My literary week (11), in the theatre

June 15, 2018June 17, 2018 / Whispering Gums / 18 Comments

I thought I’d join the world of fake news – why not? – and make my post title a lie, a double lie in fact. It’s not really “literary” (though it has its moments) and it’s not about a week (spanning, in fact, May 24 to June 13). However, the lies end here, as this post is number 11 in my “literary week” series, and it is all about theatre – of all sorts, the concert hall, the movie theatre, the dance theatre, and the drama theatre. Here goes …

Tafelmusik (Llewellyn Hall)

JS Bach, Leipzig

In May, we saw our third concert by the exciting Canadian baroque or early music ensemble, Tafelmusik. They are exciting, because their performances tend to be multimedia – comprising images and/or props, and, often, narration – because, uncommon for ensembles, they play from memory. That’s impressive on its own. The also play on period instruments.

This latest concert was titled Bach and his world and so, not surprisingly, was devoted to the music of JS Bach. But – and here comes a literary bit – it was tied together with a narration, presented by Blair Williams, telling the story of Leipzig and Bach’s time there. The narration started by introducing us to the patron gods of Leipzig, Apollo (the god of music) and Achilles (the god of trade and invention). From here we learnt about the invention of early musical instruments – and about those who made them – and about the making of the paper and pens needed to write the music. And so on … Given Bach was a church musician, we were intrigued by the focus on Greek Gods – but the reason was valid, and it was certainly illuminating.

It was a delightful and engaging concert – perhaps particularly so for us because we visited Leipzig and Bach’s St Thomas Church in 2013, but the buzz throughout the audience suggested we were not the only ones who enjoyed the concert.

The Merry Widow (Canberra Theatre)

A few days later and we were out again, this time to see the Australian Ballet’s latest performance, The Merry Widow, which was created for them in 1975. It’s a delightfully light ballet – a nice change from the dramas of Giselle (one of my favourites) and Swan Lake – and it was performed with a lovely sense of fun. The widow was danced by Dimity Azoury, who hails from neighbouring Queanbeyan.

One of the highlights for us, was seeing, in character roles, two older dancers we loved seeing in our earlier ballet-going days, David McAllister (now the Ballet’s artistic director) and Steven Heathcote. A delight.

We stayed for the post-show Q&A – good for avoiding the post-show car-park jam, as well as for learning something about the ballet. Four company members turned up – David McAllister, Dimity Azoury, another dancer, and the orchestra’s conductor. I got to ask my question about adapting to different stages, and we learnt about how much dancers eat, despite their slim appearance. It’s all that dancing you see!

Sense and sensibility (The Playhouse)

Then, two days after the ballet, it was back to the theatre to see a theatrical adaptation of Jane Austen’s Sense and sensibility. What a surprise that was. Adapted by New York playwright, Kate Hamill, and performed by the State Theatre Company of South Australia, it started off with a bang, and never let up until the end. (Check out this promo for the play’s Canberra season.) We lost a few audience members at interval, but most of us got into the style quickly and enjoyed Hamill’s take, which was …

… subversive in terms of the traditional Regency look, with its use of kazoos, roller skates, tricycles, and the like, and highly comic in tone. The unusual props effectively managed time and space, but also captured Austen’s cheeky humour. Best thing though was that all the fun and silliness didn’t detract from the core of the original. I loved how close the production stayed to Austen’s main themes – the havoc that can be wrought on people’s lives (both men and women) by lack of economic independence, the need to balance sense with sensibility, and the challenge of staying moral and true to self in a world where money is used to wield power over others. It was a hoot from beginning to end – but a throughtful, provocative hoot, for all that.

Tea with the Dames (Hoyts, Woden)

And then, phew, I had a break of nearly a week, until this week when I went to see the documentary, Tea with the Dames, not once, but twice – first with a friend, and then with Ma Gums. It was just as good second time around.

The Dames are four doyens of the British theatre – Dame Joan Plowright (b. 1929), Dame Maggie Smith (b. 1934), Dame Judi Dench (b. 1934), and Dame Eileen Atkins (b. 1934). They are filmed at Joan Plowright’s country home, talking to each other, and answering questions from the crew (off camera). There’s a lot of joyful, knowing laughter indicating long professional and personal friendship between the women; much sharing of stories and experiences; and, occasionally, wariness or even reluctance to talk about certain subjects (like ageing!) The documentary feels natural (even where they admit to feeling unnatural), but that’s not to say there’s no art here. It takes work to make something look natural.

In addition to providing insight into the acting life, the film is particularly delightful for the way it exposes the women’s individual personalities: the calm, philosophical Joan (you can tell why she appealed to Laurence Olivier after the dramas of his life with poor manic-depressive Vivien Leigh); the forthright, sometimes acerbic, but also occasionally vulnerable Maggie; the cheeky, light-hearted but also reflective Judi; and the quietly observant, precise Eileen.

Their conversations are interspersed with some wonderful, albeit often poor quality, archival footage, including of early film and stage performances, and more personal images such the women with their children.

The end result is a picture of four women who have lived long, who have survived a tough business, and who continue to engage actively with the world and each other – and who plan to do so until they shuffle off their mortal coils!

The beginning of nature (Premiere @ Canberra Theatre)

Finally, we attended the premiere of the Adelaide-based Australian Dance Theatre’s work, The beginning of nature. What a powerful, enthralling experience. We love modern dance, and this was mesmerising. We’d happily see it again – partly to draw more meaning out of it, though perhaps “meaning” is not the right word. It’s about, the program says, the “rhythms of nature”, rhythms that “permeate all aspects of the material universe.”

