Picnic At Hanging Rock by Joan Lindsay

As we now reside in the area, I thought I’d delve into a little bit of local folklore and pick up a copy of Joan Lindsay’s mystery. Was it a true story?  Apparently the secret wasn’t revealed until after she passed away in 1984.  Still, even knowing that it’s not true at the outset, it’s a lovely little story to spend some time in.  

Although I’d expect most would already know the plot, it’s essentially revolves around the disappearance of three schoolgirls and one of their teachers after a trek to the top of hanging rock.  Whilst one girl is found a week later, after some recovery time she has no recollection of what what occurred.  The three subsequent bodies are never found.   

The beauty of Lindsay’s writing is the detail.  “Jerked into reluctant action, Miss McCraw closed her book, sent an exploratory pair of bony fingers into the folds of the flat puce bosom and came out with an old-fashioned gold repeater on a chain.” All this to describe someone reaching into their pocket for their watch.  I love it.  

Also considering we only live up the road a way, the local references are great.  ”Ballarat Bitter”, “the Bendigo Road”, “the misty summit of Mount Macedon”, “Castlemaine stone” etc.  Maybe not so interesting for those who have no connection with the area, however.    

There’s not a lot to fault with this little story, only 189 pages long.  The scene is beautifully set at Appleyard College, the surrounding area descriptions are still accurate today, the mystery is layered perfectly and the subsequent scandal, rumours and fallout of the girls disappearance is considered and definitely has a realism about it.    

“Appleyard College was already, in the year nineteen hundred, an architectural anachronism in the Australian bush – a hopeless misfit in time and place.  The clumsy two storey mansion was one of those elaborate houses that sprang up all over Australia like exotic fungi following the finding of gold.  Why this particular stretch of flat sparsely wooded country, a few miles out of the village of Macedon crouching at the foot of the mount, had been selected as a suitable building site, nobody will ever know.”    

It’s a bit like reading an English period drama, although set in Victoria, at the turn of the century.

I haven’t seen the movie; a fellow passenger with whom I struck up a conversation with on the train, did tell me not to bother now that I’ve read the book.  She said there was no comparison.  We’ll see.

Journey From Venice by Ruth Cracknell

I’m loving the Popular Penguin series which is just about everywhere at the moment.  From bookshops, to airports, even in the occasional newsagent.  They are a must-have for any handbag – perfect for sneaking in a quick read on a short train ride, standing in a queue etc.  My most recent acquisition from this series has been Journey From Venice by Ruth Cracknell.  Although it was released nearly a decade ago to much acclaim, it’s just been one of those stories that has missed my radar.  

Although Cracknell passed away only a couple of years after publishing this book, because it’s written in the first voice, I felt like she was alive.  That’s the beauty of a timeless story.  A classic that doesn’t date because its content and sentiment are universally related to.  There are few books that can in all sincerity make me cry – this did.  It’s wit, honesty and elegance that make this story. 

Cracknell and her husband Eric decide to take some well-earned time to travel.  Both having very full and challenging careers for most of their lives, opportunities for spending time with each other were often postponed due to work commitments, which is not unusual in this life.

They decide on Venice as their initial destination before a few weeks in wider Europe and New York.  A few days in, Eric has a seemingly minor blood nose, which somehow leads to stroke, an undiagnosed blood condition and late term cancer.  The story is a sad one, yet Cracknell tells it in such a way that is so sincere, it strikes such a cord of empathy, sympathy and love. 

JUNE 19:  Jonathan goes in to him for the first time.  His father cries deeply. ‘I know why you’re here,’ and for the first time he knows death in his gut.  Then, as with everything else, accepts.  We are in and out, we take it in turns or we all gather about him.  We protect him, we cherish him.  He is surrounded.  

It’s worth mentioning that although the story is in Ruth’s voice, their three children feature prominently also.  All seem to have such a beautiful and strong connection with their father, a joy to read. 

