Tuesday 13 February 2024

A Refusal to Die of White History: Modewarre


Modewarre by Patricia Sykes
Spinifex
Pp. 90

Modewarre is the indigenous word for musk duck, a creature at home on land, water and air. Through her poetry, Patricia Sykes explores various histories and the boundaries between them which blur and blend. She splits the poems into three sections: House of the Bird, House of Water, and House of Detention, examining words and their connotations, dwelling on reflections, refractions and altered perceptions.

Naming things robs them of their magic and power, as we use “language, so impossibly cumbersome/ for discovering the true weight of things/ the grandmother would have known”. The literary fragments are almost Sapphic with physical and sensual meaning: “as always the modewarre/ places faith in its eggs/ yolk and the sun/ breed each other”. The strong bonds of belonging and connection to land go beyond words, until the frustration is clear in a poem such as eponymous, “to the interrogator who keeps asking/ ‘so are you still suckling on myths of place?’/ I say try the enigma address/ the bird who keeps vanishing in water –”

The poems recall the land and the life before the colonists came, and also the sheer incomprehension of the invaders dealing with the loss. In eupathy (right feeling of the soul) she sees the land from above as though flying with the eagle. “to talk now/ of whether this is still so/ or if the eagles in free flight/ are an option/ to speak of/ options, land, again/ once more/ not as that which was taken/ is un-ownable/ contracting and crowded/ but as lava shift/ the heat of a river/ always underfoot/ in a molten indifference/ to politics”. There are layers of knowledge contained in a word, such as the poem, ‘brid’, eight darkness in which ‘brid’ is the name given by Nyangangu, a Yolgnu artist of Northeast Arnhem Land, to her bird carving. “there, where you are,/ bred of earth, breeding sky/ working the uplift, wingbeat/ as if sculpting a refusal/ to die of white history”.

The world is a palimpsest and so is the brain – our thoughts and memories are malleable. Birds connect people and places, and are often totems for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, helping to define kinship with people, their Country and nature, connecting to the roles and responsibilities of a mob, offering protection and foreshadowing danger and momentous events. This connection extends throughout the world as the birds migrate along their own songlines.

Means of expression are insufficient, with even mechanics of speech and typing unable to capture the richness of the language. “this keyboard’s/ tireless tap-tap mouth/ which cannot voice/ the interior ‘n’ in Nyangangu/ the one with the tail/ the sound of ‘ng’ in singer”. And yet the words can be damaging and belittling. “how the eyes like linguists are never satisfied/ how they’ll poke and pry into any lexicon”, wanting to preserve and capture, destroying the natural.

The poems in House of Water are concerned with childhood, disease, death, invasion, cattle, birds, and bunyips. Roads are built over traditional lands, only to crumble and fray at the edges demonstrating their impermanence in the liminal space. “what never was field/ become paddock become/ fences become livestock/ the cattle the sheep/ foraging for the hoofprints/ they lost the last time/ they departed a shore”.

In the House of Detention, the poems move on to highlight migrants trapped in refugee camps, prisoners in cells, wives in marriages, women in motherhood, caterpillars who will one day be butterflies, political constraints, and people wanting to be “at home in every world/ where exile does not exist”. In great-aunt narrative among the excised lands, Sykes leans upon the double meaning of refuse (verb and noun) as it relates to denial and pollution: “oh my Canberra…/ high city of presumptive cleanliness/ among the dirty waters exuding from the workplaces/ the smell of your refusal laws”. She uses a rare capital letter in this poem, which must surely be ironic as her punctuation is clean and almost entirely absent.

Modewarre is a great collection of powerful fragments, connecting words to the echoes of previous language both spoken and unspoken. It is a reminder that we are merely one of millions of moving parts that comprise our environment, expressing a concern for what will happen to the delicate balance once we form a pyramid and place ourselves at the apex.