And so the 80-minute performance involved the nine dancers creating beautiful forms – sometimes using props like stones, sticks, plants, a conch shell – waving, flowing, leaping, crawling, forming one shape and then breaking apart to form another, and so on. Some of the movements/forms were so beautiful that I didn’t want them to end. The value in seeing the work again would be to rise above the spectacle to better “see” the nature, if that makes sense.

The dancers wore gorgeous, dark teal-green androgynous costumes; the strong but not intrusive music, composed by Brendan Woithe, was played at the back of the stage by the Zephyr Quartet; and vocalists Karen Cummings and Heru Pinkasova, also at the back, sang in Kaurna (pronounced “garna”), the language of the people of the Adelaide Plains. Apparently, Kaurna was extinct until the local people started reconstructing it from the 2000 words documented in diaries by two German missionaries. (Another wonderful example of a project to recover indigenous language.) We were addressed by the company’s artistic director, Garry Stewart, at the end, and he paid tribute to their indigenous consultant, Jack Buckskin.

Stewart writes in the program that from the beginning he wanted to include human voices, and that “it made much more sense to work with the Kaurna language in a dance work that explores the patterns of nature, than English” because “indigenous languages have been spoken on the Australian continent for some 60,000 years, whereas English for only 230 years.” Fair point, and clearly the local indigenous people were on board with the collaboration. I should say here there’s no sense that the work aims to replicate or represent indigenous dance, but I would also say that in representing nature’s rhythms, it incorporates a sort of universal dance language that we can also see in indigenous dance.

And that, folks, is it for now.

Do you have any cultural outings to share?

Six degrees of separation, FROM The tipping point TO …

June 2, 2018June 2, 2018 / Whispering Gums / 24 Comments

June! Wah! It’s winter here downunder and I’m miserable. Give me summer anytime. Just as well there are books to distract my mind … and one great distraction is playing with the Six Degrees of Separation meme. It’s currently hosted by Kate (booksaremyfavouriteandbest). Please click the link on her blog-name for her explanation of how it works. The book she’s chosen for this month is a non-fiction work, Malcolm Gladwell’s The tipping point: How little things can make a big difference. I haven’t read it, but I have read all the linked books.

I know Malcolm Gladwell has made a big splash with several of his books, including Blink, The tipping point, and Outliers but I’ve read none of them. You all probably know who Gladwell is, but just in case you don’t, he’s a British-born Canadian journalist …

And so it is his Canadian-ness that I’m going to use for my first link – to Margaret Atwood’s The Penelopiad (my review). This book is Atwood’s retelling of The Odyssey – or of part of it anyhow – from Penelope’s point of view, thereby giving the story a female or feminist perspective.

A very different approach to retelling – but also from the female perspective – is Danielle Wood’s collection of stories, Mothers Grimm (my review). In these stories, Wood doesn’t so much as retell stories – in this case fairytales by the Brothers Grimm – as springboard from them to explore aspects of modern motherhood. Like Atwood’s book, there’s humour in its bite, and I love bringing it to people’s attention.

My next link is a bit cheeky. Danielle Wood is a Tasmanian author, while Anna Krien is not – but, her non-fiction book Into the woods (my review), is about forestry and the logging industry in Tasmania – and it has “wood” in the title. How could I resist that link?

Now, like a good blogger I carefully categorise and tag my posts, and one of the tags I’ve given Krien’s book is “environmental literature”. Another book I’ve so tagged is Bill McKibben’s Oil and honey (my review) about, as the subtitle tells, his education as an activist – in the climate change area. It’s a fascinating book about a man who would much rather be writing in his office than out on the hustings.

Bill McKibben’s book reminded me – at least somewhat – of another American book about its writer’s development of (or growth into) his political identity, as conveyed by its subtitle, “a story of race and inheritance”. The book is, of course, Barack Obama’s Dreams from my father (my review).

I read Dreams from my father with my reading group. Another politically motivated book that my group read, also by an admirable man, was Izzeldin Abuelaish’s I shall not hate (my review). This book is by a Palestinian doctor who lost three daughters and a niece in an Israeli bombing of Gaza. His response was not revenge, not “the path of darkness” but the “path of light”. I would love the think I would choose the same in a similar position (but I hope I never get tested!)

We have – again – spent most of our time in Australia and North America, but we did manage to make a brief foray to the Middle East. The gender balance, though, this time is 50:50 (excluding the starting book which I didn’t choose!) Also, unusually for me, the majority of the books this month are non-fiction. This is probably not surprising given the starting book, except that my first two links from it were fiction!

And now, my usual question: Have you read The tipping point? And regardless, what would you link to?

Six degrees of separation, FROM The Poisonwood Bible TO …

May 5, 2018June 2, 2018 / Whispering Gums / 35 Comments

May is the last month of autumn for us in the Southern hemisphere, and what an autumn it’s been. So warm. I shouldn’t be pleased, however, because the cause is worrying … so, let’s get on to something uncontroversial and non-worrying – our Six Degrees of Separation meme. It’s currently hosted by Kate (booksaremyfavouriteandbest). Please click the link on her blog-name for her explanation of how it works. Meanwhile, this month’s meme is Barbara Kingsolver’s The Poisonwood Bible, which, woo hoo, I’ve read, along with all the linked books.

Like last month’s Memoirs of a geisha, I’m guessing most readers, except millennials perhaps, will have read this 1998 book. It was Kingsolver’s fourth novel, and made quite a splash. It’s about a family of missionaries who go to the Belgian Congo in 1959.

