Monday musings on Australian literature: Bill’s Australian White Men Gen 1-3

For several years now, Bill (The Australian Legend blog) has run a week dedicated to “generations” in Australian literature, focusing until this year on Australian Women Writers. This year, however, he has changed tack, and decided to look at Australia’s early male writers – who were, of course, in that colonial landscape, mostly white. He has also decided to do three generations at once, which means we are covering writers who were active from 1788 to the 1950s. This, says Bill, will be his last “Gen” – and fair enough, it’s been a big effort, one that many of us have enjoyed taking part in. Bill deserves a big thanks for bringing older Australian writers to the fore, and encouraging discussion about our literary history – the writers, the influences (including his “favourite”, The Bulletin) and the trends.

As before, Bill has created a page of Gen 1-3 writers to which he will add reviews posted for them or for writers he’s not yet listed. In this post I am going to list the writers I have read who suit this period, as my first contribution to Bill’s project.

Now, like Bill, my reading focus is women writers. Each year they represent 65-75% of my reading. I do like reading men too – and I would read more, if I could carve out more reading time – but my point here is to explain why my contribution is paltry.

Sometimes a bloke gits glimpses uv the truth
(CJ Dennis, “In Spadger’s Lane” in The moods of Ginger Mick)

The Gums’ Gen 1-3 List

In alphabetical order by author (compared with Bill’s chronological one by date of birth) … and with links on titles to my reviews of their books.

Knowledgable eyes will notice that my list does not include some of the big names of Australia’s male writers of the 19th century – Rolf Boldrewood, Marcus Clarke, Joseph Furphy, Henry Kingsley and Henry Lawson. Or Watkin Tench’s first hand accounts of the early colony. I have read a couple of these before blogging, but overall they have not been high priorities for me.

But, just to prove my interest, I have also read a couple of biographies of Australian male writers:

I have also read a couple of short journalistic pieces by Vance Palmer.

The books in my list span a century, from John Lang in the 1850s to Martin Boyd and D’Arcy Niland in the 1950s. John Lang’s A forger’s wife is a colonial novel with a 19th century melodrama feel, and is about, as I wrote in my post, issues like “the survival of the wiliest, and the challenge of identifying who you can trust”, things deemed critical to survival in the colonial mindset. By the ’90s, we were well into the time of social realism* and writers were looking outwards – to the sociopolitical conditions which oppressed so many. This is reflected in William Lane’s novel. It is also reflected in Price Warung’s stories, which, although “historical fiction” about the convict days, are written with a social realist’s eye on the inhumanity of the system. By the time we get to the mid-20th century, fiction was increasingly diversified. The world wars, increasing awareness of gender and continued concern about those issues the social realists cared about, not to mention modernism’s interest in the self, intellect, art, and their intersection with each other (to put it very loosely) can be found in the books I’ve read from that period.

When Bill started this project, he was inspired by the divisions suggested by Henry Green in his history of Australian literature. Green’s divisions were “conflict”, 1789-1850; “consolidation”, 1850-1890; “self-conscious nationalism” 1890-1923; and “world consciousness and disillusion”, 1923-1950. There is some sense to these divisions, and they provided a loose skeleton for the Gens! However, in her introduction to The Cambridge companion to Australian literature, Elizabeth Webby shares several studies or surveys of Australian literature, discussing their different approaches and goals, but she does say that several identify the 1890s as “being crucial to the development of a national literature”.

I could go on delving more deeply, but I won’t, as this post’s main goal was to tell Bill which books I can contribute to his male Gen 1 to 3 list, and I’ve done that.

Are you joining in or do you have any thoughts to add?

* There is some confusion regarding social versus socialist realism, but I am using social realism broadly to mean concern with sociopolitical issues – particularly regarding the working classes – with or without political “isms” behind it.

Monday musings on Australian literature: Some New Releases in 2025

For some years now, my first Monday Musings of the year has comprised a selected list of new Australian book releases for the coming year. And, for many years, the bulk of this post came from a comprehensive list prepared by Jane Sullivan for the Sydney Morning Herald. However, this year’s SMH’s list, prepared by Melanie Kembrey, is highly selective, comprising just fifteen fiction and fifteen nonfiction titles. Further, it only covers the first half of the year, and as usual includes non-Australian books – meaning it has only a handful of Aussie titles.

So, I did a lot more research than usual. I checked many publisher websites, and found a couple of publisher emails useful. I also found The ArtsHub’s list prepared by Thuy On, which is a little longer than Kembrey’s and comprises selected Australian new releases for the first half of the year. I gleaned my list from these disparate sources, which varied in how well and thoroughly they shared their forthcoming titles.

The information I provide for each title varies a little, depending on what information I found easily. Links on the authors’ names are to my posts on those authors.

Fiction

As always, I have included some but not all the genre fiction I found to keep the list manageable and somewhat focused. Here’s my selection:

  • Mandy Beaumont, The thrill of it (March, Hachette)
  • Ashley Kalagian Blunt, Cold truth (February, Ultimo)
  • Tara Calaby, The spirit circle (historical fiction, January, Text)
  • Jane Caro, Lyrebird (April)
  • Shankari Chandran, Unfinished business (January, Ultimo)
  • Madeleine Cleary, The butterfly women (historical crime, April, Affirm Press)
  • Rachel Coad, Stray cats and bad fish: Silence of the eels (graphic novel, September, Upswell)
  • Anna Dombroski, After the great storm (February, Transit Lounge)
  • Laura Elvey, Nightingale (genre-bender, May, UQP)
  • Beverley Farmer, The seal woman (repub. of 1992 edition, March, Giramondo)
  • Irma Gold, Shift (March, MidnightSun)
  • Andrea Goldsmith, The buried life (March, Transit Lounge)
  • CE Grimes, The Guts (literary thriller, April, Puncher and Wattman)
  • Joanna Horton, Catching the light (April, Ultimo Press)
  • Luke Horton, Time together (March, Scribe)
  • Catherine Jinks, Panic (crime, January, Text)
  • Gail Jones, The name of the sister (June, Text)
  • Yumna Kassab, The theory of everything (March, Ultimo Press)
  • Vijay Khurana, The passenger seat (April, Ultimo Press)
  • William Lane, Saturation (May, Transit Lounge)
  • Zane Lovitt, The body next door (crime, March, Text)
  • Charlotte McConaghy, Wild dark shore (March, Penguin)
  • Nadia Mahjouri, Half truth (February, Penguin)
  • Steve MinOn, First name second name (March, UQP)
  • Debra Oswald, One hundred years of Betty (March, Allen & Unwin)
  • Jacquie Pham, Those opulent days (February, Upswell)
  • Sophie Quick, Confidence woman (April)
  • Diana Reid, Signs of damage (March)
  • Madeleine Ryan, The knowing (February, Scribe)
  • Josephine Rowe, Little world (April, Black Inc)
  • Ronni Salt, Gunnawah (historical rural crime fiction, January, Hachette)
  • Gretchen Shirm, Out of the woods (April, Transit Lounge)
  • Anna Snoekstra, The ones we love (June, Ultimo Press)
  • Jessica Stanley, Consider yourself kissed (April, Text)
  • Sinéad Stubbins, Stinkbug (May/June, Affirm Press)
  • Marion Taffe, By her hand (historical fiction, HarperCollins)
  • Hannah Tunnicliffe, The pool (January, Ultimo Press)
  • Madeleine Watts, Elegy, southwest (March, Ultimo Press)
  • Chloe Elisabeth Wilson, Rytual (May, Penguin)
  • Sean Wilson, You must remember this (January, Affirm Press)
  • Ouyang Yu, The sun at eight or nine (February, Puncher and Wattman)

