Michelle de Kretser’s latest novel, Theory & practice, is a perfect example of why I should follow my own reading advice, which is that as soon as I finish a book I should go back and read the opening paragraphs, if not pages. I like to do this because there often lies clues to what the book is really about. It certainly is with Theory & practice.
Theory & practice starts like a typical novel, whatever that is. We are in Switzerland in 1957, with an unnamed 23-year-old Australian geologist who is waiting for a bus to go up the mountain. Meanwhile, back in Australia “rivers of Southern Europeans are pouring into Sydney”. The story continues, with a flashback to his living in the country with his grandmother when he was six years old. During this time he steals her precious ring, and lets her blame her “native” worker Pearlie. The story, told third person, returns to 1957 and a potential tragedy when, writes the narrator, “the novel I was writing stalled”. And, just like that, we switch to first person.
I wrote to my American friend after I finished it, that I needed to do a bit of thinking. I saw an underlying thread concerning colonialism, I wrote, but how does that tie in with the idea of “theory and practice”, and with my glimmer of something about the messiness of life and how it can be represented in art. And, to make things more complicated – in this rather slim book – the narrator is writing a thesis on Virginia Woolf’s The waves, in which Woolf attempted to play with the novel form, calling her novel a “playpoem”. In Theory & practice, de Kretser also plays with the form, but by using fiction, essay and memoir in a way that nods a little to autofiction, but that feels more intensely focused on ideas than narrative.
So, here goes … With the jump to first person, our narrator introduces us to an essay titled “Tunnel vision”, by the British-Israeli architect Eyal Weizman, that she read in the London Review of Books. In this essay Weizman discusses what de Kretser characterises as “the application of Situationist theory to colonising practice”. She kept finding herself returning to the idea of “theory and practice” and her recognition that “the smooth little word ‘and’ makes the transition from theory to practice seem effortless” when she knew was not the case. She knew all about “the messy gap between the two”. Her novel had stalled because it wasn’t what she needed to write. What she needed to write about was the “breakdowns between theory and practice”.
We then shift gear again, and flash back to when the narrator is a child and learning the piano, learning both musical theory and piano practice. The relationship between the two might have been obvious to her teacher but it wasn’t to her.
“messy human truths” (p. 38)
Are you getting the drift? I thought I was, but the novel shifted gear again to 1986 when the narrator, at the age of 24, moves from Sydney to Melbourne to undertake an MA in English. Her topic is to be Virginia Woolf and gender, drawing on feminist theory. She soon uncovers a confronting thread of racism in Woolf’s diaries – a reference to “a poor little mahogany coloured wretch”. This was E.W. Perera, a Ceylonese barrister, politician and freedom-fighter man who, according to Woolf, had only two subjects, “the character of the Government, & the sins of the Colonial Office”. He made Woolf uncomfortable, though husband Leonard sympathised. The problem for our “mahogany-coloured” narrator is that Woolf’s discomfort makes her uncomfortable, but her thesis supervisor, Paula, won’t agree to her changing direction to explore racism. Our narrator’s solution, on the advice of an artist friend, is to “write back to Woolf”, to find or create her own truth in Woolf’s story.
Throughout the novel various parallels are drawn which illuminate the theme, even if they don’t resolve the mess. In her personal life, the narrator’s “practice” – a love affair with a man attached to another woman he claims to love – keeps butting up against her understanding of feminist theory and its key idea of supporting the sisterhood. Desire and obsession, she was finding, trumps theory every time. How to reconcile this? We are thrown into academia, with its politics and jealousies, and St Kilda’s colourful bohemian life, as she reaches for answers to questions both academic and personal.
Concurrently, there is the mother-parallel, one in which regular phone calls from her mother offering practical help and advice interrupt the text and narrative flow, and contrast with the Woolfmother whose abstract presence continues to complicate our narrator’s research and understanding. On the one hand, says our narrator, Woolf said ‘”Imagine” and opened the doors to our minds’, but on the other, she was “a snob and a racist and an antisemite”. Both are as complicated – “messy”, dare I say – as any mother-daughter relationship.
All this is told in prose that is captivating with its changing rhythms from the tersely poetic – “the evening felt jumpy, spoiling for a fight” – to realistic description, and natural dialogue.
Eventually our narrator manages to squish her “ideas about Woolf’s novels into the corset of Theory”, but, perhaps recalling her earlier awareness that “theory taught us … to notice what was unimportant”, it does not fill her with pride. It does, however, fulfil the university’s requirements and she can move on.