Now, I’ve read several novels about missions and missionaries, and most of them critical. The most recent one is, and if you’re Australian you’ve probably guessed it, Claire G. Coleman’s Terra nullius (my review). It’s a debut, dystopian novel by an indigenous Australian author, and aims to encourage Australians to understand what being invaded means.

Another dystopian novel wanting us to understand “something”, is Jane Rawson’s A wrong turn at the Office of Unmade Lists (my review). (I still love this title!) The something she’s warning us about – is the something I alluded to in my opening paragraph – climate change. It’s a great read – serious but with a touch of humour too. But, time now to move on to the next link, which is …

California! California because Rawson’s novel is partly set in San Francisco, 1997 San Francisco in fact, to which a couple of 2030 Melbourne Aussies go. Another book in which an Aussie or two go to California is Sara Dowse’s Schemetime (my review), though her characters are involved in the film industry and they go to the Los Angeles area in the 1960s.

So, where next? Well, Sara Dowse was a member of Canberra’s famous Seven Writers, and so were a couple of other writers who have appeared here, Marion Halligan and Dorothy Johnston. As Halligan has appeared in my Six Degrees a couple of times already, and Johnston hasn’t, I’m going to share it around and choose her new coastal-Victoria-based detective series, which started with Through a camel’s eye (my review).

And now, because, after starting in Africa, we’ve only been to Australia and the USA, I’m going to take us somewhere completely different, to a perfect setting for camels, Pakistan/Afghanistan/Iran. Jamil Ahmad’s debut novel, The wandering falcon (my review) comprises nine stories, the third of which is titled “The death of camels”. This novel explores what happens when political borders are plonked down without regard to people and how they live in a land.

Now, I read Ahmad’s book as part of the 2011 Shadow Man Asian Literary Prize team, so I’m going to end on another memorable book I read for this project, Yan Lianke’s Dreams of Ding village (my review). Set in China, it was inspired by the plasma economy that developed in Henan Province in the early 1990s. It was an engrossing book, and I’d love to read more Lianke.

Well, I’m thrilled that this month we not only managed to keep our travels up, but I also kept the word count down! I fear I’ve become too wordy in my Six Degrees of late. Interestingly, unlike last month, which was historical fiction heavy, this month we dipped our toes into the future a couple of times. The gender balance, though, has been the same, two male authors amongst our six.

What will Kate suggest for June?

And now, my usual question: Have you read The Poisonwood Bible? And regardless, what would you link to?

Six degrees of separation, FROM Memoirs of a geisha TO …

April 7, 2018April 2, 2018 / Whispering Gums / 34 Comments

Last month I complained about the start of autumn because although I love autumn, I hate winter. This month, another nail went in the warm-weather coffin, with the ending of daylight savings. Oh dear … The good news for me, though, is that I have actually read April’s starting book for the Six Degrees of Separation meme, which is currently hosted by Kate (booksaremyfavouriteandbest). Please click the link on Kate’s blog-name for her explanation of how it works. Meanwhile, I’ll get on with the meme, which starts with Arthur Golden’s Memoirs of a geisha. As always, I’ve read all the linked books.

I’m guessing many of you – unless perhaps you are millennials – will have read Memoirs of a geisha. It was quite the book when it came out. It’s an historical fiction novel, set in Japan before, during and after World War 2. Golden, an American writer, wrote it first person in the voice of a geisha. It was controversial at the time because he had based his story on a geisha whom he’d interviewed. He had promised her anonymity but then included her as a source in his acknowledgements.

Another historical fiction novel set in Japan by a non-Japanese author is Min Jin Lee’s Pachinko (my review). There is a slight difference here, though, in that American-based Min Jin Lee was born in South Korea, and her novel’s focus is the experience of Koreans in Japan. Wikipedia, quoting a PBS report, says that it’s “the first novel written for an adult English-speaking audience about Japanese Korean culture.” I certainly found it fascinating.

Now, I should probably showcase my reading of Japanese literature here, as I’ve read a fair variety over the years, but instead I’m going to do something different, and choose a book by another author with a three-part name, Indonesian writer Pramoedya Ananta Toer and the first of his Buru quartet, This earth of mankind (my review). The book presents his idea of nationalism, in response to the long colonisation of his country.

And now you might guess where I’m going … it’s to the recent book I’ve read that was set in Indonesia, and which also, in a different way, responds to the impact of colonialism on the country. In this case, however, the emphasis is on its impact on a particularly powerless part of the Indonesian community, the women. The book is Mirandi Riwoe’s The fish girl (my review).

Another interesting thing about Mirandi Riwoe’s book is that it’s a response to another piece of fiction, in her case to W. Somerset Maugham’s “The four Dutchmen”. So that aspect is going to be my next linking point. The book is Jo Baker’s Longbourn (my review) which retells Jane Austen’s Pride and prejudice from the point of view of the servants. While there were plot elements I didn’t like, the historical research underpinning it made it a good read.

I’m going to stick with the retelling idea here, and link to another retelling of a Jane Austen novel, Roslyn Russell’s Maria returns: Barbados to Mansfield (my review). Like Baker, Russell underpins her novel with research, but in her case it’s the history of Barbados, and particularly of slavery there. Our disgraced heroine is redeemed by supporting the abolitionist movement.

This brings us to the final link and it’s a bit spurious – but it’s neat so I’m going to stick with it. It’s spurious because, whilst slaves are mentioned, they are not the focus of the book. It’s neat because it’s another historical fiction book set in Japan by a non-Japanese writer, this time an English one. The book is David Mitchell’s The thousand autumns of Jacob de Zoet (my review).

