I read this book as a young man at the age of 18. As I grew older I was to revisit this work again and again.

I'm reading the book right now (for the first time) and I'm very uncomfortable with Tressell's anti-worker attitude. From the introduction:

Owen, the main character, tries with marvelous patience and tenacity to enlighten his workmates, to tell them how socialism could level out riches and not only give them a little more to live on, but also real hope of alleviating their inequalities for good. They won't listen, so he calls them philanthropists -- benefactors in ragged trousers who willingly hand over the results of their labor to the employers and the rich. They think it the natural order of things that the rich should exploit them, that "gentlemen" are the only people with a right to govern.

So, as you can see, even the title of the book is condescending and anti-worker. That's certainly the tone of the first chapter, as Tressell paints a picture of construction workers sitting around on their lunch hour complaining about foreigners and spewing Tory rhetoric they don't really understand. All the while, Owen sits back laughing to himself at the ignorance of his co-workers.

Later, in Chapter Four: The Placard, Owen thinks to himself:

Thousands of people like himself dragged out a wretched existence on the very verge of starvation. And for the greater number of people, life was one long struggle against poverty. Yet practically none of these people knew or even troubled themselves to enquire why they were in that condition. And for anyone else to try to explain to them was a ridiculous waste of time, for they did not want to know.

The remedy was so simple, the evil so great and so glaringly evident, that the only possible explanation of its continued existence was that the majority of his fellow workers were devoid of the power of reasoning. If these people were not mentally deficient they would of their own accord have swept this silly system away long ago.

Mentally deficient? Devoid of the power of reasoning? How utterly insulting toward the vast majority of workers in the world.

A friend of mine sent me this book, which I had never heard of at the time. If you get past the awkward title, and the somewhat purple Victorian prose, it really is a wonderful book. First and foremost, it reads really well. It's well-written, the story is compelling, and the characters likeable. The overall flavor I would describe as Dickensian, although nowhere near as baroque or whimsical. So it's not some boring polemic. And, second, it's socialist in its outlook. It explains socialism and the old Labour movement not in some theoretical, jargonistic way, but by means of practical examples that the central character uses to explain the movement to his co-workers. At the same time they're learning, you're learning, too - and it's very well done. Of course, the plot of the story drives home the lessons you've learned as well. And the arguments for more social equity work - I guess they can be argued against, if you're so inclined, but they're not at all simplistic or overly idealistic - they're really rather practical. Overall, a wonderful book for just about anyone thinking about the construction of society - even capitalists who'd like to cut their teeth against challenging political arguments.

When I read this book, it stoked an emotional fire which fuelled a belief in the politics of social justice. Tressell is not as misty-eyed or naive as most socialist writers. He doesn't rely upon an unrealistic belief in human nature. Instead, he tackles ignorance, short-sightedness and cynicism head-on.

No Happy Endings here - it could never be a Hollywood film. The bitterness and pain you feel at the end leaves you wanting to change the world. To fight those forces ranged against the underdog. Even though you'll probably lose.

Seen in that light it feels as relevant today as it was when it was written.

I was given the book by a much older friend. I've now bought copies for half-a-dozen people. It's one of those books you just should read to be an all-rounded person.

This is an updated work by the Hasting's born author Fred Ball. His earlier work (Tressell of Mugsborough) scractched the surface of Tressell's life but it left many question's unanswered/guessed at. This updated biography is written in a much more reader friendly format. Ball goes in search of the socialist literary ideal on the basis of the fictional "Mugsborough" being his home town of Hastings. This fact combined with the author's grave in Liverpool starts Ball on a detective story to learn about the real Tressell, one Robert Noonan. The search takes one through a series of interviews with unhelpful relatives who come across as the anti-thesis of the Owen character. Suprisingly more help are some of the still working decorating firms in the Hastings area, they do however question the descriptions of working life at the time (well they would I suppose!) Of a more enlightening note the story of the manuscript reminds us of the battle to actually get the book published. This narrative reminds us of the reasons for the lack of working class literature available at the time (only 90 years ago). Tressell certainly lead an interesting life up till his time in Hastings, the fact the semi-nomadic guy remained perhaps hides darker secrets as yet uncovered. The overall result is perhaps a disapointment, the socialist literary hero has a definite upper middle class background, and I think Ball feels a little let down. A consuming read, if you can get hold of a copy.