This is my third post inspired by Reading like an Australian writer, and it involves two First Nations writers, Ellen van Neerven on Tara June Winch’s award-winning debut novel Swallow the air. I chose van Neerven’s essay for my next post, because, coincidentally, I’d just read Winch’s story “Cloud busting” in Flock, an anthology, edited by van Neerven. Are you keeping up? “Cloud busting” is one of the stories in Swallow the air.
Form? What form?
In my review of Swallow the air, I wrote:
The first thing to confront the reader is its form. It looks and even reads a little like a collection of short stories*, but it can be read as a novella. There is a narrative trajectory that takes us from the devastating death of narrator May Gibson’s mother, when May was around 9 years old, to when she’s around 15 years old and has made some sense of her self, her past, her people. May’s mother is Wiradjuri, her father English.
The asterisk pointed to a note at the end of my post, which stated that one story from the novel, the aforementioned “Cloud busting”, had been published separately in Best Australian stories 2006. And, in her essay, van Neerven says that she had used “Cloud busting” with students. Sounds like it could become one of Australia’s popular anthologised stories. This would be a good thing because, also in her essay, van Neerven comments on having had no introduction to “Indigenous-authored books” when she was at school (which, for 31-year-old van Neerven, was not that long ago.) Short stories are an excellent form for introducing school students to great stories and writing, and it would be a good thing to see more diverse stories added to current anthology favourites.
“Cloud busting” is a beautiful story, by the way, because it makes a point about deep loss but also conveys the warmth, trust and generosity that can exist between people.
Anyhow, back to form. Just as I wrote in my post on Swallow the air, van Neerven also comments on the book’s form, noting that “writing relational novels-in-stories” is a “very First Nations practice”. She cites Jeanine Leane’s Purple threads (my review) and Gayle Kennedy’s Me, Antman and Fleabag, as other examples. Marie Munkara’s Every secret thing (my review) fits in here somewhere too, I’d say. I hadn’t really thought about this as being particularly First Nations, as we all know novels from various writers that generate arguments about whether they are novels or short story collections. However, in my experience – and I am generalising a bit – First Nations people can be great story-tellers so it wouldn’t surprise me to find the form of “novel-in-stories” being more common among First Nations writers.
Further discussing this book, in which protagonist May goes on a journey back to Country to find her Wiradjuri origins, van Neerven makes another interesting observation, which is that May’s journey “plays into the reader’s romanticised expectations that a return to Country will bring the story a happy resolution”. But, of course, it’s not that simple. Country has often been too damaged by “past policies and institutionalisations”, as van Neerven puts it, for this to happen, but, she says, May does come to understand something important, which is that Country “lives within her” and her family “allowing her to feel strong in her identity without the shame of not living or growing up on Country”. Of course, it’s not up to me to pronounce on the validity of this way of seeing, but it makes good sense to me.
Anyhow, I’ll leave it, on these two interesting-to-me points, as I don’t want to steal the life from Castle’s book. These essays are all so different, as you’d expect, but this just makes them more worthwhile. You just never know what approach a writer is going to take when talking about another writer, but you do know that it will probably be insightful.
Ellen van Neerven
“Kinship in fiction and the genre blur of Swallow the air as novel in stories”
in Belinda Castles (ed), Reading like an Australian writer
Sydney: NewSouth, 2021
pp. 7-12
ISBN: 9781742236704
Tara June Winch
“Cloud busting”
in Ellen van Neerven (ed), Flock: First Nations stories then and now
St. Lucia: UQP, 2021
ISBN: 9780702264603 (Kindle)
Sometimes I’m bewildered, a bit ..
Never mind, it’s all good for the soul.
Hope it’s not because I don’t make sense, M-R!
ST ! – you never don’t make sense; but every now and then the ancient brain experiences some difficulty in correctly intepreting. 😉
Well I’ll have to make sure I do more to make it easier to interpret M-R. Sometimes in trying to keep it short I can make assumptions about the connections between my ideas, and they may not be as obvious as I think they are in my brain!
Nah ! – as they say, me old china, it’s not you, it’s me ! 😀
I beg to differ! I can ALWAYS improve clarity. Thanks as ALWAYS for reading and commenting.
The others would be happier if I commented more on-topic, I think. [grin]
Oh I don’t know M-R, a good reader always enjoys an entertaining digression [grin back]
This is so interesting, thank you for sharing. I like a novel-in-stories much more than unconnected short stories.
Thanks Liz, I like both really, but I certainly have no problem with novels-in-stories. They can be the best of both worlds!
I was reading something online today about a woman whose mother came from Haiti, but with the political and environmental upheaval there, it’s pretty much impossible (or sternly not advised, I suppose) to return. It makes me wonder if not visiting her mother’s homeland has a negative affect on her, but as you mention here, the return to the land doesn’t heal everything, either.
Thanks Melanie. No I guess we’d like to think it was that simple… Then again, for those who can’t, like asylum-seekers, it’s probably helpful to know that homeland isn’t always the answer.
The story of the protagonist returning to her mother’s homeland (as the author did to her father’s) brings to mind the dissatisfaction not only I felt with Winch’s rather generic descriptions of Wiradjuri country in The Yield.
I like the linked short stories form of novel though Van Neerven’s own collection, Heat and Light sat together well without sharing protagonists, from memory, though I seem to remember it included some autofiction.
Thanks Bill. I wouldn’t really call Heat and light a novel… Though I think HEAT could be seen as a novella-in-stories? WATER could be a novella (or long short story) while LIGHT is more like a traditional short story collection. I think there was some autofiction in there.