Well, I’m proud of myself this month, because after travelling very conservatively the last two months, this time we’ve spread our wings. True, we’ve spent a bit of time in Japan, but we’ve also been to England, Indonesia and Barbados! We’ve also traversed time from the late 1700s to the late 1900s, and we’ve read two male authors amongst our six. On the negative side, we’ve stayed pretty much with historical fiction. There’s always something to improve …

And now, my usual ending question: Have you read Memoirs of a geisha? And whether or not you have, what would you link to?

Six degrees of separation, FROM The beauty myth TO …

March 3, 2018March 3, 2018 / Whispering Gums / 27 Comments

Wah, it’s now the start of autumn here down under. I love, love, love autumn (and not just because my birthday occurs during it) but it does mean that winter’s next and I hate, hate, hate that! We do, however, have fun things to entertain us when things get glum like, for example, The Six Degrees of Separation meme. It is currently hosted by Kate (booksaremyfavouriteandbest) – and if you are not familiar with how it works, please click the link on Kate’s blog-name. She explains it all. Meanwhile, this month’s book is one that I should have read when it came out, given my interests, but didn’t, Naomi Wolf’s The beauty myth. As always though, I’ve read all the linked books.

Now, when I said I should have read The beauty myth, given my interests, but didn’t, I mean that I have been interested for a long time – since I read Germaine Greer’s The female eunuch back in the 1970s – in the way western culture, specifically, objectifies women. Wolf’s The beauty myth, which was praised by Greer, looks, among other things, at the way women are pressured to conform to set notions of beauty, and are exploited as a result.

A more recent – and Australian – book-cum-memoir which looks, among other things, at the way women are pressured to meet societal standards of beauty is Tara Moss’s The Fictional woman (my review). Her thesis is that women are subject to an inordinate number of fictions that contradict reality, and that this helps perpetuate ongoing inequalities for women in myriad ways. Despite having some long bows, this book – written in 2014 – is spot on in terms of what is now, finally, coming to the fore. It’s distressing that so many writers (among others) have been saying the same things about this issue for SO long, but here we are, in 2018, still in a patriarchal society which thinks it’s ok to objectify and thus control women. Unbelievable.

Another memoir by a feminist is Kate Jennings’ Trouble: Evolution of a radical (my review). It’s a different sort of memoir, a “fragmented autobiography” she calls it. It comprises a compilation of Jennings’ writings selected and ordered by her to show how she has come to be the person she is, to believe the things she does. It’s an engrossing book that includes fiction (poetry and prose) and non-fiction (including interviews) written over a couple of decades.

And, it includes excerpts from her own semi-autobiographical novella, Snake (my review), which I have also reviewed here. Snake is a coming-of-age story set in rural Australia, and tells of Girlie and Boy, and their parents Rex and Irene. It’s not a happy childhood, and in fact the book was described by the Sydney Morning Herald as a “domestic dystopia”. The snake title provides a clever motif encompassing such ideas as temptation, deceit and danger.

There are several books I could link from here, including Jill Ker Conway’s memoir The road from Coorain and Francesca Rendle-Short’s fiction-cum-memoir, Bite your tongue, but I’d like to leave the Australian continent at least once in this journey. Consequently, I’m choosing another autobiographical novel about a difficult childhood, Jeanette Winterson’s Oranges are not the only fruit (my review). Unlike Snake though, the orange motif is far less clear but seems to relate, in part at least, to closed-mindedness. At the end of the novel, pineapples appear, which may suggest change.

Pineapples bring us back to Australia and a book with pineapples in the title, Thea Astley’s Hunting the wild pineapple (my review of the short story from this collection). It is set on a pineapple farm in a place called Mango, and deals, among other things, with the power wielded by white men over others – in particular, women (reminding me of where this month’s meme started) and migrants. And now …

For my last book, I’m going to link on names – from author Thea Astley to character Thea in Dymphna Cusack’s Jungfrau (my review). Coincidentally, this book returns to another thread in this meme, the coming-of-age one (though perhaps, as Diana Blackwood suggested in the comments on my review of her novel Chaconne, it’s more a “wising-up” one.) Set in 1930s Sydney, it concerns three young women, Thea, Eve and Marc, and revolves particularly around Thea’s affair with her married professor. Hmmm … I think we are back to the idea of the unbalanced power relationship between men and women. I’ll leave it there…

This month, again, we haven’t travelled far, only visiting the same countries as last month – the USA, England and Australia. We’ve stayed in the last 100 years and with women writers only. I must diversify a little more next month.

And now, have you read The beauty myth? And whether or not you have, what would you link to?

Six degrees of separation, FROM Lincoln in the Bardo TO …

February 3, 2018February 2, 2018 / Whispering Gums / 60 Comments

The Six Degrees of Separation meme, currently hosted by Kate (booksaremyfavouriteandbest), is, I’m starting to realise, an effective marker of passing time – and I’m not sure I like it. This passing of time I mean, not the Six Degrees meme, which I enjoy! If, perchance, you are not familiar with this meme, please click the link on Kate’s blog-name – you’ll get all the gen you need there. Meanwhile, this month’s book is one that I bought with a Christmas gift voucher, but I haven’t read it yet. It’s George Saunders’ Booker Prize-winning Lincoln in the Bardo. As always though, I’ve read all the linked books, albeit some before this blog.