Short stories

  • Peter M. Ball, What we talk about when we talk about brains: The Red Rain stories (January) 

Nonfiction

I am sorting these into two broad categories …

Life-writing (loosely defined)

  • Clem Bastow and Jo Case, Someone like me: An anthology of nonfiction by autistic writers (anthology, March, UQP)
  • Bron Bateman (ed), Women of a certain courage: Life stories (anthology, no month, Fremantle Press)
  • Brooke Boney, All of it (memoir, April)
  • Judith Brett, Fearless Beatrice Faust: Sex, feminism and body politics (biography, April, Text)
  • Geraldine Brooks, Memorial days (memoir, January)
  • Kerrie Davies, My brilliant career, Miles Franklin undercover (autobiography, March)
  • Robert Dessaix, Chameleon: A memoir of art, travel, ideas and love (memoir, March, Text)
  • Kate Grenville, Unsettled: A journey through time and place (Black Inc, April)
  • Hannah Kent, Always home, always homesick (memoir, May)
  • Sukhjit Kaur Khalsa, Fully Sikh: Hot chips and turmeric stains (memoir, February, Upswell)
  • Josie McSkimming, Gutsy girls (memoir, February, UQP)
  • Robert Manne, A political memoir: Intellectual combat in the Cold War and the Culture Wars (Black Inc, April)
  • Dean Manning, Mr Blank (memoir/biography, March, Puncher and Wattman)
  • Paul Marshall (ed), Raparapa: Stories from the Fitzroy River drovers (anthology, February, Magabala Books)
  • Brenda Niall, Joan Lindsay: The hidden life of the woman who wrote Picnic at Hanging Rock (biography, February, Text)
  • Sonia Orchard, Groomed: A memoir about abuse, the search for justice and how we fail to keep our children safe (memoir, January, Affirm Press)
  • Lucy Sussex and Megan Brown, Outrageous fortunes: The adventures of Mary Fortune, crime-writer, and her criminal son George (biography, Black Inc, February)
  • Grace Tame, The ninth life of a diamond miner: A memoir (memoir, repub., March, Pan Australia)
  • Naomi Watts, Dare I say it (memoir, January)
  • Jessica White, Silence is my habitat: Ecobiographical essays (memoir/ecoliterature, October, Upswell)

History and other non-fiction

  • Vanessa Berry, Calendar (essays, October, Upswell)
  • Anne-Marie Conde, The prime minister’s potato and other essays (June, Upswell)
  • Stephen Gapps, The Rising War in the colony of New South Wales, 1838-1944 (history, April)
  • Joshua Gilbert, Australia’s agricultural identity: an Aboriginal yarn (First Nations, Penguin, May)
  • Robert Godfree, Drought country: The dry times that have shaped Australia (eco-literature, February, CSIRO Publishing)
  • Alyx Gorman, All women want (women’s studies, March, HarperCollins)
  • Tom McIlroy, Blue Poles: Jackson Pollock, Gough Whitlam and the painting that changed a nation (history/biography, February/March, Hachette)
  • Alison Pouliot, Funga obscura: Photo journeys among fungi (photography/ecology, March, New South)
  • Belinda Probert, Bill’s secrets: Class, war and ambition (narrative nonfiction, January, Upswell)

Poetry

Finally, for poetry lovers, I found these, almost entirely from publisher websites:

  • Gregory Day, Southsightedness (April, Transit Lounge)
  • Yvette Henry Holt, Fitzroy North 3068 (March, Upswell)
  • Anna Jacobson, All rage blaze light (September, Upswell)
  • Šime Knežević, In your dreams (February, Giramondo)
  • Cameron Lowe, BliNk (February, Puncher and Wattman)
  • Thuy On, Essence (February, UWAP)
  • Helena Pantsis, Captcha (February, Puncher and Wattman)
  • Omar Sakr and Safdar Ahmed, The nightmare sequence (April, UQP)
  • David Stavanger, The drop off (April, Upswell)

So far I have read only three from my 2024 lists, though have several more on the TBR. How will I go this year?

Meanwhile, anything here interest you?

Monday musings on Australian literature: Some little recaps (2)

Last year, my last Monday Musings of the year fell on Christmas Day, so I did what I called a little recap post. This year, my last Monday Musings occurs the day before my big two end-of-year posts – Reading Highlights and Blogging Highlights – so I’ve decided to do another little undemanding Recap Post.

Recap 1: Some All-time Tops

Back in May I celebrated fifteen years of blogging, but in that post I didn’t share much in the way of overall statistics. However, trends and stats interest me so I’m sharing a couple here. Do you ever look at long term stats and trends on your blogs? See anything interesting?

Book Cover

My top review post of all time is one I wrote back in 2010 on Edith Wharton’s short story “A journey”. It was a Top Ten post for a long time, and continues to garner enough hits each year to keep it in the top 30. Close on its heels is my top Australian review post of all time, the one on Red Dog, the movie and the book. Like Wharton’s story, it was a serial Top Ten post, but was a bit of an outlier because, for many years, my Top Ten was dominated by my posts on older short stories. The last few years, though, have seen a gradual switch to more recent posts on more recent works occupying the top. I wonder why?

My strangest Top, though, comes from the list of sites that “refer” (sends visitors) to my blog. Next in the list after obvious sites – WordPress Reader, WordPress Android App, Facebook and Twitter – comes mumsnet.com! It’s the “UK’s biggest network for parents” and for some reason my posts, such as one on Germaine Greer, seem to get discussed there, resulting in visitors to my site. Is it just me?

Recap 2: Australian Women Writers Challenge

I’ve been involved in the Australian Women Writers blog since 2012. In January 2022, it changed from being an all-encompassing challenge to a blog/website devoted to promoting older, often under-recognised or overlooked, women writers, from the 19th- and 20th-centuries. This year, Elizabeth Lhuede and I tried a new “twist” for our posts, and featured a work by authors who had published something in 1924. Some of the writers were so fascinating that I also wrote them up for my Forgotten Writers series.

We made another change in 2024, which was to reduce our posting from twice a week to once a week. For Elizabeth and me, this post comprised an introduction to our chosen writer followed by a piece published by that person, while Bill continued with his survey of the Independent Woman in Australian Literature (with posts by himself and some guest contributors). Bill has written a useful wrap-up of his AWWC posts over the year on his blog.

Despite these changes, including fewer posts, our stats continued to increase, after dropping in 2022. As last year, my post on Barbara Baynton’s short story “A dreamer” was the blog’s most visited post during the year.

