, why doesn’t he write a non-fiction book?” But he didn’t want to be bound by the facts and has always placed heavy emphasis on the “semi” of the novel’s semi-autobiographical mode. Man And Boy was inspired by his life, not beholden to it.
Eventually, someone gave him a chance and the book did modestly well. But, unusually, sales only continued to grow with time and Parsons’ next book was published in the same week that Man And Boy made it to the top of the bestseller list, a year after it first came out. “It’s unprecedented really,” says Parsons. “Publishing only really works like that if it’s word of mouth – if people are saying, ‘You should read this.’” Clearly, something in the story resonated. Shot through with Parsons’ characteristic honesty and written in prose without an ounce of fat to it, the book was funny, moving and topical. Ask people in their twenties now what constitutes being “grown up” and you will be met with the same few responses: moving out, getting a mortgage, owning a car, having children, voting, realising your parents are mortal. Man & Boy rolled all of those ideas into a terrific coming-of-age story. Twenty years down the line, Parsons’ publisher, HarperCollins, is reissuing the book in an anniversary edition with a new introduction by the author reassessing its impact.
The novel was published at a time when notions of fatherhood were changing, but not so fast that a single father could escape the whispers and odd looks at the school gates. Parsons was familiar enough with this, and though he was spurred to write the book when he heard his mother was dying of cancer – “It became, really, the way I dealt with my mum's illness” – the most compelling relationship in the book is between the young Harry Silver (the narrator and Parsons’ stand-in) and his ex-Royal Navy Commando father. “I’m three years older than my dad was when he died,” says Parsons. “I think I can understand him more [now].” A man with a Second World War outlook on the world, “[my father] was disappointed in the country and his life and his job”, says Parsons. “I don't think he felt it was a land fit for heroes.”
Parsons, in the late Seventies, was a writer for NME, covering punk shows at the same age his dad was fighting Nazis. In the book, Harry’s father is similar – an East End bruiser; a man shaped by the war with a strong sense of honour and duty. Like Parsons’ own father, he is diagnosed with terminal cancer and keeps the news to himself until he eventually collapses. In an era when men are consistently urged to open up and speak frankly about mental and physical health, the image of the old soldier brought down by his secret illness remains a powerful one.
Parsons’ father has been dead for 32 years; his son, Bobby, is now 39 years old and has a relationship with the book that could be described as distant. “Although I lifted bits and pieces [from life],” says Parsons, “I think Bobby probably more than anybody sees it as a novel.” Moments of like-for-like truth made it into the novel: an episode where a clueless au pair explodes a still-sealed can of tomato soup on the stove really took place; Harry takes his too-young son, Pat, to see his dying grandfather in hospital just as Parsons did. Like Pat, Bobby was “pathologically, disturbingly obsessed” with Star Wars, says Parsons, who now understands the obsession as a therapeutic one. “I remember reading Fever Pitch,” he says, “and Nick Hornby wrote about [how] Arsenal was used as medication for his parents’ divorce. And I thought: well, that was us and Star Wars.”
At its heart, though, Parsons emphasises that the book is a fabrication and he admits he now feels very little affinity for Harry Silver as a character. He identifies more closely with DCI Max Wolfe, the central character of his more recent thriller series. “I recognise elements of my life and my experience, but it’s not me. My divorce from Julie Burchill was much more brutal than Harry’s. [His] is much more benign. Richard Curtis. Decent people, politely separated. Life – certainly my life anyway – was a bit more rough around the edges.”
Instead, he says, the novel stands out better as a snapshot of life 30-odd years ago. Parsons’ daughter with his second wife is now on the cusp of adulthood and he’s open about the different world that today’s twentysomethings inhabit. “It was easy to find somewhere to live in London [in the Eighties]. It was actually quite easy to find somewhere to buy in London, as long as you weren’t too fussy... There were jobs everywhere.” Harry Silver, a mid-level TV producer aged about 30, buys a sports car at the beginning of the book. It’s almost impossible to conceive of in 2019, concedes Parsons. “My first job in journalism doesn’t exist any more. The NME is not hiring young writers. You’ve got to be a graduate to work for the Guardian for nothing.”
There was, at one point, talk of a film adaptation of Man And Boy. Sam Mendes was interested and reached out to Parsons, whose immediate, overprotective response was to insist that any film could only be written by him, and him alone. “I was probably a little bit too strident,” Parsons admits, “[But] the worst thing that can happen is if it gets made into a film and then it’s pretty mediocre.” The BBC bought the TV rights and made what Parsons calls “a tenth-rate version”. Meanwhile, film rights eventually went to Harvey Weinstein’s Miramax, where the production lost momentum and languished. “I know he loved the book, but he moved on. Maybe he didn’t like the script. I had no part of the Miramax process.” Parsons still has periodic meetings about film adaptations, but so far none have taken off.
Eventually, the Harry Silver novels came to a natural end after a number of sequels that offered diminishing returns. Parsons had set his heart on writing thrillers and moved on. “That kind of hit [like Man And Boy] changes your life. It gets you the house in Hampstead. But at the same time it puts you on a path, and you’re obliged to follow that path until you run out of road.” While he’s thankful for the success of the books, he knew it wasn’t sustainable to rely on the same characters if he was going to maintain a 40-year career. Harry Silver was shelved and DCI Max Wolfe was born. Except, 20 years after publication, the story of Harry Silver, a young man rudely thrown into the whirlwind of adulthood, remains as relevant as ever.
The 20th anniversary edition of Man And Boy is published on 25 July.
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