Now, the reason I bought Lincoln in the Bardo is not so much because it won the Booker, but because one of our ex-reading group members (ex because she retired to the coast, not because we expelled her I might add!) recommended it. She said it was challenging to start with but a great read. However, when I put it forward as an option for this year’s schedule, it was not chosen. I still plan to read it – but when?

Another book that I recommended for this year’s schedule and that was not chosen was Ali Cobby Eckermann’s verse novel Ruby Moonlight (my review). I don’t usually recommend a book I’ve read, as I like to use my reading group to read a new book for me, but I would like us to read more indigenous authors, and this one, a work of historical fiction in verse, is particularly interesting. In the end we chose Claire G Coleman’s Terra Nullius which suits me just fine as it’s one I’m keen to read.

I’ve enjoyed quite a few verse novels during my reading life to date, but the first one I reviewed here was local Canberra author Geoff Page’s The scarring (my review). It’s a gut-wrenching story about war, love and loneliness, revenge and male power. And it’s one of those books that I haven’t forgotten.

Talking about firsts on this blog, and first verse (ha, that rhymes!) in particular, the first verse collection I reviewed here was A.B. (Banjo) Paterson’s now classic collection The man from Snowy River and other verses (my review). Interestingly, Paterson differentiated between verse and poetry, which he saw as a higher form. He wrote verse he said.

Jane Austen's Mr Darcy, illustration by CE Brock

Mr Darcy, illus by CE Brock (Public Domain, courtesy Wikipedia)

Like many of us I’m sure, I was introduced to reading by my parents. I remember as a very young child carting a pile of picture books into my dad in the mornings (as he was an early riser), but the first author I remember him sharing with us was the aforementioned Banjo Paterson. It perhaps won’t surprise regular readers here that the first author I remember my mum sharing with me was Jane Austen. And the first book of hers she shared – read aloud in fact – was, of course, Pride and prejudice. I haven’t done a full review of it here – I hardly dare – but I did write a post about it to commemorate its 200th anniversary.

Now, the thing about Pride and prejudice, according to the Independent, is that it’s never been out of print. Another book that I’ve read, though long before I started this blog, that hasn’t been out of print – according to the The Irish Times – is Ayn Rand’s The fountainhead. It’s one of those books I’m glad I’ve read though I can’t claim to love it as I do Pride and prejudice!

Most authors, of course, would be thrilled to know that their books have never been out of print, but not all. One such is Patrick White who didn’t want his first novel, Happy Valley (my review), to be republished. Fortunately for us, Text Publishing disagreed with him – after his death, anyhow – and published it as part of their wonderful Text Classics series. I’m so glad I got the opportunity to read it! Not only is it an interesting read, but it’s an accessible introduction to his themes and style.

So, this month we’ve not travelled far, culturally speaking anyhow, having only been to the USA, England and Australia. Historically, though, we’ve been a bit more diverse, including visiting Regency England and colonial Australia. We’ve spent time on farms and in cities, and we’ve met some moral men and not so moral ones. I wonder whom we’ll meet next month and where they’ll be! I can’t wait to see the starting book Kate has chosen for us.

And now, have you read Lincoln in the Bardo? And whether or not you have, what would you link to?

Six degrees of separation, FROM The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency TO …

January 6, 2018January 5, 2018 / Whispering Gums / 24 Comments

It’s a new year and I’ve committed, for the moment at least, to continuing with the Six Degrees meme which is currently hosted by Kate (booksaremyfavouriteandbest). For details about the meme, please click the link on Kate’s blog-name. Meanwhile, on with the challenge. This month we start with a book that I have, in fact, read, Alexander McCall Smith’s No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency – and, as always, I’ve read all the linked books too, though some before I started blogging.

Most of you will know that light, crime books are not my usual fare. However, there was a time when reading the latest book from this series was something my parents, mother-in-law, husband and I did on our annual coast holiday. When those holidays ceased, somehow the impetus to read the books ceased too. While it lasted, though, it was a lot of fun to share a reading interest, and ponder the warmth and practical problem-solving of Precious Ramotswe.

For my first link, I’m going with a book by another non-African writer setting stories there, Catherine McNamara’s Pelt and other stories (my review). McNamara is an Australian expat writer currently living, I believe, in Italy, but she also lived and worked for some time in Africa. Several stories in this collection, as the cover might suggest, are set in Africa, particularly West Africa. But they are definitely not warm and fuzzy like McCall Smith’s Botswanan set stories!

And since we rarely visit Africa here, let’s stay there for the next link, and look at Chinua Achebe’s Things fall apart (my review), a classic that I finally managed to read in 2016. It’s set in a small village in Nigeria, and deals with the impact of change in Africa – the missionaries, colonialism – by presenting a variety of reactions and behaviours. He shows western colonialism to be arrogant and oblivious to the culture being overtaken, but also sees aspects of African culture which made it vulnerable.

My next link takes us from Africa to Australia, but stays with the idea of missionaries and their role in the colonialism project. The book is Marie Munkara’s Every secret thing (my review). She uses humour to explore her theme, telling stories in which the Bush Mob use every bit of ingenuity they can muster to resist the incursion into their life and culture by the Mission Mob. As with Things fall apart the power imbalance is too strong, but the Bush Mob manages nonetheless to strike some blows for its side.

At this point I had a few options for linking, including staying with the colonialism theme in Australia, and I was highly tempted. However, I suddenly realised that my previous two books had “thing” or “things” in the title, and that I’ve read another book whose title includes this word, Eimear McBride’s A girl is a half-formed thing (my review). It had to be – not only because it was an irresistible connection but because it enabled me to shift gear for this link, and thus the next one.