The blog does take a lot of time, and we are currently talking about future plans. Bill has decided to hang up his commissioning editor’s hat after three hardworking years. We are hugely grateful for all he did, including finding guest contributors. Those contributors produced some of our most popular posts of the year. Michelle Scott Tucker’s post on the Billabong series, for example, was our third most-visited post for 2024.

Recap 3: Books given this year

As I wrote last year, this is not, technically, a recap, but I have often in the past shared the titles of Australian books I’ve given as Christmas gifts. This year I’m including Australian books I have given during the year – for birthdays, giveaways, and Christmas. They are not necessarily my favourite reads – indeed, I haven’t read them all – but were chosen to suit the recipients’ likes. Those I have read I did enjoy, otherwise I wouldn’t have given them to someone else, and some of those I haven’t read are on my TBR.

  • Carmel Bird, Love letter to Lola (my review, short stories; also in my gift list last year)
  • Carmel Bird and Jace Rogers, Arabella (my review, children’s picture book)
  • P.S. Cottier and N.G. Hartland, The thirty-one legs of Vladimir Putin (my review, novella)
  • Ceridwen Dovey, Once were astronauts (to Melanie of Grab the Lapels – her review, short stories)
  • Ali Cobby Eckermann, Ruby Moonlight (my review, verse novel)
  • Anita Heiss, Barbed wire and cherry blossoms (novel)
  • Tania McCartney, Wildlife compendium of the world (children’s nonfiction book)
  • Andrew McDonald and Ben Woods, Hello Twigs: Time to paint (early graphic-novel reader)
  • Emily Maguire, Rapture (my CWF Conversations 1 and 2, novel)
  • Inga Simpson, The thinning (novel)
  • Nardi Simpson, Bellburd (novel)
  • Stephen Orr, Shining like the sun (my review, novel)
  • Benjamin Stevenson, Everyone on the train has murdered someone (novel)
  • Karen Viggers, Sidelines (my review, novel)
  • Sonya Voumard, Tremor (my review, memory/nonfiction)

This year I seem to have given more non-Australian writers as gifts than usual, including Mick Herron, Toshikazu Kawaguchi, Claire Keegan, Thomas King and Natasha Donovan, Seichō Matsumoto, Haruki Murakami, Sigrid Nunez, and the New Zealand children’s writer Pamela Allen. This might not support Australian writers, but it does support our bookshops, and literary culture which is what it’s all about – ultimately, isn’t it.

Care to share your Christmas book-giving?

Monday musings on Australian literature: Forgotten writers 9, Dulcie Deamer

Dulcie Deamer, like my most recent Forgotten Writer, Jessie Urquhart, has retained some level of recognition – or, at least notability, with there being articles for her not only in Wikipedia and the AustLit database, but also in the Australian dictionary of biography (ADB). I have briefly mentioned her in my blog before, in Monday Musings posts on the 1930s and 40s.

Dulcie Deamer

Born Mary Elizabeth Kathleen Dulcie Deamer, Dulcie Deamer (1890-1972) was, says Wikipedia, a “novelist, poet, journalist, and actress”. ADB biographer Martha Rutledge, however, is more to the point, describing her as “writer and bohemian”, while her contemporary, the journalist and author Aidan de Brune, puts it differently again, commencing his piece with, “Dulcie Deamer has had an adventurous life”. From the little I’ve read of her and her work, it’s clear she was imaginative and fearless.

Born in Christchurch, New Zealand, to George Edwin Deamer, a physician from Lincolnshire, and his New Zealand-born wife Mable Reader, Dulcie Deamer was taught at home by her ex-governess mother. The timelines of her youth are sketchy in places, but Rutledge says that at 9, she appeared on stage, and De Brune writes that she was writing verses by the age of 11. A year after that, in 1902, De Brune and Rutledge agree that her family moved to Featherston, a small bush township in the North Island of New Zealand, where, de Brune says, “she ran wild” for five years, “riding unbroken colts, shooting, learning to swim in snow-fed creeks, and going for long, solitary rambles of exploration through the virgin bush”. It was here ‘that what she describes as “memories of the Stone Age” came to her’. Somewhere during this time, according to Rutledge, she was sent to Wellington to learn elocution and ballet lessons, apparently in preparation for the stage. At the age of 16, she submitted a story to the new Lone Hand magazine, and won the prize of 25 pounds. It was “a story of the savage love of a cave-man” and it changed the course of her life.

This story, “As it was in the beginning”, won the prize in 1907, from around 300 entries, said one contemporary report (The Wellington Times, NSW, 18 November 1909), and was published in The Lone Hand at the beginning of 1908, illustrated by Norman Lindsay. The critical responses were shocked but, mostly, admiring, that such virile writing could come from such a young woman. The story went on to be published in a collection of her stories in 1909, titled In the beginning” : six studies of the stone age, and other stories ; including “A daughter of the Incas”, a short novel of the conquest of Peru. One reviewer of this collection (Barrier Miner, 27 May 1910), wrote that Deamer “writes with a freedom of speech and a knowledge of things in general which must have fairly astounded her respectable parents, one would think, when they first read her compositions”! You get the gist. This work was republished in 1929 in a special limited edition titled, As it was in the beginning. The Australasian (21 December 1929) reviewed this and wrote of that original award winning story:

It was a tale of primitive man and woman, of a wooing and winning and retaining with club and spear— an unmoral tale, utterly pagan, terrifically dramatic. Its paganism was unsophisticated; its dramatic force was the expression of natural gift. Mr. Norman Lindsay illustrated the story. His paganism could hardly be called unsophisticated, but there was no doubt about his dramatic power. 

She was really quite something it seems and I might research her a little more. Meanwhile, Wikipedia picks up the story (sourced from newspapers of the time). As well as writing, she continued her stage career. She married Albert Goldie, who was a theatrical agent for JC Williamson’s, in Perth, Australia, in 1908. She had six children, but separated from Goldie in 1922. Rutledge, writes that

In the crowded years 1908-1924 Dulcie bore six children (two sons died in infancy), travelled overseas in 1912, 1913-14, 1916-19 and 1921 and published a collection of short stories and four novels—The Suttee of Safa (New York, 1913) ‘a hot and strong love story about Akbar the Great’; Revelation (London, 1921) and The Street of the Gazelle (London, 1922), set in Jerusalem at the time of Christ; and The Devil’s Saint (London, 1924). Three were syndicated in Randolph Hearst’s newspapers in the United States of America. Her themes, including witchcraft, gave ‘free play to the lavish style of her writing, displaying opulence and sensuality or squalor of traditional scenes.

Reviewing The devil’s saint for Sydney’s The Sun, The Stoic gives a flavour of Deamer’s writing. “She has style (a little too ecstatic perhaps) and she has a fine instinct for story-telling”, but there is much kissing – quite explicitly described – and “Sheikish stuff”. However, as The Stoic knows, there are readers for such writing, and s/he concludes that ‘If anybody wants romance, with a flavor of the supernatural and plenty of “pash,” this is the book’.

