The Game by Jack London

 

He lacked speech-expression. He expressed himself with his hands, at his work, and with his body and the play of his muscles in the squared ring; but to tell with his own lips the charm of the squared ring was beyond him. Yet he essayed, and haltingly at first, to express what he felt and analyzed when playing the Game at the supreme summit of existence.

“All I know, Genevieve, is that you feel good in the ring when you’ve got the man where you want him, when he’s had a punch up both sleeves waiting for you and you’ve never given him an opening to land ’em, when you’ve landed your own little punch an’ he’s goin’ groggy, an’ holdin’ on, an’ the referee’s dragging him off so’s you can go in an’ finish ’m, an’ all the house is shouting an’ tearin’ itself loose, an’ you know you’re the best man, an’ that you played m’ fair an’ won out because you’re the best man.

This 1905 boxing novella from the author of The Call of the Wild, White Fang, The Sea Wolf and many a fine Yukon and adventure tale seems right up the alley of a man such as myself.

Here are the boxes it checks…

One—It’s about old school boxing. Aces!

Two—It’s by Jack London. I am a fan of much of his Yukon work and consider his story “Love of Life” one of THE exemplars of survival fiction. [Reviewed by, yours truly here.]

Three—Stories by real life doers, that is, men and women who truly lived experiences always move me more than mere “I’ve read a lot in my day, now here’s me offering up a quilt of what I’ve read of other’s lived experiences.”

Four—The man offered up so many fiery quotes of Go! And LIVE! It is hard to choose one as a stand-in. So, here I go with several verbal spurs to Live. [None from this novel.]

“I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.”

“The function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.”

“Life is so short. I would rather sing one song than interpret the thousand.”

“The function of man is to live, not to exist.”

“It is so much easier to live placidly and complacently. Of course, to live placidly and complacently is not to live at all.”

“Limited minds can recognize limitations only in others.”

“You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.”

“I do not live for what the world thinks of me, but for what I think of myself.”

“Life is not a matter of holding good cards, but sometimes, playing a poor hand well.”

Jack London was a doer. A sailor, a Gold Rusher, a boxer, a… well, he did many things in his lifetime.

Here, he wishes to bring his own boxing experience to life.

Of this novel he has said, "I have had these experiences and it was out of these experiences, plus a fairly intimate knowledge of prize-fighting in general, that I wrote The Game."

So, with all of the above praise, how is this novel?

Unfortunately, rather weak. It has streaks of the London panache here and there, but it is also a bit heavy on the pulpy “He-Man & Adoring Female” side of things.

This is our female admirer on our “Hero”, London’s fictional stand-in.

“And yet, while it frightened her, she was vaguely stirred with pride in him. His masculinity, the masculinity of the fighting male, made its inevitable appeal to her, a female, moulded by all her heredity to seek out the strong man for mate, and to lean against the wall of his strength.”

Yeah, that’s a little…well.

What London overshoots in his male-female relationship he gets more than right in a few ring particulars.

We have this…

“They came to the hall, on a dark street-corner, ostensibly the quarters of an athletic club, but in reality an institution designed for pulling off fights and keeping within the police ordinance.”

·        We must not forget boxing existed in a long shadow of out and out illegal to quasi-illegal status for decades.

·        For more on this facet of history put your ears on our brief podcast on this very topic Illegal Boxing.

We have this common ring instruction of the time.

“Joe Fleming fights at one hundred and twenty-eight,” he said; “John Ponta at one hundred and forty. They will fight as long as one hand is free, and take care of themselves in the breakaway. The audience must remember that a decision must be given. There are no draws fought before this club.”

And we have such observations as this, which can only be written by one who has fought and learned that wasted emotional effort can be as debilitating as wasted physical effort. Something that many of today’s “action authors” never nail as, well, I doubt they’ve ever rolled or taken a shot.

“The effect was bad on Ponta. He became more frenzied than ever, and more impotent. He panted and sobbed, wasting his effort by too much effort, losing sanity and control and futilely trying to compensate for the loss by excess of physical endeavor.”

London loved the game of boxing, yet what he wrote here is not a love story. The Game is a bit grim and gritty.

It is said that Gene Tunney read this volume in the late 1920s and this contributed to his decision to retire.

True or not, I cannot say, but I can vouch that this is no love letter to boxing.

But that is not the reason for a minor thumbs down.

It is simply that the melodrama of the novel, the long sections that are not boxing, well, they lack the bald-face realism that London exhibits in his best work.

There is better boxing literature to be read, but kudos to Mr. London for stepping into the ring and gives a few glimpses of verisimilitude.