When I saw the line-up for this session – Debra Dank, Evelyn Araluen, Ellen Van Neerven and Yasmin Smith – I was in. I have read and admired writing by three of these writers and was keen to attend that rare thing, an all First Nations panel.
Its topic was described as follows:
A new literary project sets out to change the way we tell the story of Australian literature. Join series editor, Yasmin Smith and a stellar panel of writers as they celebrate the first edition of First Nations Classics. Essential reading for all generations.
The discussion
The program didn’t, for some reason, identify the publisher of this new series, but it is the wonderful University of Queensland Press which, as the panelists said several times, has an excellent track record in publishing and supporting First Nations writing. I wrote about this series late last year, so loved having the opportunity to hear it discussed by those involved.
The session started with acknowledgement of country, and then with each writer briefly introducing themselves, which they did primarily by identifying the country they belong to. I love that these country names are now becoming so familiar to us all. We are all learning – almost by osmosis – the First Nations make-up of the land we live on.
Smith then talked about the inspiration for the series, about UQP’s “incredible backlist” of books across a range of forms, that are timeless and have a clear relevance now. She then asked the panelists what makes a classic. The responses to this age-old question were varied, thoughtful and provocative . Araluen commenced because, she said laughingly, the “eye contact” had come to her! I loved her response – it’s when a book shifts into a communal relationship! The idea of “classics”, she said, is related to “the cannon”, and idea which is a western concept loaded with values of the the city-state(Plato), beauty and artistry (Aristotle), and – haha – sexual innuendo (Shakespeare). For her though a classic is a book that’s ground-changing, and that people incorporate into their lives. Real classics live within communities, outside universities. They are classics because they are valued by the people they are for and from.
She also talked about the musicality of writing, such as Ruby Langford Ginibi’s Don’t take your love to town. Dank picked up this idea and talked about musicality and rhythm. These make a classic, they are the “thing that beats within all of us”.
Van Neerven talked about classics being stories that can be read and heard, and about her own early reading as a 19-year-old of writers like Oodgeroo Noonuccal, Samuel Watson, and Leonard Fogarty. These spoke to her, though they were not alway widely celebrated in their times. She talked about Jackie Huggans’ book Sister girl. Rereleased last year, it had sold more in the next two months than it had in its first 30 years. Black literature is now being read and recognised; young people are people inspired to add to the conversation; and the publishing industry is more open to black stories.
It was then suggested that classics have great characters, a strong voice, truth-telling, and good evocation of place. Araluen identified Jeanine Leane’s Purple threads (my post) as an example of great evocation of place. You can “feel its realness, authenticity”. Classics also embody a sense of honouring what came before.
Smith next asked the panelists to talk about the growth of First Nations literature since their careers began, to which Debra Dank’s laughingly said that she was surrounded by “gorgeous, youthful folk” but that she was the youngest in terms of a writing career. Her PhD was in semiotics, which is what motivated her. She believes not many non-Indigenous Australians are aware of the depth of black writing, of its amazing richness. Blackfellas tell stories differently (which I loved hearing because I have commented on it before, and hoped I wasn’t making it up!)
Smith encouraged Van Neerven to talk about her Heat and light (my post) journey. She started with her unversity days when all her reading was “so white”. She then talked about learning what she didn’t know, how to break rules, and what she wanted to say; and about being part of the black&write! program. When Heat and light, a hybrid book, was published in 2013, there was little queer representation in First Nations literature, and little satirical/futuristic/speculative writing in the black space. There has been significant change in both these areas over the decade.
Araluen talked about Purple threads, which, like much First Nations literature, doesn’t fit into a neat package. There was talk of “blackfellas evading classification”! She found it both an honour and a challenge to be invited to contribute an introduction to Leane’s book. She tried three introductions: a literary analysis on why the book doesn’t fit the usual prose categories, but this came from our impulse to name; looking at it within the framework of Leane’s life but this would tell people how to read it; and finally, a focus on the place. She drove to Gundagai (under Leane’s guidance) and immersed herself in the place. It was an immense privilege to step into someone else’s story. All the books she said come from particular contexts, but are now in conversation with each other.
At this point she made a shout out to the Festival’s Artistic Director, Beejay Silcox, for her diversity and inclusiveness this year’s programming.
Smith then noted that classics hold deep, rich history, and asked Dank if she had any favourites. Dank neatly sidestepped this (almost), saying that each book reflects different times and experiences. She did though name Herb Wharton’s cattle country book (Unbranded) and said Ruby Ginibi’s book is a classic. She’s relatively new to Van Neerven’s work which she sees as profound in a different way. She really couldn’t pick favourites, she said. they are life markers, they guide us.
Araluen wondered what the series will do for kids, and then asked Smith about her experience managing the process. Smith said it felt overwhelming, but it was all based on consultation and community. The challenge was working out who could speak to which book for the intros. It was also very hard to choose the initial 8. She was 19 years old when she first read a black writer, Tara June Winch’s Swallow the air. It gave her a sense of belonging; she could see herself. So, she wanted books “that spoke to ourselves as black writers and black readers … to community”.
