Monday musings on Australian literature: Forgotten writers 15, Tarella Daskein

I first came across Tarella Daskein back in 2021 when Bill (The Australian Legend) wrote a post about her as the result of her coming up in discussions and reading about Katharine Susannah Prichard. She then slipped my mind until a couple of months ago when I was searching around for a subject for my Australian Women Writers post that month. This post, like most of my recent Forgotten Writers posts, s a minor revision of the one I posted there.

Tarella Daskein

As with many of the lesser-known writers we research for this blog, Tarella Daskein (1877-1945) was somewhat challenging to pin down. It’s not that she wasn’t known. Indeed, Wikipedia and AustLit both have entries for her. However, there were conflicting details of her life. For example, both Wikipedia and AustLit had her death date as 1934, which was curious because Adelaide’s The Advertiser reported on her visiting that city in June 1935. How could that be? Further, The Advertiser also had her husband as Mr. T.S. Daskein while Wikipedia and other newspaper articles had him as Mr. T.M. Daskein. Compounding all this was her use of multiple names, including some confusion over her maiden name. The above-mentioned Advertiser, for example, reported it as Quinn. AustLit, however, resolved this by noting at the end of its entry that her name had been incorrectly spelled as ‘Quinn’ in Miller and Macartney’s Australian Literature: A Bibliography (1956). The death date issue was clarified by, strangely, Wikipedia’s article on her father, Edward Quin, which gave her death as 1945 and cited a newspaper notice as evidence. And a death notice for her husband confirms him as T.M. not T.S.

So, with all that resolved, who was this Tarella Daskein? Tarella Ruth Quin was born in Wilcannia, second daughter to pastoralist and one-time member of the New South Wales Legislature, Edwin Quin, in 1877. She is best known as a writer of children’s stories, but also wrote three adult novels – A desert rose (1912), Kerno (1914) and Paying guests (1917) – and many short stories which were published in contemporary newspapers and magazines. AustLit provides a good outline of her origins. She was one of eight children. Her father owned a dairy farm called ‘The Leasowes’, near Victoria’s Fern Tree Gully, and a sheep station called ‘Tarella’, after which she was named, in far western New South Wales near Wilcannia. ‘Ella’, as she was known, was educated in Adelaide, but spent most of her life on stations. She married Thomas Mickle Daskein, part proprietor of a station in far northwest NSW.

Cover for Tarella Quin Gum Tree Brownie

AustLit says that her first writing comprised short sketches of station life, which were published under the pseudonym “James Adare” in the Pastoral Review. At the editor’s suggestion, she also wrote some stories for children, which she sent to Ethel Turner, hoping to have them published in Sydney newspapers. However, Turner apparently recommended they be published as books. Her first book, Gum Tree Brownie, was published in 1910, with illustrations by Ida Rentoul whom Ella’s younger sister, Hazel, knew at school. This began a long partnership between the two, with Ida Rentoul Outhwaite illustrating many of her books for children. Wilde et al say she was “one of Australia’s most successful writers of fairy-stories for children” and that “humour, irony, a fluent, dramatic style and fantasy reminiscent of Lewis Carroll enliven her stories”.

Bill, as mentioned above, came across her, initially in Katharine Susannah Prichard’s autobiography, Child of the hurricane. Apparently, Prichard was governess for a year at Tarella Station in 1905, by which time Tarella, who was six years older than KSP, was already a published author. Prichard, says Bill, is “pretty dismissive” of Quin’s writing.

However, not all were. Several contemporary reviewers praised her adult novels, often singling out Kerno: A stone for special mention. On 10 April 1915, Adelaide’s Observer wrote:

Kerno, although similar in some respects, is nevertheless distinctly different from A Desert Rose. The latter is a novel – the former is a study – a keen analysis of human feelings and desires. One cannot well peruse the book without thinking deeply, and wondering what one would have done in circumstances like those in which the leading actors found themselves placed. Young people and those having a preference for light ephemeral literature may be inclined to consider the story rather tame; but all who have a true appreciation for human nature, and endeavour to probe into its many and varied qualities, will find in it compelling and absorbing interest.

Those who praise Kerno mostly praise it for its “real” characters and deep understanding of human nature. Indeed, the Observer says that it “richly deserves to rank among the best truly Australian novels”. Daskein was also praised for her understanding of and ability to convey life in the bush and, as the Observer says, for her “descriptive writing which … captivates the reader”.

Notwithstanding all this, Quin mostly wrote for children, with The Australian Women’s Weekly claiming, after the publication of Chimney Town in 1936, that

She has published more ambitious volumes, but her tales for children have a unique charm that makes one feel that this is her real metier.

Quin’s publishing career lasted from around 1907 to the mid-1930s, so it was no flash in the pan. AustLit lists over 20 works by her, but this may not be all. Regardless, she was well-known to readers of her time, and, according to Adelaide’s The Rouseabout, had some presence in literary circles, including being “a foundation member of the Melbourne centre of the P.E.N. Club and a constant attendant at its meetings”. She died on 22 October 1945, at a private hospital in Melbourne. The fact that I found little mention of this beyond The Rouseabout’s short article suggests that in the last decade of her life – after the death of her husband in 1937 – she faded from view.

