The Runner: A True Account of the Amazing Lies and Fantastical …
There is something in us that bends over to the zipper-dropping con man. We like the prospect of a bargain. Unlike most Europeans, Americans tend to tolerate the stranger with a story, even if his narrative is stitched so obviously with entreaty. We trust because we expect others to trust us: as the ethicist Bernard Williams points out, it is fundamental to our image of ourselves that we see others as having the veracity we assume we possess. It is easier to trust, less stressful than suspicion and more conducive to psychic peace. It becomes a habit. Like the dying family pet, we instinctually raise our paw to everyone, even the vet whose glove hides the waiting needle full of pentathol.
The con memoir reached its post-war high tide with Geoffrey Wolff’s Duke of Deception (1979), the story of Geoffrey and Tobias Wolff’s legendary sire-snookerer, a man who faked prep school, military and college records to land himself on the boards of General Electric and ITT. John le Carré’s father was also a celebrated broker of non-existent real estate and thoroughbreds, continuing it on into his children’s adulthoods by begging them, prostrate, for bail money with hands around their knees and cries of “Not prison again, not at my age.” It worked.
Now comes David Samuels’s The Runner, the story of a brilliant petty thief, James Hogue, who re-tooled himself as the self-educated ranch hand Alexi Indris-Santana. Hogue’s cons would classify him as crazy under many sections of the DSM-IV, but to look on his actions that simply would be to miss the fact he latched on to the American Dream and the way it allows, encourages, even decorates the wide latitudes sometimes necessary for self-invention.
Tags: colorado, marathon