Deamer left her husband in 1922, and lived a Bohemian life in Kings Cross, while her mother brought up her children. She worked as a freelance journalist, contributing stories, articles and verse to the Australian Woman’s Mirror, other journals and newspapers, including the Bulletin and the Sydney Morning Herald. Like other writers we have featured, she often used pseudonyms. Rutledge tells us that Zora Cross described her in 1928 as ‘Speedy as a swallow in movement, quick as sunlight in speech … [and] restless as the sea’. Debra Adelaide writes that she was known as the “Queen of Bohemia” due to her involvement with Norman Lindsay’s literary and artistic circle, with Kings Cross Bohemianism, and with vaudeville. Various commentators and critics refer to her interest in religion, mythology, classical literature and the ancient world.

Deamer was a founder in 1929 and committee-member of the Fellowship of Australian Writers. In the 1930s she wrote plays, and a volume of mystical poetry titled Messalina (1932), while in the 1940s she another novel, Holiday (1940), another volume of mystical poetry, and The silver branch (1948). De Brune, writing in 1933, says that she was also hoping “to contribute screen stories to the newly-established Australian film industry” but it doesn’t appear that she achieved in this sphere.

In their short entry on her, Wilde, Hooton and Andrews say that her unpublished biography, The golden decade, “is informative on the literary circles of Sydney in the 1920s and 1930s”. They also say that she features in Peter Kirkpatrick’s 1992 book, The sea coast of Bohemia. Whatever we might think of her novels now, she was a lively and creative force in her time, and worth knowing about.

The piece I posted for the Australian Women Writers Challenge is titled “Fancy dress” (linked below). It provides insight into her interests in the magical and mystical and conveys something of her lively, humorous style.

Sources

  • Debra Adelaide, Australian women writers: A bibliographic guide. London, Sydney: Pandora, 1988.
  • Aidan de Brune, “Dulcie Deamer (1890-1972)” in Ten Australian Authors, by Aidan de Brune, Project Gutenberg Australia and Roy Glashan’s Library, 2017 (originally published in The West Australian, 13 May 1933) [Accessed: 21 November 2024]
  • Dulcie Deamer, “As it was in the beginning“, The Lone Hand (1 January 1908) [Accessed: 23 December 2024]
  • Dulcie Deamer, “Fancy Dress“, The Daily Mail (12 July 1924). [Accessed: 21 November 2024]
  • Dulcie Deamer“, Wikipedia [Accessed 21 November 2024]
  • Martha Rutledge, ‘Deamer, Dulcie (1890–1972)‘, Australian Dictionary of Biography, National Centre of Biography, Australian National University, 1981 [Accessed: 21 November 2024]
  • William H. Wilde, Joy Hooton and Barry Andrews, The Oxford companion to Australian literature. Melbourne, Oxford University Press, 2nd, edition, 1994

Monday musings on Australian literature: Favourite fiction 2024

Around this time of December, I have, for a few years now, shared favourite Aussie reads of the year from various sources. The specific sources have varied a little from time to time. Last year, a significant source – The Sydney Morning Herald/The Age – became unavailable to me as it is now paywalled, and I haven’t prioritised going to the library to access the paper. I have no problem with paywalling. We should pay for journalism, and I do, but for different news sources (such as The Canberra Times, because it’s my local; The Guardian via its app; The Saturday Paper and The Monthly digital editions; and The Conversation by donation). Not being able to access The Age/SMH is a bit disappointing, because theirs is a comprehensive listing. I’d love it if more sites offered the option to buy individual articles.

Anyhow, these lists are all subjective, of course. Plus, the pickers vary. There are critics and reviewers, commentators and subject specialists, and publishers and booksellers. Also, different pickers use different criteria, besides the fact that what they are asked to do, in the first place, varies. For example, some pickers are “allowed” to name several books while others are limited to “one” best (or favourite). Further, as The Conversation wrote, these lists rely not only on what each person has read, but what they remember, all of which means this exercise of mine is more serendipitous than authoritative. But, I think it is still interesting!

As always, I’m only including the Aussie choices, but I am providing links, where they exist, to the original article/post so you can read all about it yourselves, should you so wish.

Here are the sources I used:

  • ABC RN (radio broadcaster), in which presenters and guests named their recommendations from their reading of the year
  • Allen & Unwin (publisher) email, which shared one favourite A&U book per staff member
  • Australian Financial Review (newspaper, traditional and online), which shared “the top picks from our journalists to make your summer reading list sizzle” 
  • The Conversation (online news source), which invited 30 of their writers, “from fields as disparate as wildlife ecology and mathematics to literature and politics, to share their best books of 2024”, as well as letting the Books and Ideas team name theirs!
  • The Guardian (online news source), which promotes its list as “Guardian Australia’s critics and staff pick[ing] out the best of the best”
  • Readings (independent bookseller), which has its staff “vote” for their favourite books of the year, and then lists the Top Ten in various categories – Australian fiction, picture books, international fiction, junior & middle grade fiction, nonfiction, and adult nonfiction.

I apologise in advance for those of you who love poetry, nonfiction, and children’s books – which I also enjoy – but to keep this post a manageable length, I have decided this year to limit the list to my main interest, fiction.

Novels

  • Robbie Arnott, Dusk (Michaela Kalowski and Kate Evans, ABC RN; James Bradley, The Guardian; Readings Staff; see my CWF conversation) (Lisa’s review)
  • Ella Baxter, Woo woo (Bec Kavanagh, The Guardian; Readings Staff)
  • Brian Castro, Chinese postman (Tony Hughes-d’Aeth, The Conversation)
  • Melanie Cheng, The burrow (Jason Steger, ABC RN; Steph Harmon, The Guardian; Readings Staff; on my TBR)
  • Pitaya Chin, The director and the demon (Giselle Au-Nhien Nguyen, The Guardian)
  • Miranda Darling, Thunderhead (Readings Staff)
  • Emma Darragh, Thanks for having me (Readings Staff)
  • Michelle de Kretser, Theory & practice (Julianne Van Loon, The Conversation; Susan Wyndham, The Guardian; on my TBR)
  • Alison Edwards, Two daughters (Jess, Allen & Unwin)
  • Lexi Freiman, The Book of Ayn (Michaela Kalowski, ABC RN)
  • Katerina Gibson, The temperature (Readings Staff)
  • Sara Haddad, The sunbird (Jumana Bayeh, The Conversation)
  • Dylin Hardcastle, A language of limbs (Kate Evans)
  • Anita Heiss, Dirrayawadha (Charmaine Papertalk-Green, The Conversation; see my CWF Conversation)
  • Heather Taylor Johnson, Little bit (Jason Steger, ABC RN)
  • Malcolm Knox, The first friend (James Bradley, The Guardian)
  • Siang Lu, Ghost cities (Beejay Silcox, The Guardian; Readings Staff)
  • Catherine McKinnon, To sing of war (Michaela Kalowski and Kate Evans, ABC RN; see my CWF Conversation)
  • Emily Maguire, Rapture (Rafqa Touma, The Guardian; see my CWF conversations one and two) (Lisa’s review)
  • Murray Middleton, No church in the wild (Readings Staff)
  • Louise Milligan, Pheasants Nest (Eleanor, Allen & Unwin)
  • Kylie Mirmohamadi, Diving, falling (Sian Cain, The Guardian)
  • Liane Moriarty, Here one moment (Cosima Marriner, Australian Financial Review)
  • Bruce Pascoe, Imperial harvest (Joseph Cummins, The Guardian)
  • Ailsa Piper, For life (Michaela Kalowski, ABC RN)
  • Jordan Prosser, Big time (Steph Harmon, The Guardian)
  • Jock Serong, Cherrywood (Dennis Altman, The Conversation) (Lisa’s review)
  • Inga Simpson, The thinning (Kate Evans, ABC RN; James Bradley, The Guardian) (Brona’s review)
  • Jessica Tu, The honeyeater (Anabel, Allen & Unwin)
  • Tim Winton, Juice (Michaela Kalowski, ABC RN; Sian Cain, The Guardian; Readings Staff; on my TBR)
  • Charlotte Wood, Stone Yard devotional (Cosima Marriner, Australian Financial Review) (my review)
  • Evie Wyld, The echoes (Readings Staff)