If you’ve read McBride’s book, you will know it is a tough read about a young girl who feels alone and unsupported in her family, for understandable reasons – but she doesn’t deserve what happens to her. It reminded me of a book I read this year which had a similar gut-wrenching impact on me, and whose protagonist, while different, feels unsupported by her family and, increasingly, an outsider within her community. The book is Anosh Irani’s The parcel (my review) about the transgendered Madhu in Mumbai’s red-light district.

For my last link, I’m sticking with the idea of outsiders, and returning to an indigenous Australian writer. The book is Tony Birch’s Ghost River (my review). It tells of the friendship between two young boys, Ren and Sonny, and their involvement with a group of homeless men living by the river and about to be “dispossessed” of their spot by plans to build a freeway. These men, though, are not the only outsiders in the book. Sonny, who is from a disadvantaged background, is also an outsider. Birch demonstrates that once you are an outsider, everything is just that much harder. It’s a double whammy.

So, this month we’ve travelled from Africa to Australia, then popped over to Ireland before returning to Australia via India. Our writers, though, have been even more multicultural – two indigenous Australian writers, an Indian-born Canadian writer, an expat-Australian writer living in Italy, an Irish writer born in England, and an African writer. What a fascinating bunch, eh?

And now, have you read The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency? And whether or not you have, what would you link to?

Reading Bingo 2017

December 20, 2017December 20, 2017 / Whispering Gums / 24 Comments

Are you getting sick of memes and lists? If so, just ignore this post and come back when the silly season is over because it seems that we book bloggers can’t help ourselves at this time of year. Today’s meme is a bingo asking us to name books we’ve read this year that meet categories on a bingo card – and it’s a big one with TWENTY-FIVE categories. I got the card from Lisa (ANZLitLovers).

Like most bloggers I have not read to the bingo card, but have tried, after the event, to squish my reading into the card. There are, therefore, a couple of fudges, which I hope you’ll accept. But if you don’t, what are you going to do? Unsubscribe? I hope not!

A book with more than 500 pages: As it turns out I didn’t read one that was more than 500 pages though I read at least three that were between 450 and 500 pages, so I’m choosing the Australian one of those three, Sara Dowse’s As the lonely fly (my review), about Jewish migration, big dreams and the Jewish state in Israel.

A forgotten classic: Mena Calthorpe’s The dyehouse (my review), which was (re)published by Text. They thought it was so special they made in their 100th book in their Classics series. If you haven’t read it, consider doing so, particularly if you like social realist novels about the lives of workers.

A book that became a movie: I have a few of those in my reading this year – and they are mostly classics. The one I’m choosing is Graham Greene’s Travels with my aunt (my review) which, unlike the ones I didn’t choose, I haven’t seen!! I did however read it!

A book published this year: I’ve read several new releases this year, mostly review copies. I’m choosing Stephen Orr’s Datsunland (my review) because I do like a collection of short stories, and I’ve read a few good’uns this year. I’ll be reviewing my third Orr book, his newest release, within the next few months.

A book with a number in the title: This proved strangely difficult this year, but luckily one book I read had numbers in its subtitle, Susan Varga’s moving poetry collection, Rupture: Poems 2012-2015 (my review). I do hope this isn’t a fudge – the numbers are on the title page even if not on the cover!

A book written by an author under thirty: Normally this would be hard, but history tells me that Louise Mack was 26 when her book The world is round (my review) was published in 1896. This book was nearly my “forgotten classic” until I needed something here!

A book with non-human characters: I was initially challenged by this one, until I remembered Rebekah Clarkson’s interconnected short story collection Barking dogs (my review) in which Jasper the barking dog recurs a few times, eventually providing the catalyst for a devastating action.

A funny book: I don’t read a lot of funny-haha books, but many of the books I read make me laugh. Take Hartmann Wallis’ Who said what exactly (my review), for example. If my review doesn’t enable you to see the humour, try reading Robin Wallace-Crabbe’s comment.

A book by a female author: Now this is a hard one – not! I have an embarrassment of riches here, so I’m going to go with one of the doyennes of the Australian literary scene, Carmel Bird and her clever Family skeleton (my review).

A book with a mystery: Well, let’s choose an actual mystery book here, albeit a literary one in which the mystery is really not the main point. I’m talking about Emily Maguire’s An isolated incident (my review).

A book with a one-word title: I have a few options here, but I’ll go with the one I used in a recent Six Degrees post, Ian McEwan’s Nutshell (my review). Such an intriguing book with an unusual choice of narrator.

A book of short stories: As a short story enthusiast I have a few options here too, so am choosing the last one I reviewed, Stephanie Buckle’s Habits of silence (my review). It’s a (lovely) debut collection, so I’d like to give it this extra shout-out.

A free square: So many to choose from, but I’ll nominate the book that I waited months to read until my reading group did it, Kim Mahood’s thoughtful memoir, Position doubtful (my review), about being Australian and relating to this land that belonged to someone else first.

A book set on a different continent: I read several books set in different parts of the world, but, quite coincidentally, two of them were set partly or completely in Vietnam. I’m choosing the one set completely there, Hoa Pham’s Lady of the realm (my review).

A book of non-fiction: Again, so many to choose from, but Stan Grant’s Talking to my country (my review) works as a sort-of companion to Position doubtful, in that it’s by a descendant of one of those original owners. He firmly but generously talks about what it has meant for his people to have been so summarily displaced by us!