So it seems as though there’s a bit of a grief theme in the books chosen of late.  Whilst I knew the Virginia Lloyd book was of losing a partner, this one took me by surprise and I wonder if that’s why I rate it as more powerful.  I had no expectation of the story, if anything I thought it to be more of a travel narrative, given its title.  Mind you given my travels through Venice earlier in the year, I related to Ruth’s description of the Venetian way of life.  Her descriptions of the city, its chaos and its beauty are so apt.

On the evening of Friday, April 3, we wandered through the Piazza, turned left along by the Canal, past the splendid sculpture of Casanova, up and over the bridge and into the Danieli. We intended on booking a table for dinner the following week.  We also went into Santa Maria della Pieta, Vivaldi’s church, picked up a programme for forthcoming concerts and finally made our destination for that evening La Nuova Grotta, a restaurant down a calle off Riva degli Schiavoni, which I would never have located on my own.  A lovely dinner then a stroll back along the Grand Canal.    

An inspiring and compelling memoir.

The Young Widow’s Book of Home Improvement by Virginia Lloyd

I have a niggling memory of hearing about this book when it was launched because the story was quite unique.  Again standing at the Books Alive table in Readings (Carlton this time!) I picked it up and read the back cover ‘Single at 32, married at 33, and widowed at 34’.  So to the register I went. 

I quite like the way Lloyd tells such a sad story parallel to the renovation works of her home.  Here’s a woman who has let everything go to nurse her husband to death and now needs to start rebuilding her life without him.  The renovation theme is a nice metaphor.

This is the type of book where you know the end of the story before you begin but still feel compelled to go through it.  It feels a bit voyeuristic to read about someone else’s misery and I think you do have to be in a certain frame of mind to get the best out of the book – not sure if I was.    

The story opens with Lloyd conversing with a tradesman. 

“’Would it be all right with ye if I came back and took a photo of this wall, here, y’know for me website?’ asked Jim, the Irish anti-damp expert who had come to access the damage to my home. 

I was flattered, picturing a dazzling ‘before’ and ‘after’ comparative case study, until I realised what he meant.  ‘I haven’t seen it as bad as this in a long time,’ Jim continued softly, gesturing either side of the fireplace in the living room. ‘Any reason ye left it for so long?’

The narrative switches between Lloyd mourning her husbands’ passing, trying to be productive in undertaking home improvements, documenting her husband’s far too rapid passing and finishes up in a more reflective tone.

The rest of my life will always be with John, and without him.  His is a permanent absence that, like negative space, shapes my life.  Sometimes it’s even difficult for me to believe that the history of our private world – from beginning to end, and everything that happened in between – occurred in the space of two years. “

At moments it’s a heart wrench, at moments it’s enlightening and a reminder to appreciate our loved ones.  Lloyd has shared an incredibly personal story with warmth and grace and that’s what makes this a lovely, albeit sad, read.

How To Break Your Own Heart by Maggie Alderson

My how time flies.  I’ve been reading, but not posting.   So a bit of catch up is due. After reading a run of what I call quite ‘heavy’ books, that is, books that require solid concentration I was in need of some light reading.  A book that can be read and enjoyed at face value, not too much analysis, a bit of humour and some wit.  

I’ve long been a fan of the Maggie Alderson novel.  Over the years the likes of Cents and Sensibility and Pants on Fire have provided a great source of light relief.  Yes, they are in that awfully titled category ‘chick lit’ but when in need of girly entertainment, you can’t go past these stories. 

So on the way home from work I stopped in at Readings Hawthorn (becoming too regular an occurrence lately!) and found How to Break Your Own Heart on the Books Alive table. 

It charts the story of Amelia, a woman married to a wealthy wine merchant for fifteen years who arriving at her mid-late 30’s realises that what she wants most is a baby, but her husband doesn’t.

The Alderson novel is never entirely realistic but there are definitely elements of plausibility.  The premise of a woman reaching the age of 37 and suddenly realising the thing she wants most in this world is a baby, is not new.  It’s the other details that just happen to come along – the ridiculously rich Kiki, ABCC instantaneously successful just when Amelia needs an income stream, the sudden appearance of a long ago love – that add the element of fantasy and make the story so readable. 