Short stories

  • Ceridwen Dovey, Only the Astronauts (Cassie McCullagh, ABC RN) (Melanie’s review)
  • Fiona McFarlane, Highway Thirteen: Stories (Jo Case, Honorable Mention, The Conversation; Kate Evans, ABC RN; Ash, Allen & Unwin) (Brona’s review)

Finally …

It’s interesting to see what books feature most. Popularity doesn’t equal quality, but it does provides a guide to the books that attracted the most attention in the year. Of last year’s six most mentioned books, three did receive significant notice at awards time, particularly the most popular 2023 pick, Alexis Wright’s Praiseworthy (as I noted in a recent post). The other two of the six which also featured well at awards time were Melissa Lucashenko’s Edenglassie and Charlotte Wood’s Stone yard devotional.

This year, I have a bit of help with identifying the most popular picks, because, thanks to Colin Steele again, I can report that Books + Publishing (an online book trade site) listed the most mentioned Australian books from five sources, three of which I’ve accessed (Guardian Australia, ABC RN and the Australian Financial Review) and two of which I’ve not been able to (The Age/Sydney Morning Herald and Australian Book Review)

These are the fiction books which received at least three mentions across the publications were (in alphabetical order):

  • Ella Baxter, Woo woo
  • Melanie Cheng, The burrow 
  • Michelle de Kretser, Theory & practice
  • Malcolm Knox, The first friend 
  • Emily Maguire, Rapture 
  • Tim Winton, Juice 
  • Charlotte Wood, Stone Yard devotional 

To these, I would add, from my sites:

  • Robbie Arnott, Dusk
  • Fiona McFarlane, Highway Thirteen

In 2024, I read five books from 2023’s lists, three novels (Shankari Chandran’s Chai time at Cinnamon Gardens, Melissa Lucashenko’s Edenglassie and Charlotte Wood’s Stone yard devotional) and two works of nonfiction (Anna Funder’s Wifedom, and Richard Flanagan’s Question 7). I would love to have read more, but I can attest that those I read were all worthy favourites.

So, what has caught my eye from this year’s list. Those on my TBR, of course, and those I heard about at this year’s Canberra Writers Festival. Several more have now caught my eye, but as I’m unlikely to read many of them, I’ll just keep them to myself, and pass the baton over to you for your …

Thoughts – on this or lists from your neck of the wood?

Monday musings on Australian literature: Australia’s bestsellers, Black Friday week 2024

With thanks to Colin Steele – Canberra’s wonderful Meet The Author convenor, who is also one of my major sources of literary news – I have another list for you, this one of the top selling books in this year’s Black Friday sales. Black Friday is a post-Thanksgiving Day sales event with a long and complicated history in the USA, which Wikipedia explains in detail if you are interested. Australia has no Thanksgiving Day so, how do these things happen? (That’s a rhetorical question, folks). And how does Black FRIDAY become Black WEEK or so? (Another rhetorical question.)

Wikipedia also explains that it came to Australia in the 2010s, with Apple Inc being an early promoter of Black Friday deals. However it happened, and whenever it happened, today, if you enter “book sales black friday Australia” into your search engine you will get myriad results from the big well-known online places like fishpond, booktopia and amazon, through the shopfront/online booksellers like QBD, Dymocks and Big W, to publishers like Penguin Books Australia and specialist organisations like the Children’s Book Council of Australia. Everyone, it seems, had Black Friday book sales.

There are many ways we can think about this – in terms of capitalism and the encroachment of American culture, for example – but when it comes to books, there is a silver lining if it results in more people buying books they otherwise may not have. I’ll leave that for you to think about (and maybe discuss in the comments). Meanwhile, whatever we might think, it has presented another interesting way (for those of us who love statistics) to see what people are buying – presumably not only for themselves but for Christmas gifts.

Colin obtained this list from (the pay-walled) Books+Publishing, on Friday, 6 December 2024. They reported that according to Nielsen BookData, 2024 Black Friday–week sales ‘saw volume sales in the Australian book market 40% higher than the average weekly sales in the four weeks prior’, with sales volume in the week of Black Friday up 4% compared to the week of the retail promotion in 2023.

Australia’s bestsellers during Black Friday week, ranked by copies sold from 24 to 30 November 2024, were:

Top five overall bestsellers

  1. Nagi Maehashi, RecipeTin Eats: Tonight (Macmillan): Australian
  2. Guinness world records 2025 (Guinness World Records)
  3. Lee Child & Andrew Child, In too deep (Bantam)
  4. John Farnham & Poppy Stockell, The Voice inside (Hachette): Australian
  5. Liane Moriarty, Here one moment (Macmillan): Australian

Top five adult fiction

  1. Lee Child & Andrew Child, In too deep (Bantam)
  2. Liane Moriarty, Here one moment (Macmillan): Australian
  3. Carissa Broadbent, The songbird and the heart of stone (Tor Bramble)
  4. Richard Osman, We solve murders (Viking)
  5. Sally Rooney, Intermezzo (Faber)

Top five adult nonfiction

  1. Nagi Maehashi, RecipeTin Eats: Tonight (Macmillan): Australian
  2. Guinness world records 2025 (Guinness World Records)
  3. John Farnham & Poppy Stockell, The Voice inside (Hachette): Australian
  4. Nagi Maehashi, RecipeTin Eats: Dinner (Macmillan): Australian
  5. Helen Garner, The season (Text): Australian

While I’m sure Australia’s booksellers were pleased with the sales, and will hope that these sales continue through the holiday season, and while it’s good to see a strong showing of Australian writers in the non-fiction list, it is disappointing to see Australian writers all but absent from the fiction list. The crime novels in the list aren’t Australian, nor the fantasy. Even the one literary fiction work is not Australian. Why is that? Why do more people want to read Sally Rooney than the recent works of Charlotte Wood, or Melissa Lucashenko, or Robbie Arnott, or any of our many other wonderful writers of literary fiction?

Any thoughts?