From Ch. 9, illus. by CE Brock)

The first book by a favourite author: Most of you know who my favourite author is (though I have a few really) – Jane Austen. I’m fudging here, because her first book to be published was Sense and sensibility, but the first sold to a publisher (who then didn’t publish it) was Northanger Abbey (my posts). I just so happen to have re-read it this year (200 years after its eventual posthumous publication).

A book you heard about online: Like most readers, I hear about many books online, but one I know I FIRST heard about online is Karenlee Thompson’s book of short fiction, Flame tip (my review), which was inspired by Tasmania’s bushfire of 1967.

A best-selling book: Hmmm, I don’t tend to read best-sellers, but I think Min Jin Lee’s Pachinko (my review) is such in the USA, where it was named one of the New York Times Book Review’s 10 Best Books of 2017.

A book based on a true story: My choice here is one of my top reads of the year, Heather Rose’s The Museum of Modern Love (my review). Such a stimulating excursion into ideas about art, love and home.

A book at the bottom of my TBR pile: Now which TBR pile do they mean? And what does bottom mean? I have no idea but one of my TBR reads this year was a wonderful collection of short stories given to me by Daughter Gums in 2014, Circus (my review), by Canadian writer Claire Battershill.

A book your friend loves: This is easy. My dear American friend gave me Viet Thanh Nguyen’s The sympathizer (my review) because she loved it. I did too.

A book that scares you: When I think of this category, I don’t think mystery or horror genre, but books with ideas that scare me. I’ve several to choose from, but I’ll go with Anosh Irani’s The parcel (my review) for its devastating evocation of how cruelly people can treat others, and how intolerant people can be of difference.

A book that is more than ten years old: Again I have a few of these, but some have already appeared in this list, so I’ll go with Jane Fletcher Gienesse’s Passionate nomad: The life of Freya Stark (my review) which was first published in 1999.

The second book in a series: I almost never read series, and certainly haven’t read anything in a series this year so FAIL. I can’t complete the Bingo card!

A book with a blue cover: Woo-hoo, this category enables me to include one of the two books I read this year by Ali Cobby Eckermann, her memoir Too afraid to cry (my review).

So there you have it … a long post. Did you make it to the end? I can’t expect you to complete the bingo card in the comments, but how about choosing one category to highlight a book you’ve read this year that you think deserves a shout-out?

A year in first lines, 2017

December 10, 2017December 16, 2017 / Whispering Gums / 34 Comments

How is that I, a non-meme-doing blogger, suddenly find myself doing memes, like the Six Degrees one? I can’t explain it exactly, but I think it happens when the meme encourages me to think about my reading or blogging. So, when Lisa (ANZLitLovers) reminded me of this end-of-year meme, that she was reminded of by Jane at Beyond Eden Rock, I decided to give it a go. To play, you “Take the first line of each month’s post over the past year and see what it tells you about your blogging year.” (I think this means the FIRST line of the FIRST post in each month.) Apparently, the idea started with The Indextrious Reader.

Now, I have cheated a little on this meme because I found that of the twelve first posts of the month, six were the Six Degrees of Separation meme, and two were my Monday Musings on Australian Literature series. This happened because I post, on average, thirteen posts a month, so there’s good probability that Six Degrees, which occurs on the first Saturday of the month, or Monday Musings, which occur every Monday, will be the first post of the month. Sharing these posts wouldn’t give a good overview of my blog, so I’ve chosen the first post of the month that is not a Six Degrees or Monday Musings one.

So, my first lines …

January: Reading highlights for 2016:

And so we finally say goodbye to a year many of us would like to forget, but before we do, I would like to share my 2016 reading highlights.

February: Delicious descriptions: Freya Stark on a studied absence of curiosity:

Usually I post a Delicious Description after my main post on the book in question, but I’m reversing my practice this time, for no other reason than time.

March: Graham Greene, Travels with my aunt:

Every year, my reading group aims to do at least one classic – usually something from the nineteenth century – but this year someone suggested Graham Greene.

April: Janette Turner Hospital’s Orpheus lost:

Last year I did a mini-review of Elizabeth Jolley’s An innocent gentleman using some scrappy notes from when I read the book long before blogging.

May: William Temple Hornaday, The bird tragedy of Laysan Island:

William Temple Hornaday (1854-1937), whose article “The bird tragedy of Laysan Island” was a recent Library of America (LOA) Story of the Week offering, is a tricky man to write about.

June 2017: Linda Neill, All is given:

Linda Neil’s second book, All is given, is subtitled “a memoir in songs”.

July: Ali Cobby Eckermann, Inside my mother:

Ali Cobby Eckermann, a Yankunytjatjara/Kokatha woman, has featured a few times on this blog, including in my review of her verse novel, Ruby Moonlight, and my Monday Musings post on her winning the valuable Windham-Campbell Prize this year.

August: Hartman Wallis, Who said what, exactly:

Never mind Hartmann Wallis’ question Who said what, exactly, I want to know who Hartmann Wallis is, exactly!

September: Phil Day, A chink in a daisy-chain:

You’ve “met” Phil Day, author of A chink in a daisy-chain, here before.

October: Catherine McKinnon, Storyland:

It is still somewhat controversial for non-indigenous Australian authors to include indigenous characters and concerns in their fiction, as Catherine McKinnon does in Storyland.

November: Stan Grant, Talking to my country:

History is, in a way, the main subject of my reading group’s October book, Stan Grant’s Talking to my country.

December: Unbreakable: Conversation with Jelena Dokic:

If you are a fan of professional tennis you will probably have heard of Jelena Dokic who hit the world stage during the 1999 Wimbledon Championships.