Wonderfully described characters are really what make the Alderson novel a level above all the other ‘chick lit’ type books.   Lovely and wise old neighbour Hermione, Sonny the gorgeous landscaper who manages to bring Oliver, jaded hairdresser to the stars, to his knees were just a couple of my favourites.  One scene where Kiki arranges a dinner party with surprise guests was a classic, filled with humour and entertainment and then finishing up with quite a profound point. 

The joy of the book is that the belly laugh lines are interspersed amongst other moments.  “I knew I still attracted men’s glances as I walked down the street, but perhaps, I suddenly thought, I was in danger of turning into one of those tragic women who look like hot stuff from the back and then turn around to be a scary old disappointment.’

How To Break Your Own Heart is not the best Alderson novel I’ve read, but I was far from disappointed. It’s a great piece of escapism.

Saturday Afternoon at the MWF

I’ve been saying for years that I’m going to head to attend the Melbourne Writer’s Festival, hob-knob with the literati, maybe see a few authors speak, get some books signed.  Literally years, but there’s always been some other distraction.  Late last week I signed the JB (he wanted to) and I up for the Festival Lovers Package, which consisted of four one hour sessions.  

We started at 1pm in the BMW Edge Theatre with the Elizabeth Jolley Lecture chaired by Jan McGuinness and conducted by Brian Dibble, Jolleys’ biographer.  He delivered a pretty thorough lecture, I haven’t read a lot of Elizabeth Jolley so it was interesting to hear about her from a personal perspective, some of the influences for her writing and why she tackled some of the more controversial topics that she did.  Considering she wasn’t published for the first time until her 50’s and went on to become a well known and respected author is quite a feat.  My only criticism is that Dibble spoke quite fast and in a thick American accent and when people asked questions at the end he seemed to struggle with some of the answers.  It was okay though, we both walked out with more knowledge than when we walked in.

The next session was across the way at ACMI.  The session titled Visions of the City was chaired by Rjurik Davidson (Overland) and included China Meiville, Margo Lanagan and Jack Dann as the panelists.  Both the JB and I felt this was probably the worst session we attended for the day; the authors just seemed to make it all too intellectual and went off in too many tangents.  It made me realise that a good panel/session is really dependent on who is chairing.  The chair needs to ask good questions to get the panel thinking and then manipulate the discussion so that it stays on topic and gets the best out of each speaker.  Davidson introduced each author (by name only, and not by their publications which was not helpful for the JB and I who hadn’t read them) and then just sat, nodding at each comment.  At points when the discussion dried up he sat and nodded rather than grasping the subject and leading it on.  He seemed unprepared.  I thought Margo Lanagan was the best on the panel, relaxed, straight to the point and quite funny.  China seemed to take himself too seriously (talked more about movies than books which the JB and I found a little odd) and I just didn’t get anything that Jack was saying.  He made the least sense.  So quite disappointing.

Our third session for the day was titled Our Restless Life hosted by another Overlander, Kalinda Ashton and the two panelists were John Carroll and Brigid Delany.  Carroll is a Sociologist and Peter Garrett look-a-like who delivered quite an interesting talk on how society is not really changing that much we just think it is.  He referred to stats and pulled on numerous sources, historic and current day, to make his points.  He was quite interesting, although I think the panel form of discussion didn’t really suit his style; I think he’d be better using the lecture form of presenting.  Delany who has just launched a book on how restless society is in terms of love and work spoke well enough, but I found her subject matter a little whiny.  She talked of how  these days people are inclined to use speed dating and on-line social networking sites to partner; how today people are more inclined to contract which means they don’t grow in a professional sense or establish quality working relationships.  I went in to the Readings bookshop at Fed Square afterwards thinking I’d collect a copy of Carrolls’ book, Ego and Soul, although the tiny shop was so packed and I just needed to get some air.  Most people headed straight for Delany’s book but she seemed the less interesting of the two to us.  The JB summed her up as a jack of all trades but master of none.  Ashton was a good chair, she introduced both authors and set good parameters for the discussion.