Q & A
- On a second series and the production process: There is a second series of 8, coming out next June (2024). The process was complicated: some were out of print, some pre-digital, so there was scanning, rekeying, retypesetting; there was designing the covers to make them collectible as a set; there was no editing of the works, but there was the commissioning of the intros. It takes a long time.
- On getting the books into school curriculums: Some are already (like Heat and light) but they are trying to get them into the educator’s market. Some have teacher notes.
The panelists then asked each other questions. Araluen asked Van Neerven how she felt about Alison Whittaker writing her book’s introduction. Van Neerven said she’d been daunted by the whole process when her book first came out, but this time felt more in control. She liked how Whittaker contextualised the book from her own experience. She loved feeling her work had been cared for.
Van Neerven then asked Dank what she was working on now. Dank wasn’t sure it was wise to talk about, but she is reframing the other part of her PhD which is about black narrative, but she is having second thoughts about its form. The problem is it’s about to go to the printers! Araluen answered the same question, saying it will be some time before she tries poetry again! Her next book is from her PhD on desire, haunting and healing in literature and storytelling.
Van Neerven didn’t get to answer her own question. She was saved, she said, by “1700 [the session end time] staring at her”!
This was truly lovely panel, in which the panelists showed such respect for each other but also exuded a quiet confidence in themselves – and gave me some new things to think about. Beautiful.
Canberra Writers Festival, 2023
Celebrating the classics
Saturday 19 August 2023, 4-5 pm
Whispering Gums 
“Blackfellas tell stories differently (which I loved hearing because I have commented on it before, and hoped I wasn’t making it up!)”
A rewarding moment for you, ST ! 🙂
It was a bit, MR, but I wish I could put my finger on how. Dank’s next book might do that.
Excellent review of the writers named and their discussion. I did a prac. – for my graduate studies diploma in (then called) Aboriginal Education – at Cleveland St HS in Sydney in 1984 – permission sought from the local Aboriginal Education Consultative Committee in Redfern whom I met with at “Murawina” – the historic pre-school in Redfern – guided by Linda Burney. To teach – as a guest – a series of lessons with a Year 11 class – literature/memoir by First Australian writers or by writers with some clear and positive things to say – such as Rex Ingamells. Out of my report on that teaching program I wrote up a fairly self-conscious piece published in an educational journal but later incorporated many of the pieces in an anthology I edited for OUP (Melb.) and among them included pieces from Ernie Dingo and Ruby Langford Ginibi (an extract from Don’t Take Your Love to Town) on all her names. I think I have mentioned something of these experiences in earlier posts, WG, and of a former student from my second year of teaching – 1972 – Gayle Kennedy – whose classic book: Me, Antman and Fleabag – was published by UQP in 2007. My shout-out to UQP (for whom Barbara Ker Wilson also worked as their Young Adult Fiction editor around those years, too). But these are amazing times as so many writers of First Australians backgrounds are appearing – and being fêted and studied – and flowing strongly into the centre of the stream of our national literature.
Thanks Jim, yes, you have but it’s good to hear this again. These are amazing times. It’s wonderful that finally FN writers are on Australia’s main literary stage rather than the sideline they’ve been for a while. There’s no excuse now for Australians saying they can’t find FN work to read, is there, because there’s something out there now for all reading interests – all forms, and genres. And Beejay Silcox has wonderfully got some of the leading writers here for the Festival. I’m thrilled.
Sounds like a great session, Sue — thanks for taking the time to report it. I bought this set of books when it came out and am looking forward to reading each book when I find time! I had heard recently there were another 8 in the wings and had wondered how UQP had sourced the work so quickly… it seems, from what you say here, that it wasn’t exactly easy! The effort will be worth it, I reckon 😊
I reckon it will be, Kimbofo. Some of the books are their own but it clearly was a bit of a challenge.
I wish Van Neerven had answered her own question, she is one writer I have been waiting to see more of.
Classics do get cemented in place by generally white male professor canons, but “They are classics because they are valued by the people they are for and from” is the real determinant. The other answers were just variants on why they got to be valued.
It has taken me a long time to break out of white vanilla writing, despite authors like Baldwin, and Okri having been available all my lifetime (and Angelou, Morrison, Hurston. I know. But I didn’t learn about them until much later). But I have now, within Australia and without, and I’m loving it.
Me too, Bill. I did read Morrison, Angelou and Hurston back in the 90s, if not the 80s but what’s happening here now is so exciting isn’t it?
Van Neerven has edited two collection recently but am not sure what she is doing now – unfortunately.
The discussion about Purple Leaves sent me to my own review of it to see if ‘place’ was something I’d commented on, but no, I was interested in the way she wrote about family and the strong women within it.
And then I noticed something I’d long forgotten: I’d noted an allusion to the Black history of Gundagai, specifically the role of First Nations men Yarri and Jacky-Jacky who risked their lives to save 69 of the people of Gundagai when the river flooded — and yet there is no memorial to their courage. Ten years later when I came to write my review of Bila Yarrudhanggalangdhuray* (River of Dreams) by Anita Heiss, which is a fictionalisation of those events, I was able to include a photo of that long overdue monument, built in 2017. So I’m just now going to link the two reviews because they belong together!