Monday musings on Australian literature: Books set at the beach

Summer has formally started here in the Southern Hemisphere, and in Australia that means (for most people), the beach. We have gorgeous beaches here – not that they are my go-to place – so I thought to share some books set at the beach, by the sea. Some of these may also be “beach reads” (see my post on that concept), but that idea, whatever it means to you, is not what is driving this selection. Rather, I’ve chosen these books for the different ways they explore the beach – or, the idea of the beach – in Australian culture.

This is a very selective list, and I’m presenting it in order of publication.

Beach set books

Nevil Shute, On the beach

Nevil Shute, On the beach (1957, read before blogging): Shute’s classic apocalyptic novel needs, surely, no introduction. It is perhaps a cheeky inclusion here as it is not so much set “on the beach” but in Melbourne where some of the last people alive on earth are awaiting death from radiation following a nuclear war in the Northern Hemisphere. The idea of beach, in fact, is more metaphoric, or allusive, than literal, though most covers show beach and/or sea scenes. This book keeps on keeping on. Only last year, Alexander Howard wrote in The Conversation that the Sydney Theatre Company was presenting the first stage adaptation, and commented that

Shute’s vision of humanity’s self-inflicted destruction is eerily resonant in our time of climate emergency. The nuclear threat remains, too, in our perilous historical moment of democratic backsliding and failing nuclear states.

Kathy Lette and Gabriel Carey, Puberty blues (1979, seen – but not read – before blogging): one of our most famous beach-set books, this is a coming-of-age novel about two friends growing up on Sydney’s beaches, and coming up against the gendered nature of the surfing community, where girls are accepted only so long as they support the males. Lette has described 70s surfing culture as “tribal and brutal”.

Robert Drewe, The bodysurfers

Robert Drewe, The bodysurfers (1983, on my TBR): Drewe regularly features the beach and/or the sea in his writing. Many of his books are titled for beach and sea themes. His novels and and short story collections include The rip, The drowner, and The true colour of the sea; his memoir is titled The shark net; and he edited an anthology titled The Penguin book of the beach. The bodysurfers is more a collection of interconnected short stories than a novel. According to the back cover blurb of my edition, it is “set among the surf and sandhills of the Australian beach – and the tidal changes of three generations of the Lang family”. Like many of the books I’m including here, it has been adapted to other media, in this case to film, television, radio and the theatre! I read the first two stories some time ago and loved the writing. I intend to finish it one day, which is why it is still on my bedside table.

George Turner, The sea and summer (1987): like Shute’s novel, this is not exactly set on the beach, but this dystopian novel by Miles Franklin award-winner Turner is about climate change and the sea flooding the city – Melbourne again, in fact. Fourtriplezed, who comments on my blog occasionally, has reviewed this novel on goodreads. The book, he says, conveys a “dystopian nightmare” characterised by “greenhouse induced floods that make large tracts unlivable, worldwide economic collapse, over population, mass starvation”. He quotes from the novel:

“This is Elwood and there was a beach here once. I used to paddle here. Then the water came up and there were the storm years and the pollution, and the water became too filthy.”

Tim Winton, Breath (2008, my post): like Puberty blues, Breath is set amongst surfers, though on the Western Australian coast. Also like Puberty blues, it’s not so much about surfing as the cultural issues around it. In this case, the protagonist is male, and the focus is masculinity and risk-taking, and how the choices you make follow you. Winton, like Drewe, writes frequently about the beach and the sea but never simply. The sea and surfing offer necessary rejuvenation for Winton the person, but writer Winton uses it effectively to explore the themes that concern him about family and love, values and responsibility, lost males, and the environment.

Malcolm Knox, Bluebird (2020, my review): a satirical novel set in a beachside suburb. I wrote in my post that it looks like a satire on all those beach communities that pepper Australia’s coasts – the middle-aged men who prefer surfing to working, the country-club set, the councils which sell out to developers, small-town racism and gay-bashing, and so on. However, I suggested that while a beach-town might be the setting, its satire is broader, reaching into wider aspects of contemporary Australian life – dysfunctional men and broken families, development, aged care, banking, local government, and so on. In other words, given Australians’ love for the beach, such a place makes the perfect, relatable, setting for his satire …

That seems a good point on which to end this little selection. The beach in Australia can mean and reference so many aspects of our lives and national psyche, from escape and relaxation through the many ways we relate, behave and think to apocalypse and dystopia.

Do you have favourite beach-set books, Australian or otherwise?

Monday musings on Australian literature: Writers in the news (1)

Australian writers have been capturing attention – here and overseas – in the last few months. I’ve been noting these stories as they’ve popped up, and kept planning to post on them, but somehow, time just slipped by and more stories kept coming. Consequently, most Aussie readers here will know most of these news items by now, but there might be a surprise, and, anyhow, I’m hoping they might interest non-Aussie readers of my blog. (I am numbering this post because I just might be inspired to write another one sometime.)

Alexis Wright’s multiple awards

This year, Alexis Wright has won several significant literary awards. She was awarded the Stella Prize in March and the Miles Franklin Prize in August for Praiseworthy, making her the first author to win these two prizes in one year. (Each of these is worth $60,000). In May, it was also announced that she’d won the UK’s James Tait Black Prize for Fiction (worth 10,000 British pounds or $19,000), also for Praiseworthy. Then, this month, she was awarded the triennial Melbourne Prize for Literature which is a body-of-work prize to a writer who has made an “outstanding contribution to Australian literature and to cultural and intellectual life”. It too is worth $60,000.

Melissa Lucashenko’s multiple awards

Lucashenko, like Wright, is no stranger to literary awards, but this year, she too has taken out several significant awards, all of them for her first work of historical fiction, Edenglassie (my review): the $100,000 ARA Historical Novel Prize, the $50,000 Margaret and Colin Roderick Literary award; the $30,000 Queensland Premier’s Award for a Work of State Significance, and the $25,000  Premier’s Prize for Fiction. She also won the Fiction award in this year’s Indie Book Awards.

Richard Flanagan’s prize and ethical stand

Another recently announced award is Richard Flanagan winning UK’s 2024 Baillie Gifford Prize for Nonfiction for his most recent book Question 7 (my review). This prize is worth £50,000 (or, AUD97,000). If you’ve heard this news, you will also know, as the ABC reported, that Flanagan had pre-recorded his acceptance speech because he was trekking in the Tasmanian wilderness at the time. In this speech, he said he had “delayed” accepting the prize money until sponsor Baillie Gifford put forward a plan to reduce its investment in fossil fuels and increase investment in renewable energy. Flanagan said that “on that day, I will be grateful not only for this generous gift, but for the knowledge that by coming together in good faith, with respect and goodwill, it remains possible yet to make this world better.”

Flanagan is not a rose-coloured glasses idealist. He is not asking for the world, but simply for a plan. The ABC quotes him further:

“… were I not to speak of the terrifying impact fossil fuels are having on my island home, that same vanishing world that spurred me to write Question 7, I would be untrue to the spirit of my book.

[BUT]

“The world is complex. These matters are difficult. None of us are clean. All of us are complicit. Major booksellers that sell my books are owned by oil companies, major publishers that publish my friends are owned by fascists and authoritarians … As each of us is guilty, each of us too bears a responsibility to act.”