The final and best session for the day was Sonya Hartnett in conversation with Sally Warhaft (formerly of The Monthly).  Any would-be chairs really ought to go and see Warhaft in action; this woman knows how to lead a discussion, how to engage with her subject and the audience.  Really fantastic.  And as for Hartnett, you don’t get many authors these days who are so honest, realistic and up front about everything including her use of Botox.  Hartnett was the recipient of the Astrid Lindgren Memorial Award which has really cemented her reputation as an internationally acclaimed author.  She discussed the good and bad associated with winning such a prize, the challenges of being an Australian author who publishes for young and adult audiences and how her creative process works.  I have read Landscape with Animals and Of a Boy by Hartnett, both great books in different ways, for my money.  It was without doubt a fantastic conversation to be a part of.  Sonya was charming, friendly, warm and honest.  Warhaft really got the best out of Hartnett and that’s what made this one of the best ‘in conversation’ sessions I’ve ever seen.  I would have paid the $50 that we paid for the 4 sessions just to see Hartnett and Warhaft for an hour.  Excellent.

So we left Fed Square last night thinking it was great to do something different.  We both learned new and different things although if we do the MWF again I’ll probably look more closely at the sessions I’m more interested in seeing.  The Festival runs for a few another week or so but due to work and other commitments we won’t get there again this time around.

Balibo by Jill Joliffe

It’s in the news at the moment because of the movie’s recent debut at MIFF.  As we live in a multimedia world it has also been referenced on Australian Story (John Milkins), Stateline, 774 Melbourne and written up in all the broadsheets too.  

Balibo is the story of five Australian journalists who were killed when the Indonesians invaded Portugese Timor in October 1975.  It also covers the death of Roger East, a freelance journalist who was reportedly killed several days later.  Over the years I’ve gleaned bits of this story – I remember the inquest at Glebe a couple of years ago being covered on telly, and seeing the haunting footage of Greg Shackleton painting the Aussie flag on the front of a house with a rag- but I’ve never really read it thoroughly.  Like a lot of people who have followed the story from an arms length I was always of the impression that the five journalists were caught in crossfire.  But now, having read the Joliffe version of events, I am inclined to think that these five young men were killed openly and deliberately by Indonesian forces ’setting an example’.  And that the Australian Government of the time (and perhaps successive?) have avoided being open and transparent about their knowledge of when/how the Balibo 5 met their fate.

In 1975, Joliffe was also a young journalist covering the fallout of the Portugese pullout of Timor.  She knew one of the Balibo five reasonably well and was acquainted with the others which is why the story of the Balibo 5 has such a personal significance for her.  Not only was she one of the few journalists covering this story at the time, but she has spent a considerable part of her subsequent career following and reporting on developments, going as far as to invest her own time and money to work with ‘witnesses’ to re-enact events of October 16, 1975.  She has also at every opportunity tried to find out the fate of the other Australian journalist, Roger East.  It’s clearly been a lifelong mission for Joliffe to cover this story which is what makes this book so powerful.

The level of detail makes this a compelling reading.  Joliffe reports on the impact the deaths have had on family members, the deal struck between the Indonesian and Australian Governments and the difficulty of dealing with witnesses that have been tortured, exiled and suffered at the hands of Indonesian forces for successive years – having members of their families killed in retaliation for speaking out.

This is a comprehensive and thoroughly researched version of what happened to the Balibo 5.  Joliffe’s connections with the area continue today – she works with Timorese children and still campaigns today to ensure that these deaths are not forgotten and that the Indonesian leaders who ordered the deaths be brought to account.

The Element by Ken Robinson

A couple of months back the JB and I were eating dinner whilst tuned into Red Kerry when a guest speaker of his captured our attention.  Neither of us had heard of Ken Robinson even though he’s been knighted by the British Government for his services to education.  Considered “one of the world’s leading thinkers on creativity and innovation” (as per the front cover of his book) we were impressed and quite raptured with the interview which was interesting enough for me to think I should read a copy of his book.

