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    The Maintenance of Headway
    The Maintenance of Headway
    The Maintenance of Headway
    Ebook119 pages1 hour

    The Maintenance of Headway

    By Magnus Mills

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    From the Booker-shortlisted author acclaimed as having "no literary precedent" (Independent) comes a gently absurd examination of the systems that trap and frustrate us daily. Fans of dry humor will enjoy this tale of mishap and folly, told from the point of view of a bus driver who's been charged to maintain a precise distance between himself and other buses--a directive that leads him to ignore the very passengers he's meant to serve.

    Witty, allegorical, and intelligent, this is a novel for all those who have ever run for a bus, only to have it pull away as they reach its doors. Showcasing all of Mills' strengths, it is the perfect reintroduction for American readers to an incomparable talent.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBloomsbury USA
    Release dateMay 19, 2015
    ISBN9781632860378
    The Maintenance of Headway
    Author

    Magnus Mills

    Magnus Mills is the author of The Field of the Cloth of Gold and eight other novels, including The Restraint of Beasts, which won the McKitterick Prize and was shortlisted for both the Booker Prize and the Whitbread (now the Costa) First Novel Award in 1999. His most recent novel, The Field of the Cloth of Gold was published to great critical acclaim and was shortlisted for the Goldsmiths Prize 2015. His books have been translated into twenty languages. He lives in London.

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    Reviews for The Maintenance of Headway

    4/5

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    • 4/5
      It is the little things that we take for granted. Such as the way that the world works when we are not paying close attention. Mr. Mills takes what would seem to be a mundane activity and turns it into a compelling look at the hidden mechanics that keeps our lives moving. While the novel is short and there is not a large amount of character development, the discussion of how the buses are supposed to run - not too late, not too early - demonstrates that there is more to bus driving than just sitting behind the wheel. The humor of the bus drivers as they sit around the break table shows how they take all of the perceived interference by those in management in stride. This is not an expose' of the bus driving occupation. It is, however, an enjoyable and quick read that thoroughly entertains.Disclaimer: I received a copy of this book for free through Good Reads' "First Reads" program.
    • 4/5
      The first Magnus Mills book I have read and I enjoyed it. I am sure the subject has specialist appeal but for anyone who has been a bus driver, there was plenty in the book that rang true and I could put names to several of the characters. Not side-splitting humour but had many a chuckle , but must go now or I will be late.
    • 4/5
      'There is no excuse for being early.' said Breslin'No I suppose not.''None whatsover.''No.''It is forbidden.''Yes.'Who knew that the kafkaesque bureaucracy of a bus company could by so funny or engaging?A short, yet fun and engaging story by the master of tricks. Well except this time there are no tricks, nothing wrong with that just forewarning to stave of disapointment of fans. What it does have is dry wit and dead pan humour, some great characters, wonderful observations and the ubiquitous unsettling sinister overtones. Ok there is no plot, more a series of vignettes and humourous discussions but that doesn't matter it's still engaging and everyone who has used public transport will see the ring of truth.If you haven't read Mills this may not be the best place to start, his 1st book [Restraint of Beasts] is a good as place as any though.
    • 2/5
      Humour is notoriously subjective. I am sure some readers will find this incredibly funny, personally I found it only slightly more entertaining than reading a bus timetable. Rather like Mills similar earlier novel, The Scheme for Full Employment, it just did not work for me. If you liked that, then you'll probably like this. It might also be worth pointing out that I have never got through Catch 22 either. I think those who liked Catch 22 would like Mills too.I smiled a little when it came to the chapter describing what happened when the bus authority brought in graduates with a brief to change the image of bus travel. Ultimately, however, I was pleased to terminate this particular literary bus journey.
    • 5/5
      Typical Magnus Mills' fayre, very similar to his earlier novel The Scheme for Full Employment. This time it is about the absurd routine and regulations that control a public transport system, narrated by a nameless bus driver. Not much happens but I like Mills' deadpan style and it was a short, quick read that amused me.
    • 5/5
      I rather like this little novel. I was a manager bus scheduling for most of my career and can understand a bus driver's perspective. I am an American and this is how English buses operate. So, there are different attitudes between Europe an North America. Over here most bus drivers drive the same trips every day and if the service is not too frequent, drivers and passengers begin to know each other. So, if a bus passes a customer by in the U.S. or Canada, a complaint might be made to the bus company with the driver's name. In Europe, drivers work duty rota, so for equality of pay between 'good' and 'bad' and lowland high paying runs there is an attempt to mix up the work to make this equality. Drivers in N.A. bid for their work by seniority and so there is no equality. But all drivers' have ingrained attitudes. Another similarity is that many of the drivers have to drive at least one rush hour and maybe even two and causing split work. So some drivers work really early shifts and some very late shifts. Almost no other worker does this, so the tendency is to have other drivers as friends, but some whom they only share who short breaks with. So the author nails a lot of the dialogue. And their are strange and/or clueless riders on both sides of the pond.
    • 4/5
      It seems like a book about bus driving, but it's actually about the worship of false idols.Perhaps more memoir than novel, Mills uses his personal experiences to expose the futility of bureaucracies to pretend to perfection, while the minions use good, old-fashioned pragmatism to weather the storm.
    • 4/5
      This novella provides a deadpan romp through the world of occupational rules and regulations as a bus driver and his mates discuss endlessly the strictures under which management makes them operate. Their minute observations concerning the times various rules are appropriate and how to evade them when they are not are familiar to most wage employees, and their encounters with the managers who enforce the rules provide a familiar spectrum of tolerable and less tolerable petty martinets. Though Mills has elsewhere taken on some bigger slices of the human experience, this is a fine look of the jobs we do.
    • 4/5
      After a detour into a slightly more fantastical landscape for a couple of books, Mills brings it home to his trademark understated everyday absurdsim again. This slim volume, dealing with the fragile, odd construction that is the British bus system is probably way more documentary than you’d like to think. As usual, Mills has a perfect eye for the million little things that can complicate something as presumeably straightforward as taking a bus from part of a city to the other. There’s the clash between the drivers’ wish to run slightly early and the officials’ preferreance for running slightly late. There’re the sudden changes in route. There are hapless water work workers placing temporary traffic lights with badly calibrated intervals. There’s red tape, fraction making and endless theory making in the lunch room. And of course ”the maintenance of headway”, that illusive, impossible to reach principle of exactly eight minutes between each bus on a route. This is a kind of novel I don’t know of anybody but Mills being able to pull off. While Mills’ usual themes ofi ndividual, collective and corruption are all present, here he is operating on a smaller scale than ever. There’s virtually nothing in here that isn’t mundande or petty, but everything is told in great, earnest detail. The result isn’t his finest work by a long shot – but perhaps his most uncompromising yet.
    • 5/5
      This book is a hoot. If you enjoy British humor, do not miss reading this short account of a bus driver’s work day. Yes, the whole book is about driving a bus. And while you might not think of that as an entertaining subject, author Magnus Mills somehow has made it seem like a fascinating business. You’ll learn why it is good for the driver to be early, but not too early. Why buses sometimes tend to group together. And that no one ever gets fired, except for Thompson. But after what he did, what else would you expect? A thoroughly enjoyable read.