The piece, “The camel”, which I chose for AWW, was published in The Bulletin’s Christmas issue in 1935. It shows a writer a writer who knows the outback, knows how to entertain her audience, and, who firmly belongs to the bush tradition. Life is tough, but our woman protagonist is resourceful.

Sources

Bill Holloway, “Tarella Down a Rabbit Hole“, The Australian Legend (blog), 16 December 2021 [Accessed: 9 November 2025]
The Rouseabout, “In Town and Out“, The Herald, 12 November 1945 [Accessed: 16 August 2025]
Tarella Quin, AustLit [Accessed: 16 August 2025]
Tarella Quin, Wikipedia [Accessed: 16 August 2025]
William H. Wilde, Joy Hooton and Barry Andrews, The Oxford companion to Australian literature. Melbourne, Oxford University Press, 2nd, edition, 1994

15 thoughts on “Monday musings on Australian literature: Forgotten writers 15, Tarella Daskein

    • Realism was certainly a big issue then it seems, doesn’t it, Marcie. Do you think it is part of that slow progress of fiction from something seen as trivial, sensational – and mainly read by women – to something recognised as a serious art?

      Realistic, ordinary characters are something Austen was praised for versus the romantic and gothic novels of her time. Perhaps we could say the novel finally grew up and expanded into the breadth of what fiction could be – and now novelists seem to be pushing it again, feeling constrained by the “fiction” box?

      • I couldn’t place the author’s name I was reaching for, but it was Henry Lawson, whose short stories were also praised for being about the Real Bush I believe? I wonder if that’s actually simply code for “includes grit” or “bonus: snakes”.

        Phew, all that sounds like a great conversation for lit majors, but I just don’t know. It seems to me that the opposite could also be argued, that once Dorothy Richardson and Virginia Woolf started playing with modernist ideas (another word I don’t fully understand) that THAT is when fiction turned serious?

        • I guess it depends on what you – we – mean by serious. I would argue that it has probably always been serious but in different ways and either different degrees of acceptance. What did those early novelists think they were doing? More than entertainment I think. Defoe, for example. Jane Austen is famous for her defence of the novel in Northanger Abbey. Perhaps the fact that writers and critics very early on have argued over her value and worth, for example, suggests they saw fiction as serious and worth discussing?

        • There does seem to be merit in the idea that the simple concept of work being discussed and its merits weighed does imputes a certain importance. If only they’d all kept blogs, we could have put The Wayback Machine to work and we could uncover their true motives. /cuedramaticmusic

  1. MR did you ever see Ida Rentoul’s fairy illustrations. With her sister Annie she wrote Gum Tree Brownie and other Faerie Folk of the Never Never (1907) and she and Annie produced similar works, and individual stories in New Idea up to the 1940s.

    And no, I didn’t. I think my only Australian books were Blinky Bill and The Magic Pudding.

    • I think I only became aware of the Rentouls in my adulthood, Bill. Interesting isn’t it, how some of these Aussie stories took off while others didn’t. It must be partly to do with some authors capturing a timelessness that others don’t?

  2. Thank you WG for all those “Bills”. I had a lot of fun writing ‘Tarella down a Rabbit hole.’ It fascinates me following the connections between all those PLC (Melbourne) girls at the turn of the century – I wonder why Tarella was educated in Adelaide, and her sister at PLC.

    • A pleasure Bill. I liked that post too. It is interesting to wonder. I think Tarella was the oldest – am I right? Maybe the parents had some reason for focusing on Sydney? Grandparents there? But, I agree, it would be interesting to know.

  3. We didn’t have a lot of Aust kids lit when i was growing up either. Blinky Bill of course although I never read more than the first few pages. Although I did have a wonderful picture book by Leslie Rees called Digit Dick on the Great Barrier Reef!

    I’ve also had to switch my blog to private for the time being as I’ve been inundated with bot activity. I’m hoping they will lose interest quickly and move on! Just send me a msg next time you visit my blog so I can grant access.

  4. Oh, to be named after a sheep station! 🤣 Her fading from view, and the confusion around her death, reminds me so much (YET AGAIN!) of Zora Neale Hurston, who wrote incredible books and then died a poor maid, in obscurity, buried in a city cemetery (with no marker until Alice Walker found where she believed Hurston was buried and bought one). Does this same thing happen to men?? Do you know of any male authors who have died in obscurity after a solid career? Anything you’ve found in your Trove research?

    • Haha Melanie … love your opening sentence. And I like how you can draw comparisons with writers like Hurston.

      Good question re men. I have to say no but I also have to say that I haven’t researched men – particularly forgotten men (and they exist too) – in the same depth.

Leave a comment