Edward Bunker’s “The Education of a Thief” is not merely an autobiography; it’s a profound exploration of a life lived on the fringes, a testament to the transformative power of literature, and a masterclass in unflinching honesty. Sajalín Editores’ re-publication of this seminal work, originally released by Alba in 2003, marks a significant moment, completing their “Al margen” collection with the very book that inspired its inception. This edition stands as a powerful closing statement, offering readers the complete available works of the unforgettable Mr. Blue.
Bunker, a figure whose literary contributions have graced this blog before through “Little Boy Blue” and the posthumous story collection “Escape from Death Row,” brings us his autobiography, a book many hoped would see the light of day. The wait has undoubtedly been worthwhile, as “The Education of a Thief” may very well be the author’s finest work, a mature and compelling narrative that solidifies his place in literary history.
What immediately strikes the reader is Bunker’s extraordinary ability to depict situations with an almost unnerving verisimilitude. This authenticity, born from his own lived experiences, never overshadows the profound literary artistry he employs. It’s a testament to his skill that, even at the end of his career, he maintained this keen sense of literary craft. As he reflects, “I listened and recorded everything in my head but, without openly saying it, I didn’t feel inclined towards armed robbery. In reality, I hadn’t planned to be a criminal although I hadn’t sworn to God or anyone not to be. When I got out on the street, I wouldn’t have a penny. The only friends I had I had made in one confinement or another: special schools, the reformatory or prison… Whatever happened, I would get by. The tough inmates used to say: ‘I start to like things when they get difficult for everyone else.’ It’s an expression I’ve used often in life.”
A cursory glance at his descriptions of card game cheats reveals the first-hand nature of his accounts, creating a palpable sense of unease for the reader. Bunker explains, “When the other players were so good that cheating would have helped me, they also knew the tricks. Nothing illegal is detected, but the way of placing the hand or holding the deck are always an indication. The main thing was to identify a hustler. If there was one, I’d give him a signal that all the world’s con artists know, a closed fist on the table. It means he has to play straight. A flat hand indicates to continue with his business. There are also usual signs for con artists, pickpockets, apartment thieves, and all the other members of that endangered species of professional thieves that dates back, at least, to Elizabethan England.”
Crucially, Bunker offers no moral judgment. He doesn’t attempt to justify his actions or evaluate their rectitude. Instead, he presents his life as a raw narrative of survival, where cunning and intelligence are the primary tools. He notes, “It was madness to take on the world even if it was the one that had started the fight. In the jargon of psychiatrists, I had an ego permeated with it and a superego—which is like the conscience, or like the driver who controls that the car doesn’t exceed the speed limit—atrophied. Specialized studies said there was no treatment, although it was common to reach a pacification around forty years of age. I trusted I could resort to intelligence to govern my impulses. I knew some sociopaths were successful and that smart people didn’t commit street crimes. Nobody buys a house in Beverly Hills by breaking open safety deposit boxes. I promised that when I got out of the walls of San Quentin I would be as smart as I could be. I would soak up all the knowledge I had access to.”
The chapter dedicated to racial conflicts is particularly potent, showcasing Bunker’s remarkable facility for depicting the stark violence of events within a lyrically rich prose. These are the very contrasts that define Bunker’s unique literary voice.
Within the narrative of these autobiographical events, two distinct threads are discernible. The first is the aforementioned reflection of his own life and the historical events he endured—time in correctional facilities, San Quentin, scams, robberies, and more. The second is his gradual evolution toward the literary, a form of bildungsroman in the art of writing, which he pursued with a autodidactic fervor. He states, “I didn’t attend any creative writing courses, nor did I have mentors. The only writer I had known in my life, apart from Chessman, was an alcoholic journalist with whom I had crossed paths at Camarillo State Hospital, and who was writing a book in the laundry room where he worked. To get some idea of what I was doing, I subscribed to Writer’s Digest, a literary magazine. Perhaps I would learn something from its numerous articles on ‘how to write….’ I bought several of the books it advertised. The most useful was by a certain Jack Woodruff (I think that was the name), who advised imagining the scene mentally and limiting oneself to describing what one saw.”
Bunker’s genius lies in his ability to seamlessly fuse these two narrative threads into a cohesive whole, a testament to a virtue that propelled his advancement: “Despite having moments of foolish hope, I knew very well that I would never be published. I had written it to learn the trade. I still have the manuscript. My wife says that, if she had read it, she would have advised me to quit. But it is well known that ignorance is very bold, so I started my second novel. I never imagined it would take me seventeen years and six novels before seeing one published, the seventh. I persevered because I realized that writing was my only way to do something creative, to get out of the dark pit, to fulfill the dream and rest in the sun. And if the reader has made it this far, they will have already realized that perseverance is fundamental to my way of being. I recover from any fall as long as the body obeys my will. I have won many fights because I haven’t given up… and I’ve also taken some beatings for not knowing when to quit.”
Understanding Bunker’s writing process is key to appreciating his success. Primarily, his life experience, which he likens to that of Cervantes and Dostoevsky in their confrontation with life’s most stark realities, provided the raw material for his craft. He recognized that “Reading had taught me that prison had been the crucible where several great writers had been forged. Cervantes wrote a good part of Don Quixote in a cell, and Dostoevsky was a mediocre author until he was sentenced to death, a sentence commuted a few hours before execution, and sent to prison in Siberia. It was after these experiences that he became a great writer. There are two worlds in which men strip themselves of all their masks and reveal the most stark aspects of their being. One is the battlefield; the other, prison. Without the slightest doubt, I had a lot of raw material; the question was my talent.”
Secondly, Bunker’s decision to write from the criminal’s perspective, and the convincing authenticity with which he executes it, creates narratives that are hard-hitting and visceral. He wanted readers to see the world through the eyes of the criminal: “Many books have been written about criminals, but the writer always observes them, and their environment, from society’s point of view. I wanted the reader to see the world from the criminal’s perspective: what he saw, what he thought, what he felt… and why. I also wanted to write on three levels: first, the tension of the plot; second, the psychological composition; and third, the presentation of a philosophical vision. And I also tried to follow Hemingway’s maxim that the writer should be as devoted to the truth as a prelate of the Church is to God. Unlike most scholars and all politicians, I have never retouched a fact to fit an argument. Sometimes I end up presenting contradictory things, but we all know that coherence to the point of absurdity is the fetish of narrow minds.”
Indeed, Bunker’s honesty and sincerity draw the reader in, but it is his distinctive style that ultimately captivates. “The Education of a Thief” is a complete triumph for Sajalín, offering a literary experience not just for genre enthusiasts, but for all lovers of literature.
The texts are from the translation by Montserrat Gurguí and Hernán Sabaté of Edward Bunker’s “The Education of a Thief” published by Sajalín Editores.