And so does the novel, making another leap to the end of the twentieth century, and on into the 21st century. She has more to say about the ways humans abuse others – as she’d been abused as a child, as Woolf and her sister had been abused, and as Donald Friend, in an interesting late discussion in the novel, abused young Balinese boys. Such is the legacy of sexism, racism and colonialism.
Now, how does this short but invigorating novel bring all this together? By reminding us, as the novel has done all the way through, that life is messy, that neither art (including the novel) nor theory can provide the answer, though they might provide insights. This is why, I’d say, de Kretser continues to play with the novel form, to find ways to convey the reality (not the realism) of life. I will end with a Woolf quote shared by de Kretser two-thirds through the novel, because I think she would apply it to herself:
“I will go on adventuring, changing, opening my mind & my eyes, refusing to be stamped & stereotyped.”
Kimbofo also loved this book.
Michelle de Kretser
Theory & practice
Melbourne: Text Publishing, 2024
184pp.
ISBN: 9781923058149
(Review copy courtesy Text Publishing)
Whispering Gums 
Great review thanks. I have the unfortunate tendency to judge a book by its title (naughty me) so I wasn’t drawn to it. This review (and a few others) have convinced me I’m going to love this one.
Great Karenlee. It’s not a riveting title is it? But it’s an intriguing one, and it probably does belie the power of its content.
There is an adage among (at least) American techies that runs, The difference between theory and practice is larger in practice than in theory. Theory with a capital T barely arrived in English departments (at least in the provinces) only in time for me to encounter the merest touch of it.
Virginia Woolf was certainly a snob. But if she was antisemitic, this did not keep her from marrying Leonard Woolf, did it? I remember from a book review some critic’s remark that if one wanted an absolutely unobjectionable poet, one would have to restrict one’s reading to George Herbert; and that though Herbert was a good enough poet one might eventually want a broader range.
For me, “Woolfmother” inevitably brings Romulus and Remus to mind. Does the author touch on this?
Thanks George. That techie adage rings true to me. Your experience of Theory in English departments is mine too. In fact even less and that’s not surprising. Her narrator went to Melbourne in 1986 and found Melbourne far more theory-oriented than Sydney (something Melbourne was proud of). And I was in Sydney in the early 1970s.
No, I guess Woolf was complex like most us are!
I don’t know much about Herbert.
And no I don’t recollect seeing any reference – even light allusion – to Romulus and Remus. I may have missed it but I suspect it may not have added anything to her theme.
NFM, as you would expect, ST.
Also, you know my passionate views on book titles. This is one of the least appealing I’ve come across, albeit 100% relevant.
I’m not surprised on either of those fronts MR! It’s a surprising title – and does feel (the title u mean, not the book) a bit like a text book. Presumably all that was discussed at publication time and they decided De Kretser’s name would carry it.
About to go on a mini-break and planning to take this with me (in case it wins the Stella), but I read your review anyway because I suspected that this book might be easier to read/absorb knowing something about it beforehand.
It ticks a number of my boxes, but sounds like I will need to read it post-coffee and not late at night in bed!
Great. Look forward to your thoughts. Will you give off and start researching all the theories though!! Haha! And yes, I didn’t read reviews before but I don’t believe they would have spoilt anything and may have given some heads ups.
Gosh, it sounds like a book of many shifts and changes. Thanks for keeping track of them! I might give it a go — I do like the idea of various genres of writing bouncing off one another, as this one seems to. And de Krester is very smart, I think.
Thanks Robyn – I think she is. And yes, I too like the ideas of genres bouncing off each other. I like the way you describe that.
Great review, Sue. I love how you’ve really focused on the theory and practice theme… makes total sense and you’ve spotted issues I didn’t notice. I do think it’s a book that invites rereading, the kind that elicits new meanings / insights with each read.
Funnily enough, as other commentators have pointed out, the title feels totally uninspiring. In fact, when I went to purchase this in a local bookstore, I couldn’t find it because it had mistakenly been filed in the wrong section as non-fiction / literary criticism!
Haha, Kimbofo … I love that it was misfiled. Bookshop staff really do need to be on their guard. It does say “fiction” on the back cover near the ISBN and my front cover clearly says “the new novel …” but I can imagine the harried bookseller not noticing those.