Friday 9 February 2024

Friday Five: Books in Song


One of the books I read last month was by Richard Brautigan. I read it because of the song, Have You Ever Heard a Digital Accordion by the fabulously bonkers band, The Lovely Eggs. And it made me think how much I have learned from music, as lyrics have frequently piqued my interest to learn more about historical, political and literary facts and figures. So here are five authors referred to in song that I have investigated further due to a lyric or two, or an entire song, or several. 
  1. Brendan Beehan - there are many Pogues songs which namecheck the Irish poet, novelist, playwright and activist. Due to songs such as Streams of Whiskey and Thousands are Sailing I read The Quare Fellow, An Giall (The Hostage), Borstal Boy, Confessions of an Irish Rebel, and a couple of biographies by Michael O'Sullivan and Ulick O'Connor. As a man who joined the IRA aged 16 (after having been a member of the 'boy scout group' of the organisation aged 14), embarked on an unauthorised solo mission to blow up the Liverpool docks (for which he was imprisoned in a borstal), was sentenced to prison for attempted murder aged 19, promoted the use of Gaelic (which he taught himself to write and speak while in prison), lived in Paris and New York, and suffered alcoholism and related health complications including diabetes, it is little wonder that Brendan Beehan appealed so much to The Pogues. Some of his writing is exceptional, and he is largely known for his pithy epigrams, such as 'I only drink on two occasions - when I'm thirsty and when I'm not' or 'There's no bad publicity except an obituary'. 
  2. Albert Camus - A favourite of pretentious young men who liked to be thought of as enigmatic and tortured while having existentialist crises, but who actually turned out (as I learned to my cost) to be self-obsessed and intensely dull. Camus was born in 1913 in Algeria to French parents, and he was in Paris when the Germans invaded France during World War II in 1940. He joined the French Resistance and edited outlawed newspapers, opposing Stalin and the totalitarianism of the USSR - his politics were more libertarian socialism and anarcho-syndicalism. After the war he became a celebrity speaker, had numerous affairs, published novels, essays and plays, and won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1957, becoming the second youngest recipient of the award (after Rudyard Kipling). Killing an Arab by the Cure makes a lot more sense after reading L'Etranger (The Outsider), I'm a big fan of isolated community narratives, so I was intrigued by La Peste (The Plague), and the name for the Prestwich post-punk band fronted by Mark E. Smith was taken from his last novel, La Chute (The Fall)
  3. Jack Kerouac - Natalie Merchant (lead vocalist and primary lyricist of the band 10,000 Maniacs from 1981-1993) probably is influenced by the Beat Generation of American novelists, poets, and self-entitled young men. They included Jack Kerouac, William S. Burroughs, Allen Ginsberg and Charles Bukowski, and favoured stream of consciousness writing, jazz music, spontaneous travel, heavy drinking and widespread promiscuity... for men. Kerouac published wrote over a dozen novels and as many poems, with On the Road being the most famous and the only one I could bring myself to read. On the Road is a rambling, indulgent, misogynistic account of a road trip taken by Jack Kerouac with Neal Cassady across the United States and Mexico full of drugs, violence, soul-searching and machismo. It's greatly lacking in chapters, paragraphs or general structure and reading it feels like being bludgeoned by a Hemingway wannabe. Apparently Kerouac wrote it in 1951 with the assistance of his pregnant wife, Joan, 'supplying him with Benzedrine, cigarettes, bowls of pea soup, and mugs of coffee to keep him going', while he lived at home with his mother. In thanks, they got divorced and he refused to acknowledge paternity of the child until it was proved through a blood test when she was ten. He only saw her twice in his life, which ended aged 47 when he died from an internal haemorrhage caused by cirrhosis. The lyrics to Hey, Jack Kerouac by 10,000 Maniacs (released 1987) includes the lines, "You chose your words from mouths of babes got lost in the wood/ The hip flask slinging madman, steaming café flirts,/ In Chinatown howling at night." The music of the song is exquisite; the inspiration for the lyrics tiresome and disappointing.
  4. Sylvia Plath - If all of the other authors mentioned here are read by every teenage boy who fancies himself as a misunderstood genius, then Sylvia Plath is the female equivalent for girls. Naturally, it doesn't end well for her and after being clinically depressed for most of her adult life, she died by suicide in 1963 aged 30. Incidentally, while many women read the male authors, I wonder how many men read the female ones. Apparently Nigel Blackwell (singer, guitarist and songwriter for Half Man Half Biscuit) does, or at least he refers to Sylvia Plath in the brilliant song, The Light at the End of the Tunnel (Is the Light of an Oncoming Train), which was released in 2002. Of course, I had already Sylvia Plath poetry collections, The Colossus and Other Poems, and Ariel, the semi-autobiographic novel The Bell Jar, and Janet Malcolm's biography about Plath's tumultuous relationship with Ted Hughes, The Silent Woman before this particular song came out (I was an undergraduate of English Studies in Manchester after all), but it's harder than you might think to find songs that refer to female authors. As Half Man Half Biscuit lament the loss of a relationship with a woman who has moved to Notting Hill and changed her sphere of social influence, they state, "For when you're in Matlock Bath/ You don't need Sylvia Plath/ Not while they've got Mrs Gibson's jam".
  5. Oscar Wilde - It's almost impossible to imagine that The Smiths would exist if Oscar Wilde had not gone before. Screamingly pretentious with gladioli hanging out of his back pocket, Morrissey had that same pathological need to be noticed and considered witty and brilliant above all else. Despite the recent fall from grace - embracing a far-right political party and publicly spouting racist and sexist views - his lyrics from the cutting edge albums of the mid 1980s were instantly appealing to those who felt they were the social underdogs of Thatcher's Britain. The musical brilliance of Johnny Marr (guitarist), Andy Rourke (bassist) and Mike Joyce (drummer) certainly didn't hurt, and elevated the band to indie-god-like status, but it was the lyrics (written mainly by Morrisey and Marr) that were taken to heart in teenage bedrooms across the country.  "A dreaded sunny day/ So let's go where we're wanted/ And I meet you at the cemetery gates/ Keats and Yeats are on your side/ But you lose/ 'Cause weird lover Wilde is on mine." I became utterly obsessed with Oscar Wilde as a result of The Smiths and read every one of his plays, short fictions, poems, essays and novel (there was only one). I also practically haunted Cimetière du Père-Lachaise (where the body of Wilde is interred) when I lived in Paris (before the frankly repulsive habit caught on of people kissing the tomb and leaving lipstick marks), reading Richard Ellman's definitive biography (for which he posthumously won a Pullitzer Pride) while sighing dramatically and occasionally weeping. Pretentious, moi?