I like this honesty and realism. Let’s see what happens next. Will a writer’s stand – which compounds what I believe is already increasing criticism of Baillie Gifford – see a company decide it too can make a stand?

Jessica Au’s novella to be filmed

Meanwhile, in non-award news, Jessica Au’s award-wining (ha!) novella, Cold enough for snow (my review), is to be made into a film. According to Variety it will be a U.K.-Japan-Australia-Hong Kong co-production and filming will begin “in fall 2025” (which presumably means next September to December). I first read about it on publisher Giramondo’s Instagram account. They quoted theatre veteran-debut director Jemima James,

I hope the film, like the book, creates space for audiences to think and feel deeply about the important people in their lives, about the relationships that are central to them …I hope it provokes shifts of perspective, new understanding, new compassion for the people they love, however complex or complicated that love might be!

Gail Jones’ Lifetime Achievement Award

I also saw on Instagram – this time Text Publishing’s account – that Gail Jones had received Creative Australia’s Award for Lifetime Achievement in Literature. In other words I’m bookending, more or less, this news post with body-of-work awards. As Text writes, the award “recognises her impressive body of work, and her ongoing mentoring of young writers”.

Creative Australia’s website tells me that Jones was one of “eleven leading artists to receive 2024 Creative Australia Awards”.  They quote their CEO, Adrian Collette AM:

‘It is our immense honour to celebrate these remarkable artists whose work is making an impact in communities across the nation. Each of the recipients contributes their unique voice to our cultural story.’

I recently reviewed Jones’ novel Salonika burning (my review) but I have more on my TBR.

Any comments on these news items? Or, indeed, do you have any to add? (Not that my aim here is to be comprehensive. That would be impossible!)

Monday musings on Australian literature: Forgotten writers 8, Jessie Urquhart

While some of the forgotten writers I have shared in this series are in the category of interesting-to- know-about-but-not-necessarily-to-read, others probably are worth checking out again. Jessie Urquhart is one of these latter, though I’ve not read any of her novels, so don’t quote me!

However, there are articles for her in Wikipedia and the AustLit database, and I have mentioned her on my blog before, so this must all count for something in her favour. My reference was in a Monday Musings on Australian women writers of the 1930s in which I discussed an article by Zora Cross. She talked about, among other things, writers who had achieved success abroad without leaving home. One of those she named was Jessie Urquhart, who, she says, “will not, I think, do her best work until, like Alice Grant Rosman, she  relinquishes journalism for fiction”. I commented at the time that this was interesting from someone who, herself, combined fiction and poetry writing with journalism. I also wondered whether Urquhart needed her journalistic work to survive. (I suspect she did.)

I also wrote earlier this year about Urquhart on the Australian Women Writers (AWW) blog, as did Elizabeth Lhuede last year. This post draws from both posts and a little extra research. In my post, I shared a 1924-published short story titled “The waiting”. It is an urban story about a very patient woman. It’s not a new story, but Urquhart writes it well. … check it out at AWW. You might also like to read the story Elizabeth posted, “Hodden Grey”, which is a rural story. Like many writers of her time, Urquhart turned her head to many ideas and forms.

Jessie Urquhart

Novelist, short story writer and journalist Jessie Urquhart (1890-1948) was born in Sydney in 1890, the younger daughter of William and Elizabeth Barsby Urquhart. Her father, who was a Comptroller-General of NSW prisons, had emigrated from Scotland in 1884. She joined the Society of Women Writers and was secretary for 1932-33. She had an older sister, Eliza (1885–1968) with whom she emigrated to England in 1934 (years after Zora Cross’s article!) There is much we don’t know about her life, though her father’s obituary does say that neither of the sisters married.

In an article titled “Women in the World” in 1932, The Australian Women’s Mirror includes a paragraph on Urquhart, because they were about the serialise her story Giving Amber her chance. They say she “started writing very young, and in her teens had a novel, Wayside, published; she is now a Sydney journalist. Short stories and articles from her pen have appeared in the Mirror, her latest contribution being “The Woman Prisoner” (W.M. 8/3/32), based on her knowledge of the Long Bay women’s reformatory.”

Elizabeth’s thorough research found that Urquhart had turned to short story writing and journalism, in the 1920s, with most work published in The Sydney Mail, but she was also published in The Sydney Morning Herald, The Australian Woman’s MirrorThe Australian Women’s Weekly, The Sun and Queensland Figaro. Elizabeth read (and enjoyed) many of her stories, and wrote that they cover “a broad range of settings and topics, giving glimpses into the lives of modern Australian urban and rural women and men, encompassing the adventures of spies, adulterers, thieves and deserters; the faithful and unfaithful alike”.

According to Elizabeth, Urquhart’s first publications actually appeared when she was in her twenties, including a series of sketches titled Gum leaves which was published in The Scottish Australasian. The Goulburn Penny Post quoted the paper’s editor, who said that:

The sketches represent her initial effort, and indicate that she has the gift of vivid description and the art of storytelling in a marked degree. All the delineations show power and a creative facility which promises well. Some are indeed gems. [The author shows] promise of a successful literary career.

Her novel Wayside appeared in 1919, and is probably based on these sketches. (She was not a teen in 1919, so I’m not sure about The Australian Women’s Mirror’s facts.)

Anyhow, according to Elizabeth, Urquhart had “a year’s study abroad” sometime in the late 1920s or early 1930s, and wrote more articles on her return. She lived in Bellevue Hill, Sydney, and continued to publish what Elizabeth nicely characterises as “her quirky short fiction”. She also wrote more novels. Giving Amber a chance, serialised in 1932 in The Australian women’s mirror, was published in book form in 1934. The Hebridean was serialised in 1933, but was not published in book form though, wrote Elizabeth, it was “arguably” the better novel. She liked “its setting and its depiction of class tensions” and believes – a propos my introduction to this post – that it deserves to be more widely read.

Another novel, Maryplace: the story of three women and three men, was published in 1934, but unlike the previous novels does not appear to have been serialised. Elizabeth found a contemporary review, which she liked for the sense it gives of the debates surrounding Australian writing at this time, including a reading public “mistrustful of its own novelists”. The author of the review writes that Maryplace is

a story which takes the art of the Australian novel to a new plane of modernity of treatment and universality of appeal.

In style, in theme, and in the power of characterisation and analysis this book is far above the work of the average of our novelists. It is deserving of the highest recommendation. Despite the fact that the scenes of Maryplace, with the exception of one period, are laid in a New South Wales country town, the story will be of equal interest to any reader of novels anywhere. That, after all, is the real art of the novel, and it is one which is not so frequently cultivated by our writers that we can afford to ignore it when we encounter it.

The reviewer believes there’s been too much self-conscious talk about “an Australian story-art”, that all literature is naturally a product of the country which produces it and the life and times in which it is produced. In other words, says R.N.C.,

All stories have their roots in the soil. They will be true of a nation and be part of a national contribution to art without ceaseless striving to label them and brand them as ‘Australian’ on every page and in every paragraph.