On the train the next morning, I was seated next to a gent who just happened to be reading The Element by Ken Robinson.  An hour or so later I headed into Readings Hawthorn who didn’t have the book in stock and were a little unsure as to when it would be stocked.  So I headed to Borders and again no luck, but they were sure it would be in stock within a couple of weeks.  Lo and behold a week and a bit later, I had a copy in my hands. 

What an inspiring read.  For anyone who’s never really been sure about the career they’ve chosen or fallen in to, or always dreamed of pursuing a more creative life (I know you’re all out there – I often sit next to you in my writing classes!) this is the type of read that lets you know another career is possible.  If you have ever been unsure about your true direction, this is the type of book that will point you in the right way.

The book includes a series of anecdotes of well known people who have achieved success in their respective fields simply by following instinct or being exposed to key people in their lives who recognised their innate  talents.  The likes of Mick Fleetwood of Fleetwood Mac who to this day can’t read music, but is a highly successful musician because he can pick up tunes just by listening.  Robinsons’ book is littered with many examples – he cites Paul McCartney, Aaron Sorkin, Matt Groening and Terence Tao amongst others. 

As it’s part biographical, this book is both interesting and inspiring.  Whilst a lot of what Robinson says is common sense and quite logical it’s amazing that so many people accept their unfulfilling careers/jobs.

Shallows by Tim Winton

After my Tim Winton rant a post or so ago, I found this in my brothers bookshelf and helped myself to it.  It’s early Tim Winton and a great book although I think he’s an even better writer now.  It was clearly a text from my brothers school days, so my version had a few interesting notations in the margins to add to the analysis. 

Set in a small coastal Western Australian town where whaling is the key industry, it examines the issues of anti-whaling, small town mentality, history, family and all the other themes that Winton is reknowned for writing about; love, loneliness, water etc. 

Winton’s way of not filling in the gaps just keeps the pages turning.  Great.

Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs

A memoir?  Could have fooled me.  If this story wasn’t overtly described as a true story I would never have believed it was possible.  Having said that, it’s a pretty easy read and quite funny at moments.  I haven’t seen the movie although am now keen knowing that Annette  Bening plays Augusten’s mother. 

The story is Augusten’s recollections of a very strange up-bringing; his mother signing over her son’s guardianship to her shrink even though there’s a raving pedophile in his home.  The bizarre and unusual characters  that Augusten finds himself with are both funny and scary.  Agnes eating dry dogfood; Pooh doing a poo; and Hope with her cat are all very peculiar but portrayed in a way that makes them seem more bohemian than bananas.   

Give it a go, it’s not a bad read.

Breath by Tim Winton

It’s disappointing when people you admire don’t live up to your admiration.  I have read most of Tim Winton’s books, some of them now considered modern day classics;  Cloudstreet; The Riders; Dirt Music – all fantastic novels, memorable for characters, prose and Australian imagery.  

Not long after I read Dirt Music I had a chance encounter with Tim Winton, down at Lygon Street in a well known pizzeria.  I won’t go into the details (people I’ve told this story to will be shaking their heads and muttering something about letting go) but I was left thinking he’s not as wonderful as I expected.  So for a while I’ve had a bit of Tim Winton moratorium.  All through last year and the launch of Breath with everyone telling me what a fantastic read it is, the First Tuesday Book Club awarding top marks etc etc I’ve stayed strong and resisted. 

Until last week.

In a moment of lethargy and with a desire to read some quality fiction, I lapsed, purchased a copy and was hooked from the first moment.  I managed to finish it in two days (two hours each day on the train) and am now cursing myself for waiting for so long to read it.

I’m not going to give away anything about the story, I’m only going to agree that it deserves it’s Miles Franklin Award .  I am also really pleased that in his acceptance speech, Winton chose to rail against territorial copyright that the Productivity Commission is currently evaluating.  The speech is delivered with poise and logic, part of it even featured on one of the 7.30 Report this week.         

I’m not sure if Tim Winton is getting better or it’s just been too long between drinks.  Get yourself a copy, it’s even in paperback so there are no excuses.  As for my Tim Winton encounter?  All is forgiven, it’s in the past now…