Friday 2 February 2024

Friday Five: Books Read in January

  1. The Chimney Sweeper's Boy by Barbara Vine (Viking)When Gerald Candless, a critically acclaimed author dies, his daughter, Sarah, is asked to write a memoir of her beloved father. As she starts to research his childhood and origins – i.e. his life before she was born – she soon discovers multiple discrepancies in the narrative. There follows a domestic investigation into family secrets that might make a man change his name and adopt an entirely new persona. The secrets are often to cover historic scandals, such as illegitimacy, unwed mothers, class distinctions and homosexuality, which would not raise an eyebrow today. Like PD James or Robert Goddard, Barbara Vine writes literary suspense novels where the characters are more engaging the plot, and the themes are apparent from the start. Rather than racing to the end to find out whodunnit, the reader spends time with the characters wondering how they feel and what they are going to do about it.
  2. Treacle Walker by Alan Garner (4th Estate) - This short and pithy fantasy was shortlisted for the Booker Prize in 2022. Using the language of folklore and myth, it imbues trees, birds, stones and bogs with specific meanings, as linguistic word play heightens the fairytale elements of the power of nature and the land. Young Joe, trying to make sense of his world, meets the rag and bone man, Treacle Walker, who leads him through mirror worlds and comics that come alive with characters such as Stonehenge Kit, the Ancient Brit, who fights Whizzy the Wicked Wizard and his chums the Brit Bashers. Hiding behind antiquated and poetically nonsensical language that calls to mind Dylan Thomas, Gertrude Stein, Roald Dahl and Lewis Carol, Garner explores the world of modern politics, environmental crises and whether or not to 'correct' neurodiversity with medication. For a short work, it has received a lot of attention with very mixed reviews - many American critics found it 'boring', 'not easy or accessible' and are frustrated by its lack of linear narrative, which is like catnip to me.
  3. Eric by Terry Pratchett (Gollanz) - When feeling down or overwhelmed, I find Terry Pratchett reliable in cheering me up and relaxing me. Of course I read the books in order, but for some reason I missed this one out - it may be the fact that the title consisted of the crossed out Faust replaced by the name Eric. Eric is a teenage boy who is seeking world domination, and intimate relations with beautiful women. He manages to hack into the demon world (full of endless meetings, memos and policy statements) but unfortunately for him, he summons up the ineffective Rincewind (last seen in Sourcery). It's a welcome return from the hapless chap and his savage but loyal luggage. Rincewind still has glaring gaps in his knowledge (quantum mechanics are 'people who repair quantums, I suppose') but he is still making valiant attempts to save humanity and, more importantly, stay alive. Chortles aplenty.
  4. The Diversity Gap by Bethaney B. Wilkinson (Harper Collins Leadership) - The subtitle of this book is Where good intentions meet true cultural change, where the diversity in question is mainly race-related. It offers suggestions of how to make meaningful progress rather than simply ticking boxes or attempting to improve the public image. These things take time, involve actually listening to people, welcoming all opinions (especially uncomfortable ones), believing in the experience  and perception of others, paying people for their 'diversity leadership' (informal as well as formal), and sharing power. The last one seems particularly difficult to accomplish as leadership roles tend to be filled by the dominant cultural vision who want to hoard the power of decision-making to themselves and conduct projects their way, claiming it as a kind of perfectionism as if that were a good thing. The author uses corporate jargon and marketing speak, and repeats phrases immediately in bold as if they were giving a TED talk for the hard of understanding. Despite this being extremely off-putting, they do make some good points. “If we focus on questions related to diversifying teams, but fail to ask questions about sharing power, we miss the mark.”