I was fascinated by the theme but I liked your focus on the narrator and the coming-of-age idea, and also the great examples of her writing. So many beautiful descriptions that nail it.
This sounds so fascinating! I read Springtime: A Ghost Story by de Krester and really enjoyed it.
Thanks Cathy. This is my fourth de Kretser but Springtime is still on my TBR though I know it’s small!
I love that three people pointed out the problematic title, not just in terms of drawing readers in, but confusing them about where this book may go in a bookstore. It doesn’t sound like this book is for me, but I absolutely love this quote you shared: Eventually our narrator manages to squish her “ideas about Woolf’s novels into the corset of Theory…” I don’t know a ton about Woolf except that she was writing when women had a tough go of having to prove they were worth taking seriously, so that metaphor of taking Woolf and squishing her work into a theory CORSET is just brilliant.
Thanks Melanie. No I suspect it may not be for you either, though you never know! However, I love your thoughtful comment that shows you engaged with my post even if you mightn’t engage with the book. That’s a great point about the Woolf and the “corset” image.
oh yay! I am in the library holds queue for this book and very much looking forward to reading it. You may be interested in the Between the Covers podcast interview with de Krester, it’s really good and has me primed for the book 🙂 Weirdly, the US cover got changed so it doesn’t have a photo of her that also plays with the whole idea of the novel. She talks about it in the interview. Have you read any other of her books? She sounds like a very interesting writer who likes to play with form and expectations, something I find kind of exciting.
I’m thrilled that you are so interested in her and this book Stefanie. Yes, this is the fourth of her 8 (I think) novels that I’ve read. I’ve missed the last two but I loved Questions of travel which played with so many ideas about travel from migration to recreational. I’ve posted on it.
I will check out that podcast. Covers are fascinating things aren’t they. As are titles.
I’ve probably read your post on Questions of Travel and forgot all about it in the pile of books that never stops. I am glad to know you’ve read and like so many of her novels. It makes me look forward to this one even more and perhaps then on to her others 🙂
Covers are fascinating things and I don’t understand why US publishers so often change them. They probably have some kind of marketing reasons for it that most readers probably don’t care about
Well, I certainly don’t remember all the books I’ve read about on other blogs so no need to worry on that score!
I’m just writing up another book. It’s a crime novel and was published in Australia as Ripper, but overseas – England? US? Both – as Murder Town. I’m wondering whether it’s because of Jack the Ripper in England. Or whether Ripper is slang in the US or UK for something? It’s a shame though because her three books here have single word titles. The covers though are roughly similar.
Ripper is not slang that I am aware of, but a book called Ripper would certainly invoke Jack the Ripper in the US so it’s understandable why that might get changed, but still, people aren’t dumb and can figure out that it isn’t about Jack the Ripper.
Thanks Stefanie. I was wondering if it had been that factor but thought Jack the Ripper would be as well known here. Is it that connection, and publishers here didn’t see it as an issue while American ones did. I’d love to know these things.
I think this is the second year for which there have been North American rights, already in place, for the Stella winner. Next year I’ll be looking to that as an indicator.
I was going to recommend the same program Stef has suggested. Along with the one David Naimon did with/on Dionne Brand’s Salvage (one of her earlier novels was called Theory too). Also contemplating colonialism, a writer’s way of engaging with material and with the world around them, and messing about with form to disrupt and provoke (and, maybe, just maybe, get closer to something like truth).
Only one of MdK’s books made it into my stack (it might even have been her first, back when the women’s fiction prize was the Orange prize) and I didn’t exactly like/enjoy it but I did admire it and knew that I would want to read more of her work someday.
And tell us too, Marcie, which books have those rights in place. Correlation or causation? Who knows, but could be indicative of how the book is viewed regardless!
Her first two as I recollect were more historical fiction. The rose grower made a splash, but I was less into historical fiction then (albeit the French Revolution is an era I’m interested in). Her second was The Hamilton Case, historical too but 20th century and I was impressed, partly because it was about Ceylon (Sri Lanka). I then read The lost dog which was contemporary and I liked it too but perhaps less so as less of it has stuck with me in terms of ideas. Then there was Questions of travel which I LOVED. So punchy, but with heart and wit. And somehow I’ve not read the ones after that, until this.
Sounds like a lot of threads in this book. I have gone back to first pages or so a couple of times especially when the story goes so far into another direction.
Yes… there are really Pam, though they are related as well too.
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