Abstract
Whether you are a scholar or a (former) hitchhiker, I reckon it will be difficult for you not to like Jonathan Purkis’ book. As someone who is both, he has certainly done his reference-check homework and put in the travel hours. For some readers the volume will be difficult to label. It is certainly auto-ethnographic. Yet, despite the contemporary edge, with several mentions of the global COVID-19 pandemic, the book better fits into the social-history category, largely of hitchhiking in the western world, even though there are several international points of comparison made – with detailed accounts of Eastern Europe and Africa in particular. He also explores other case studies involving Afghanistan, Cuba, New Zealand, Russia, Turkey and First Nations communities in Canada.
The book comprises 11 chapters, along with a prologue and afterword. There are just over two dozen images and a 14-page bibliography. This includes a short filmography, as well as a compilation of song tracks that are either explicitly about hitchhiking or allude to the freedom of road journeys. Few pop-culture hitching references exist that Purkis is not aware of, nor does he fail to cite a vast range of them. Some omissions are nevertheless inevitable. One of the more surprising occurs in the second chapter. When dealing with the work of the Danish photographer Holdt (1985) and his observational documents in American Pictures, it seems surprising that there is no mention of a precursor project by Griffin (1961), Black Like Me. As a clandestine form of experimental sociology, this book chronicles several socio-psychological facets of late 1950s America. As a brave (if problematic) exploit into the human psyche, reading Griffin’s ground-breaking accounts of racial divisions some 60 years later is exceptionally chilling since the events surrounding 25 May 2020, when George Floyd was murdered. Griffin’s occasional roadside solicitation of lifts revealed kindness and hatred. It is amazing in the divided nation of his report that he was not himself more seriously assaulted.
Now theoretically, one of the more important sociological contributions that Purkis’ volume makes is to the consideration of what he calls ‘hitching time’ (p. 39). For instance, his description of the land art piece ‘Ben Nevis Hitch-Hike’ (1967) by Richard Long is enlightening – especially once we contextualise it further into how Long’s bodily art techniques are temporal imprints on the landscape, as in ‘Walking to a Solar Eclipse’ (1999). Purkis’ account of time embedded in vernacular Memento Mori graffiti, makes his analysis much more than mere pop sociology because he grounds it in a comparative ‘archive’ of auto-stop tags (pp. 44–45). There are then additional analogous parallels to ponder: with the slow movement for instance, as well as Eastern philosophy, which Purkis aptly draws upon. Perhaps, however, one might have wished for him to push this discussion further; to bring into focus the reflections of thinkers such as Fabian (1983), Gell (1992) or Munn (1992). Especially when it comes to landscape perception, constructions of social relationships and our senses of empathy with non-human agents, temporal linearity is one of those fundamental yet ubiquitous notions that often zigzags behind others (Ingold, 2016).
Another strength of the monograph is the way in which Purkis addresses feminist and non-normative LGBTQ+ issues for example. Here the counterpoint ethnographic and theoretical work of anthropologists Noske (2018) and Moore (2004) are worth mentioning. In the context of a shrinking world, they have respectively explored notions such as ‘Body Wisdom’ and ‘Global Anxieties’ to remind us of international concerns over the violence and injustices done to the environment and marginal groups. Indeed, the seventh chapter provides a comprehensive integration of non-reciprocal gift exchange theory with a biographical case study. It examines Princess Kasune, a Zambian public health and human rights ambassador, whose advocacy in spreading decolonisation and HIV awareness messages has involved hitchhiking (compare to Grover, 1993). And with Purkis’ coverage of climate change issues in the ninth chapter, which in part result from the scalar expansion of car cultures and the dwindling of untouched ‘scapes’, we see how this social history is clearly and unapologetically political.
Purkis is a self-ascribed ‘vagabond sociologist’. He repeatedly returns to this designation throughout the work to indicate his marginal academic position as a former university lecturer and now independent scholar/freelance writer. Unsurprisingly perhaps, his alma mater is Lancaster University and his associations with anarchism as well as the cooperative movement are apparent in his descriptions and vignettes. Hence, the subtle discussions of apprenticeship and youthful enthusiasm for a form of travel that continues to expand across Europe’s peripheries (Gabor, 2021; Laviolette, 2020) are a welcome contribution to the social sciences.
Now, as much as I would have hoped for a bit more when dealing with certain conceptual matters, this book is written with a different intention – to appeal to the wider audience of what are frequently well-educated and erudite people, but who are nonetheless travellers in search of adventurous stories. Many such lay readers would likely find discussions of temporality in relation to cultural relativism to be rather niche – if not to say quite elitist. Purkis has tried to do what many before him have also strived for. That is, to write something intelligent while not being stuffy, arcane or for purists. In other words, to capture in words those elusive moments, subtle observations and fleeting glimpses into what it means to travel freely – when relying on one’s wits, instincts and years of experience.
This is a difficult goal to set. Usually, it involves experimentations with presentation styles and writing techniques. On the whole, Purkis has opted for a narrative strategy that is lucid, well-structured and authoritative in its research base, as well as in its historiographical accounts. His prose and image choices are far from flippant. Moreover, he sets the stage for the voices of several early pioneers and contemporary informants. Seen and heard in nuanced tones and loud roars throughout, the end result is of a truly global depiction of the auto-stop phenomenon. And yet there is little doubt that this labour of love is the take of an active participant from Britain whose hitching experience is largely pre-millennial. It will especially ring true to fellow activists, travel writers and cultural historians interested in alternative mobilities. In my opinion, it will equally have a long shelf life for many others, such as artists and those interested in the sonic ecology of the open road.