    Book preview

    The Maintenance of Headway - Magnus Mills

    Author

    1

    ‘There’s no excuse for being early,’ said Breslin.

    ‘No, I suppose not.’

    ‘None whatsoever.’

    ‘No.’

    ‘It is forbidden.’

    ‘Yes.’

    He looked at his watch, studying it intently for several long moments before returning his gaze to me.

    ‘So now we’re both agreed there’s no excuse for being early,’ he said. ‘Why are you early?’

    ‘I just am,’ I replied. ‘Sorry.’

    ‘You’re sorry.’

    ‘Yes.’

    ‘You’re sorry. I’m sorry. Everybody’s sorry. Well, sorry just isn’t good enough. Sorry doesn’t stop you from being early, does it?’

    I said nothing. There was no point. Breslin was quite correct. There was no excuse for being early. He gave a sigh and shook his head. ‘You’ll just have to stay here for a minute or two.’

    And so I remained there, suspended in time, with Breslin peering at his watch every now and again, while my people sat in silence behind me. Two full minutes ticked by and nobody stirred. Then at last he let me go.

    ‘Slow down a little, will you?’ was his parting remark.

    As Breslin’s motionless figure receded in my mirror I wondered how often he’d been through this performance during his long career. He certainly made it look convincing, especially his pointed observance of his wristwatch. For me it was a rare encounter. He’d only pulled me up once previously for being early, about a year before; but there were others, of course, who’d undergone the ritual on countless occasions. Which made Breslin very well practised in his profession. It was his job, above all else, to prevent us from being early, and he was a master of it. You never knew when or where he was liable to appear, though some of us with a bit more experience could usually read the signs. His presence was most likely on fine days when the rain didn’t threaten to drive him indoors. We could also expect to see him when word had gone around that increased pressure was being exerted from higher up the chain of command. Periodically we’d let each other know if he had been spotted hovering at a particular location. This could be anywhere between the cross and the southern outpost, but he was known to favour some places more than others. Then again he might leave a trail of deliberate clues. If, for example, he was standing on the far side of the road when you went up, and he ignored you, it meant you had to be extra careful coming back down again, when undoubtedly he wouldn’t. You needed to bear in mind that Breslin was always somewhere, and if it wasn’t him it was one of his ilk.

    What had happened just now was due to a lapse on my part. Breslin and the other officials had been keeping a low profile for almost a week, and this had lulled me into a false sense of security. Day after day at this point, at this time, I had been early. And so had my leader, and so had his leader before him, a trend that repeated itself right up the line. Then suddenly, for reasons of his own, Breslin had decided to strike. Doubtless there were far worse cases than mine. After all, I was only six minutes early. There were certain individuals who could easily have been ten minutes early during a quiet spell like this, and they wouldn’t have been treated quite so leniently. Breslin knew my face, however, and he’d let me off the hook.

