Johnno is basically an autobiographical story of growing up in Brisbane in the 1940s and 1950s and particularly the author's relationship with his friend Edward "Johnno" Johnson. In a later afterword, Malouf explains that the friend, David Milliner, was real but some events in the novel were not. He also adds, for clarification, that Johnno is not a gay novel. Having said that, the story of close male friendship, mutual admiration and following one another around the world does have a distinct air of homo-eroticism. Perhaps in the same vein as Withnail and I given Johnno's unstoppable journey towards self-destruction.
One of the strengths of the novel, apparently, is that it strikes a chord with those who knew Brisbane of that era. As someone who doesn't, though, it can feel somewhat isolating and somewhat pedestrian. The rooting in a real life story just isn't quite big enough. The real Johnno was probably a larger than life character but this sense never came across. I guess we're so used to reading about the extraordinary exploits of fictional characters and a real character just pales by comparison. I did sense Malouf's love (and loss) but much of that was conveyed by the powerful afterword rather than the original text.
The redeeming element of the novel, for me, was the crazy journey to Europe, seeing the confident Johnno reduced to begging. This was the first time we saw that there was reciprocity in the relationship. It wasn't just the author hero-worshipping Johnno, Johnno in turn looked up to the author, seeking approval and affirmation - but still with braggadocio. Had the relationship ever become the gay novel that Malouf said he hadn't wanted to write then Johnno would have worn the trousers but the author would have held the purse strings.
I didn't hate the book, but it did drag a bit. Fortunately the aftertaste is better than the actual eating.