Fascinating to go back and read one’s old reviews, isn’t it Lisa. I checked mine too and I didn’t talk about place either. It’s possibly where I first heard that flood story but I didn’t mention it. I did however talk about a different way of storytelling which has turned out to be an issue raised at this festival. I’ll talk about that tonight.
Odd that neither of us commented on something now said to be of primary importance.
I don’t think either of us are obtuse readers…
Yes I thought about that too Lisa. And my thought is that it makes obvious to me how we read as western readers, and our focus tends to be human relationships. We might like descriptions of place, and we might note that sometimes, but we are not LOOKING for relationships WITH place, so we don’t see it. Does that make sense to you?
TBH, having been reading the new Cambridge Companion to The Australian Novel, much of which is written through a First Nations lens, I think politics has something to do with it too. You know how long I’ve been reading and been an active supporter of FNLit, and I detect a new assertiveness about the relationship to place which was less obvious when members of the Stolen Generations were writing about trying to restore broken families and the strength of older women in leadership roles.
Plus, LOL, whatever kind of reader I might be, my focus is not often on human relationships because I’m usually looking for more originality than that.
Ah Lisa, I rather expected you to respond to that “human relationships” point and should have written it better. I intended it in the wider meaning of the word, that is, the idea that we westerners tend to focus on the human rather than on, for want of a better description, a more holistic interconnectedness.
Yes, I think there is an increased assertiveness regarding place, and it does have a political element I agree, but it probably comes from two things: seeing what a mess we are making of caring for place, and seeing that we don’t understand just how place works for them?
Hmm. I’m not sure about the latter. As we might expect there is divergence in beliefs among First Nations people and for those urbanised by dispossession long ago, being connected to ‘place’ is perhaps an aspiration rather than a reality, and there are also those who are secular and do not share those spiritual beliefs or cultural traditions at all. Marie Munkara’s memoir Of Ashes and Rivers that Run to the Sea is a poignant example of someone struggling to reconcile an urban life derived from being taken from her family, with re-connecting to life in a community with whom she has little in common and doesn’t much like. Another example is Tony Birch who describes himself as an Urban Koorie presumably because like many Victorian Aborigines his idea of ‘place’ is contemporary Melbourne.
Online, usually via Twitter, I’ve read some more hostile and sometimes resentful opinions from FN people who don’t relate at all to the kind of beliefs and traditions asserted by outback communities and some activists. So I think we should hesitate before ascribing beliefs as universal.
Yes, fair points about there being diversity. I am sensing an increasing interest in getting to know country, but I also read an article recently by Lucashenko that conveyed the diversity, particularly in those who’ve had less contact with their FN heritage.
I thought Munkara came to value reconnecting with the Tiwi mob, but perhaps I misremember.
I certainly didn’t intend to make this sound universal but as a trend I’m noticing, including among some urban FN people. Dank, on the other hand is and always has been deeply connected to country. But you are right it’s not simple. I would just like everyone to be more tolerant and accepting of each other – Indig and non-Indig alike – and not venting on social media though respectful discussion there is good?
I find this definition of classics surprised: “For her though a classic is a book that’s ground-changing, and that people incorporate into their lives. Real classics live within communities, outside universities.” I almost never see anyone read what is considered a classic outside of school. Typically, we have to be convinced to read them because we see so little connection to our own lives.
Interesting Melanie … in my reading group there are the pro-classics group and the not-so-fussed group. (The pro-classics include the librarians but also an economist and others. The economist’s daughter is a psychologist and she loves Austen – has named her dog after Nr Darcy but hit first name.) You know there is the Classics Club that many book bloggers take part in? Then there’s Bill and our Aussie classics. People read early Vonnegut which I’d call classics now. In other words I see that there are classics enthusiasts out there.
I wonder what you mean by connection to your lives? My favourite classics, like Austen, resonate deeply. I see her characters around me often.
Oh dear I think I’d better get off my pedestal before I send you away!
You have not sent me away in the least! I love conversations like this. Unfortunately, I’ve spent the last week trying to figure out what my semester will “look like” because there is so much outside work and conferences. I’m starting to feel settled only now, but I do apologize for the five day delay. Anyway, I guess I want to see something of myself in a character for it to resonate, and because the expectations of the time period in which Austen wrote are so foreign to me, I cannot see myself in the characters, even if we share some opinions (like Elizabeth Bennet putting Mr. Darcy in his place). Or a book like Moby Dick. Even Slaughterhouse-Five feels foreign to me because I can’t imagine being in the main character’s shoes while he’s a prisoner of war, and then when he’s mind travelling in the future, so much of it is hands off that I don’t relate to that, either. Oddly, I tend to truly resonate with very odd books that come out from small presses. Books like Bogeywoman by Jaimy Gordon, Cruddy by Lynda Barry, or even my recently reviewed Manstealing for Fat Girls by Michelle Embree.