  5. Birnam Wood by Eleanor Catton (Granta) - Eleanor Catton was the youngest winner of the Booker Prize with the longest book in 2013 (The Luminaries). She clearly has talent, and she displays it again here in Birnam Wood. It's quite a lengthy novel (423 pages) and there is a lot of exposition, with the balance too much in favour of tell rather than show. Birnam Wood is the name of a renegade group who want to take back the land for common ownership and guerrilla gardening. The members make strange bedfellows with a billionaire who made his money in drone technology and says he wants to build a doomsday bunker but will let them use the land above ground and even finance their project. One former member of the group, feeling jilted by the organisation in its current form and desperate to make a name for himself in investigative journalism, decides to dig a little deeper. Of course there are Shakespearean parallels - powerful ambition is ultimately destructive, there is an integral struggle over whether it is better to be right or rich, innocent casualties accumulate, and 'Birnam Wood was going to a better form of camouflage than he had ever dreamed'. None of this should be a spoiler, unless you've never read/ seen/ heard of Macbeth, in which case, it's a spoiler for that too. Lengthy debates about patriarchy, economics, nationalism, identity politics, intersectionality and capitalism - 'Didn’t we already solve that one?' - are reminiscent of those earnest down-the-pub conversations we used to have as students. Despite the cleverly-designed cover, not everything is black and white. 
  6. A Bird in the Hand by Ann Cleeves (Pan Books)The author of the books on which the series Vera and Shetland are based, Ann Cleeves wrote the first in this George and Molly Palmer-Jones series in 1986. The couple in question are retired, happy to travel the British Isles birdwatching, and solving the murders which invariably occur. George used to work at the Home Office (doing secret business), is good with details and has bouts of depression; Molly is a retired social worker who is good at listening and brings out the best in people. Naturally, they make a great couple. Both are restless with their current life and enjoy a new challenge. When a birdwatcher is found dead on a marsh with his head bashed in and his binoculars still around his neck, it is a great surprise to everyone in the small community because everyone loved him. Or did they? Of course, they didn’t, as this is an old-style mystery and secrets soon come to light complete with multiple suspects, red herrings, precise timings of the murder, poison pen letters, and suspicious alibis. 
  7. Trout Fishing in America by Richard Brautigan (Canongate) - This is not a book about trout. It is a cult classic that is part commentary on American society, part surreal absurdism, and part hallucinogenic travel memoir where the pictures from the trip (in every sense of the word) are not yet developed. First published in 1967, the book is whimsical in the way that it captures a moment in time, referring to undeveloped photographs as "in suspension now like seeds in a package." Short chapters, oddly specific similes and a total disregard for character development or narrative arc, mark it as a work of post-modernism that deconstructs itself, talks about its own front cover, writes and receives letters and is an item for sale at The Cleveland Wrecking Yard where it is sold by the foot length. Brautigan is the slightly more obscure favourite of the boys in college who also read Kerouac, Kesey , Burroughs and Vonnegut, which should indicate to a potential reader whether they will like him or not. 
  8. The Price of Salt by Patricia Highsmith (W.W. Norton & Company) - This novel was filmed in 2015 (by Todd Haynes) as Carol starring Cate Blanchett as Carol and Rooney Mara as Therese. The fact that I can only remember Cate Blanchett is telling, as Carol is so wholly the focus of the novel that Therese is tantalisingly indistinct. Written in a world-weary glamourous style, it recalls the novels of Fitzgerald, Collette or Nabokov: everything is mentioned, but nothing is understood. Therese begins an infatuation with Carol which leads to a clandestine relationship - is it love, or is the much-older Carol toying with her affections to discard her like a plaything? As a set designer, Therese should be used to miniature worlds and deceptive appearances, yet she seems drawn into the dream as though Carol had some White Witch potential.