    Nonetheless, I resumed my journey feeling somewhat disgruntled. By detaining me for two minutes, Breslin had completely disrupted my momentum. I’d been drifting across the common on a bright spring morning, speculating about my breakfast, knowing I had six minutes in hand. Six minutes to do with as I wished. Six minutes that spared me from having to rush. Six minutes that allowed me to be patient with my people; even to be nice to them. But now Breslin had interfered and two of those minutes were lost forever. Admittedly, I still had four minutes to spare, yet somehow it wasn’t the same.

    When I got back to the garage I discussed the matter with Edward, who could be relied upon to have an empathetic ear.

    ‘I know the feeling well,’ he said. ‘You’re coming in for breakfast, counting down towards your change over. You’ve allowed for unforeseen events unfolding in the final mile. You’ve got it all planned. You’re going to get rid of a minute here, a minute there, all nicely under your personal control. Then suddenly it’s snatched away from you. You’ve lost your freedom of action.’

    ‘Precisely.’

    ‘I agree it can be very irksome,’ said Edward. ‘Unfortunately, it’s an occupational hazard. You must understand that there are contradictory forces at work in this industry. If we’re late the people don’t like it. If we’re early the officials don’t like it. And if we’re on time we don’t like it. The truth is, our desires run counter to received opinion and we simply have to accept that as a fact.’

    ‘But when I first started I was quite content to be on time.’

    ‘So was I,’ he said. ‘For a while. But the longer you’re here the greater the tendency to be early. It’s perfectly natural.’

    ‘Is it?’

    ‘Of course. There are many others just like yourself. Those who take an interest, that is.’

    ‘Not the worker ants then?’

    ‘No, not them,’ said Edward. ‘They have little imagination. No flair for the job, so to speak. They just go back and forth, blissfully unaware of the game that’s being played all around them.’

    ‘Is that what it is then?’ I asked. ‘Just a game?’

    ‘Just a game,’ Edward answered. ‘Just a game.’

    He glanced at his watch, stood up and walked away from the table, leaving me alone to ponder his words. It occurred to me that it would have suited the Board of Transport very well if all their employees were indeed worker ants, as Edward called them. Homogenous automatons would be even better. But actually we were a mixed bunch and we all operated at different speeds. Some of us were quick; some of us were slow; some of us, like me and Edward, could be either, according to circumstances. Yet we had discovered over the years that we functioned at our best if we were allowed to be early. For my part, when I was early it felt like I was floating in the fourth dimension, which in a sense I was. Being early could make the whole day pass more smoothly. It created an agreeable state of mind.

    And being late, of course, was quite unthinkable.

    ‘Is that your bus out there?’ said a voice. Davy had joined me.

    ‘No,’ I replied. ‘I’m not due back until twelve minutes past.’

    ‘Well, she’s sitting out there full of people,’ he said. ‘Somebody had better get a move on.’

    ‘Maybe it’s Edward’s. He’s just gone downstairs.’

    ‘No, he’s southbound.’

    ‘Definitely not mine,’ I said. ‘Not guilty.’

    Davy sat down. ‘Got much to do?’ he asked.

    ‘No,’ I said. ‘Up the cross. Back here. Finish.’

    ‘Very nice.’

    ‘How about you?’

    ‘Loads left yet. Eleven-hour spread-over.’

    ‘Well, be careful round by the common. Breslin’s on the prowl.’

    ‘I’m fully aware of that, thank you. He’s just booked me.’

    ‘You’re joking.’

    ‘I’m not.’

    ‘What for?’

    ‘Rule twenty-two,’ said Davy. ‘Breach of.’

    ‘That’s odd,’ I said. ‘I went through the common six minutes early and he let me off with a light grilling.’

    Davy smiled. ‘I was six early as well. Only trouble was, my leader happened to be ten late.’

    ‘So you both arrived together.’

    ‘Correct.’

    ‘Oh, they don’t like that.’

    ‘Tell me about it.’ Davy went and got some tea and ordered his breakfast.

    ‘How could your leader be ten minutes late on a day like this?’ I asked, when he came back. ‘It’s as quiet as anything.’

    ‘Because my leader was Mrs Barker.’

    ‘Not her again,’ I said. ‘Flipping heck, she’s a nuisance.’

    ‘Yeah.’

    ‘Not to worry, though. Breslin might never get round to filing his report, if you’re lucky.’

    ‘Maybe not,’ said Davy. ‘I noticed he was writing my details in pencil, not biro.’

    ‘There you go then.’

    We drank our tea.

    ‘By the way,’ he said. ‘Changing the subject slightly, do you want to swap holidays this year?’

    ‘Why, where are you going?’ I asked.

    ‘The seaside probably,’ he replied. ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

    ‘Well, if I’m swapping holidays I want to know where I’m going to spend them, don’t I?’

    ‘I don’t mean swap places,’ he snapped. ‘I mean swap

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