The question is, as Lisa asked herself, do these first lines give you a good sense of my blog and of my reading interests. Well, I’d say yes and no …

Yes, because:

my reading each year includes some classics, such as Graham Greene’s Travels with my aunt.
my focus is Australian literature and this is clearly evident in the list above.
I am aiming to increase my coverage of indigenous Australian literature, and this is evidenced here by Ali Cobby Eckermann in July and Stan Grant in November.
each year I read a selection of offerings from the Library of America, and there’s one here, William Temple Hornaday’s “The bird tragedy of Laysan Island”.
I enjoy reading left-of-field books, such as those published by Finlay Lloyd, exemplified here by Hartmann Wallis’ Who said what, exactly and Phil Day’s A chink in a daisy-chain.
I report on my reading group’s reads, including, here, Graham Greene’s Travels with my aunt and Stan Grant’s Talking to my country.
I try to attend literary events and author talks, such as December’s conversation with Jelena Dokic (which in itself is not wonderfully indicative of my literary events, but it’s the one that popped up!)
I mix my reading forms and genres, across non-fiction and fiction, so in this list are memoirs, a biography, novels, an essay, and a classic.
I try to mix up my opening sentences, and I think there’s some evidence of that here (but you can tell me how successful you think I’ve been!)
I run some series on my blog, the main one being Monday Musings of Australian Literature, but another being Delicious Descriptions (which you can see in February).

And no, because:

I generally read more women authors than men, but the mix here is pretty even.
I do read some translated and diverse writing, but there are none here, besides the indigenous writers.
One of the forms I love to read are short stories, and they are not represented at all in this set of posts.

Overall though, my first lines have captured my blog reasonably well … I’d say.

Six degrees of separation, FROM It TO …

December 2, 2017December 2, 2017 / Whispering Gums / 45 Comments

And so we come to December and the last Six Degrees of Separation for the year. For newbies to blogging – because the rest of you surely know by now – this is a meme currently hosted by Kate (booksaremyfavouriteandbest). For information about how the meme works, please click the link on her blog-name. It’s fascinating to see the wild and wonderful paths different bloggers go, all starting with the same book – which, this month is a book I haven’t read (as is more common than not), Stephen King’s It. As always though, I have read all the books I link to.

The reason I haven’t read It is that I’m not a big fan of horror, either to read or see in movies, and It is, I understand, horror. I have enjoyed some movie adaptations of King’s novellas, like The Shawshank Redemption, Stand by me, and Apt pupil, but the horror stories? Not so much. So, how to link a book that I have not only not read but is a genre I don’t like? Well, I’ve chosen something superficial …

One-word-titles! How original, eh?! There are many possibilities here, but I’m going to choose one I read this year, Ian McEwan’s Nutshell (my review). It’s one of those books that some people love and some hate, mostly because of its narrator. Some people just don’t like a foetus as a narrator! Can’t understand it myself. After all, fiction is supposed to be about the imagination. Seriously, though, I do understand the uncertainty about such a device, but I thought McEwan pulled it off …

As did too, I felt, Courtney Collins with her dead baby narrator in The burial (my review). If you think a foetus is a little bizarre, a dead baby speaking from the grave may be a step too far for you, but again, I thought Collins carried it off to present a fascinating historical fiction work about an Australian female bushranger. I haven’t heard anything more about Collins since, but I do hope she’s working on another book.

Anyhow, my next link is the obvious one. It’s on the word “burial” in the title and is, of course, Hannah Kent’s Burial rites (my review) Not only does it have “burial” in the title, but it is also a work of historical fiction, albeit one set in remote 19th century Iceland, not early 20th century outback Australia. Kent’s book, however, was not the first book set in Iceland that I’ve read. That honour goes to my next linked book …

Halldór Laxness’ spare, mesmerising Independent people. Unfortunately, I read this book a few years before I started blogging, so I don’t have a review to link to. One day I might fish out my reading notes and try to concoct a review, just to have it recorded on my blog. But, I probably won’t – because I fear the result would be too superficial. I really need to have a book fresh in my mind to write my reviews.

Now, the thing about Laxness, besides being Icelandic, is that he won the Nobel Prize for Literature, in 1955. He is, apparently, Iceland’s only Nobel Laureate. Aussies may see where this is going – it’s to Patrick White, who is not quite our only Nobel Laureate, but he is our only Nobel Laureate in Literature. The Nobel Prize goes, as you know, to a body of work, so I’m doing the logical thing and have chosen the novel that got him going, his debut novel, Happy Valley (my review).

I’m going to stick with this idea of debut novel for my last link – and choose another older debut novel, Louise Mack’s The world is round (my review). While White’s book was first published in 1939, the year he turned 27, Mack’s book was published in 1896 when she was 26. Mack may not have gone on to have the stellar literary career that White did, but she’s part of our early literary tradition and I don’t want her forgotten!

So, this month we’ve travelled the globe a bit, from America to England to Australia to Iceland and back to Australia! We’ve visited remote cold places and remote hot places. And we’ve met some unusual narrators. I’ve had fun – and I hope you have too.

And now, to end, have you read It? And whether or not you have, what would you link to?

That’s a really good point Bill re the definition of Late Capitalism … because I was surprised to read how…

I do know whom! I’m glad you still do have some actual books MR.

I remember this post. That’s a great image to explain what these annotations are like.

I thought there was a set but I haven’t checked. I’m tempted but I already have two or even three…

You're so welcome! She has done Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice. I'm not sure about any others, but…

Whispering Gums

Books, reading and more … with an Australian focus … written on Ngunnawal Country

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