Urquhart’s story, R.N.C continues, has the “unselfconsciousness that gives her book a real Australian atmosphere and setting” but that also “makes it a story of absorbing human interest and power so as to be a world novel for the world”. (I like R.N.C.’s thinking.)

The novel apparently deals with the class tensions, and a changing order which sees “the local butcher or grocer” no longer willing to deliver their goods to “the back door”. This is part, says R.N.C. of “any fast changing democracy, and Miss Urquhart in her Maryplace has drawn it with pitiless detachment, giving to her theme sympathy and understanding but the touch of irony and satire which it demands”.

After she went to England in 1934, Urquhart’s stories continued to appear in the Australian press, but whether she published elsewhere is not clear. She was clearly still active in writing circles in 1941, because she was chosen as Australia’s delegate to the PEN conference in London. She and her sister survived bombing during the war, and Jessie sent regular reports about life in London to The Sydney Morning Herald.

In 1944, the Herald reported that “gossip of London theatres, the Boomerang Club, books and their authors comes from Miss Jessie Urquhart, formerly of Sydney, who went to England before the outbreak of war”. It says that “during the first great blitz, she was an A.R.P. telephone worker” but was now “a reader for Hutchinson’s Publishing firm”. She and Eliza had been “staying with novelist Henrietta Leslie in Hertfordshire for the past three months”. Wikipedia tells me that Leslie was a “British suffragette, writer and pacifist”, which makes sense when you read in the next sentence that Jessie had “just been re-elected to the committee of the Free Hungarian Club Committee” which was chaired by Hungarian writer and exile, Paul Tabori.

She is an interesting woman, and would surely be a great subject for one of Australia’s literary biographers!

Anyhow, in 1945, another Sydney Morning Herald paragraph advised that Jessie and Eliza Urquhart would “probably visit Australia” again in 1946, and that they had reported that London was “beginning to recapture its old smartness”. I suspect Jessie never did get back to Australia, as she died in a nursing home in St John’s Wood, London, in April 1948. Eliza died in 1972.

Sources

Monday musings on Australian literature: Ausmus Month

Image courtesy Clker.Com

AKA Australian Music Month. The things you learn, thanks to other bloggers! It was kimbofo’s post of last Monday that brought this month to my attention, though I now see that our ABC is celebrating it, along with other musical organisations. I should have been aware. Anyhow, as kimbofo wrote, it offers an opportunity to “celebrate music of all persuasions — rock, pop, classical, country and so on — made by Australian musicians”. Kimbofo, as you’ll see from her post, did so by sharing ten Australian music biographies. Do check her post if you are interested.

Clearly, I can’t do the same. That would add nothing to the discussion. So, I’m going to go broad and share a variety of ways in which music is reflected in my Australian reading. First though, I have written Monday Musings on music-related AusLit topics before – Pianos in Australian literature, and Musician’s memoirs – so there will be some overlap. However, I will avoid duplicating too much, and hope, instead, that the posts will be complementary.

Linda Neil, All is given, cover

Of course, as kimbofo ably shows, there are many memoirs/autobiographies written by musicians. Fortunately, I have read some different ones to those kimbofo lists: Emma Ayres’ (now Ed Le Brocq’s) Cadence: Travels with music (my review), Anna Goldsworthy’s Piano lessons (my review). Linda Neil’s All is given (my review), and Archie Roach’s Tell me why: The story of my life and my music (my review). These musicians vary, from classical performers to singer-songwriters, and so do their stories. Anna Goldsworthy is particularly relevant this month, because she delivered the first of this year’s Boyer Lectures. The overall theme is Future Classic (or, classical music for the contemporary age) and Goldworthy’s topic was Kairos, “the right shared moment” or “the right time”. You can listen to the lecture here.

Then there are novels which specifically feature music, musicians and/or musical instruments, including Murray Bail’s The voyage (my review) about a piano inventor trying to sell his new-style piano in Vienna; Christine Balint’s Water music (my review) about a music school for orphans in Venice; Carmel Bird’s Field of poppies (my review) in which an eccentric musician goes missing; Diana Blackwood’s Chaconne (my review) about a young woman finding connection through music in Europe; and Henry Handel Richardson’s classic Maurice Guest (on my TBR) about a music student in Leipzig.

There are novels written by musicians who have branched out into novel writing, like singer Nadi Simpson, whose Song of the crocodile I’ve read and reviewed, and who has now published Bellburd. Both titles suggest music in some way. In Song of the crocodile, a spirit songman, Jakybird, plays a significant role in the resolution. Another musician is the solo artist, Holly Throsby, whose third novel, the non-music “bush noir” Clarke I’ve reviewed. And there are more, such as indie rock band member, Peggy Frew, whose Hope farm won the Barbara Jefferis Award.

Short stories often feature music and musicians. One anthology in particular comes to mind, Red hot notes (on my TBR), edited by Carmel Bird. This book contains stories by some of our best-known writers from the end of the 20th century, like Thea Astley, Robert Dessaix, Helen Garner and Marion Halligan, exploring some aspect of music in their lives. I have written about music-focused short stories, including Myra Morris’ “The inspiration” (my review). Stephen Orr’s long short story or novella, “Datsunland“, in his collection Datsunland (my review), includes a struggling musician who ends up teaching in a “poor” elite school.

Featherstone, Fall on me

There are also books that aren’t necessarily about music but whose titles are inspired by it. Nigel Featherstone’s Fall on me (my review) is titled for an R.E.M song, while the title of and chapters in Julie Thorndyke’s Mrs Rickaby’s Lullaby (my review) reference music.

Finally, I must mention this year’s spoken-word-and-music album, The Wreck Event (my post) which was created by the Hell Herons, a new “spoken-word/music collective” comprising poet-writers Melinda Smith, CJ Bowerbird, Stuart Barnes and Nigel Featherstone. I have also written about Nigel Featherstone’s foray into art song, The weight of light (my post).

And this, I think, is perfect place for my final point. A pay-walled article in The Spectator (14 June 2023) commences with

Haruki Murakami said that ‘I feel that most of what I know about writing fiction I learned from music.’ Music and literature enjoy a close relationship. Authors rely on rhythm and tone for their writing. 

As I thought about this post last night, this was the point that I wanted to make. I love books about musicians and music. After all, creativity is inherently interesting, and music can be used in so many ways. But, this topic also makes me think about writing. I care about tone, and I love writing that is rhythmic. Some of the writers at this year’s Canberra Writers Festival talked about the craft of writing, and how the craft provides the “propulsive” element, rather than the more obvious aspects like plot that they tended to focus on when they were beginners. These writers – like Emily Maguire, Charlotte Wood and Robbie Arnott – concentrate, then, on their sentences. In my review of Arnott’s Limberlost, I shared an excerpt and wrote that “the rolling, breathlessly joyful rhythm of this description is very different to that in the next paragraph where Ned’s old fears return, and the sentences become clipped, and staccato-like”. I love it when the writing itself supports, if not carries, the meaning.

Anyhow, my point is that music meets literature in all sorts of ways. I’ve only touched some of them, and superficially at that, but now I want to pass it over to you.

Do you love music in literature or literature about music? If so, I’d love to hear your thoughts or examples.