Friday 26 January 2024

Friday Five: Curiouser and Curiouser

I have signed up to a monthly cross-stitch subscription through Spruce Craft. Each month I get a tidy package delivered to my door containing fabric, threads and designs for four themed cross-stitches. The first one I did was in October and the theme was from Alice in Wonderland. 


The December collection was sparkling hearts and unicorns. I turned some of them into cards and sent them to friends for New Year's greetings. Here is another (to make up the Friday Five). 

Tuesday 23 January 2024

What Lies Beneath? The Opal Desert


The Opal Desert by Di Morrissey
Macmillan
Pp. 406

Di Morrissey sets place extremely well. In her dozens of novels, the scenery and landscape are immediate and infinitely better drawn than her characters or plotlines. The Opal Desert is, unsurprisingly, set in Lightning Ridge, Broken Hill, Opal Lake, and White Cliffs, where most people are exceptionally friendly and we learn about the precious stones and the community who mine them. The three women around whom Morrissey tells her tale, Kerrie, Shirley and Anna, are all fairly predictable stereotypes who overcome their personal obstacles in life-affirming ways, which may not be realistic, but are heart-warming.

Kerrie is our main character who realises, after her sculptor husband dies, how much he absorbed her life into his, and that she doesn’t get on with his children. For spurious reasons (a recommendation from a friend’s lawyer), she decides to head to opal country to find herself and reconnect with her own artistic side. She encounters a land rich with visual treasures, art galleries and bush art, inspired by painters such as Pro Hart and Jack Absalom. She admires the light and bright colours.

The Windlass by Kevin Charles (Pro) Hart

Naturally, Kerrie also learns about the flash of opals – white, fire, black – and their addictive appeal. She appreciates the act of opal mining because it is “relatively small-time… unlikely to ever become a huge and invasive industry like gas, oil and iron ore.” As well as the beautiful stones, she learns, “Sometimes miners dig up fossils of shells and sea creatures, even dinosaurs.” She is told that, “Australia is the only place in the world which has opalised animal fossils. They’re not only beautiful, but important scientifically.” There is some friction between those who want to collect the fossils for their historical value, and those who want to break them up and create unique pieces of jewellery for sale. This is an interesting aspect of the book and even non-geologists will appreciate the basic descriptions of which rock formations lead to which varieties of opals.

Our next character is Shirley, an elderly woman who lives in a dugout she rarely leaves (due to a mysterious past event), but she socialises with everyone. “Shirley’s just Shirley, but she knows a bit about everything. She’s our local historian, sort of. Lovely, lovely lady.” Shirley decides to record the stories of the old miners so they might pay testament to a way of life that was fast disappearing. “The mantle of keeper of the stories, the one who held remnants of a life that might otherwise be forgotten, settled gently and easily on Shirley’s shoulders.” Di Morrissey’s evocation of time and place make her a type of archivist too.

People who mine (and live underground) are often a little odd; they live on the fringes and have personal reasons for being there. One character states, “I like going out to the opal fields. Special people out there, too. There’re some gems, some oddballs, some creative types and those with opal fever. It’s a place that affects everyone. There are friendly people, and most don’t ask questions, but there are also shady characters and blatant sexism. When the young woman, Anna, is introduced, she has justifiable concerns about the tactile and intrusive nature of some men she encounters. Others become paranoid, afraid of gangs coming to steal their stones. “It’s not always sunshine and glittering opals… the dark underbelly of the opal fields… murders, mystery, ratters and ratbags.”

Beneath the rose-tinted idealism, lies hidden bias and unconscious racism. Young Shirley tells her partner, Stefan, “Our history comes from the continent itself, the landscape, and the opportunities for people to carve their own paths, using their skills and knowledge.” This becomes complicated when she ignores Aboriginal history, “It must be stultifying being lumbered with thousands of years of history. Here, in Australia, you have the opportunity to be creative and original without the burden of the past. This country is like a clean slate.” Clearly this was written before the words ‘young and free’ in the Australian national anthem were changed to ‘one and free’ in an attempt to ‘foster a spirit of unity’, acknowledge ‘the fact that we have the oldest continuous civilisation on the planet right here with First Nations people’ and ‘honouring the foundations upon which our nation has been built and the aspirations we share for the future.’

Many people head to the opal fields for a change of pace, which is admirable. One character states, “We all need time out, as they say, on occasion. But that’s all it should be, a space between decisions. It becomes very easy to drift. You see it happen out here and before you know it, you’ve lost a great chunk of your productive life.” This begs the question, why must you be productive; what is the definition of produce – is it capitalist growth, and is that why Indigenous culture is ignored because it doesn’t visibly contribute to the GDP? What is wrong with “drifting”? Perhaps it has to do with the nature of Morrissey’s storytelling, in which all is tied up neatly at the end. It seems easy to get to be a curator, train for world athletic events or have an exhibition of paintings. Other character’s mysterious circumstances are cleared up in a page or two and everyone gets closure. This makes the people instantly forgettable (so much for recording their stories) but the landscape lingers in the mind.

Lightning Ridge

Friday 19 January 2024

Friday Five: TV I've Been Watching

Here is the latest in the sporadic round-up of TV programs I've been watching. I've got a running list for the past 18 months or so, so here is a list of a few of them over in alphabetical order. 

Five TV Shows I've Been Watching:
  1. Beckham (Netflix) - You simply couldn't avoid the hype for this Netflix documentary about the golden couple. As it was aimed at an American audience, I was concerned that it wouldn't cover the actual football, which was the part in which I was interested. David Beckham was a global star because he was attractive, married a Spice Girl, and had an uncanny ability to advertise in all the right places. I knew him as a phenomenal footballer, for whom the category of 'most assists' was invented, who went from a louche kid reviled by the English press for 'losing us the World Cup' to the much-beloved captain of the national team two years later, and who, with his absolutely magical Man Utd. 'class of '92' team of  dominated the local pitch when I lived in Manchester. It's all there. The words of wife Victoria, as she deals with his obsessive behaviour and passion (she claims that she still doesn't like football) are an added bonus, giving great depth to the analysis of an icon. 
  2. Brassic (ABC iview) - Originally filmed in Bacap, a bunch of friends in a fictional Lancashire town, sort of led by Vincent 'Vinnie' O'Neill (Joe Gilgun - also co-creator), a disturbed young man with bipolar disorder who lives alone in a shack in the woods. His quick-witted confidence, eccentric intensity and great depth of compassion leads to a number of friendships with an odd collective including Dylan (Damian Molony) and Erin (Michelle Keegan). The group commit various petty crimes to get a bit of cash, but many of them begin to wonder if there may be more to life beyond the town. Dominic West has a great cameo role as Vinnie's GP with the worst professional manner you've ever seen. Lucy Mangan of the Guardian wrote, "It is a hilarious, warm, brutal mélange that works because it has heart without sentimentality and authenticity without strain."

  3. La revolución (Netflix) - It's based around the time just before the French Revolution where the aristocracy have literally got blue blood and have to drink the blood of the peasants to stay alive, thus upsetting the social order. They range from glamorous and conflicted to cruel and twisted. Fortunately, Joseph Ignace Guillotine, discovers the virus and has a potential cure up his sleeve - he just needs to keep his head on his shoulders (other puns are available). Total preposterous nonsense with glorious period costumes and a gothic/ noir style cinematography. I really enjoyed, but Netflix apparently didn't as it was cancelled after one season.
  4. Super Pumped (Stan) - The story of American rideshare start-up company Uber is not pretty. There is rampant capitalism, pursuit of growth at all costs, a vile frat-boy misogynistic culture, and a complete lack of empathy for anyone or anything that gets in the way of making millions. It is narrated by Quentin Tarantino and the part of CEO and slime on a stick, Travis Kalanick, is played to perfection by Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Uma Thurman has a star-turn as the right-wing mentor, which makes a change from the men in polo necks and loafers trope. The whole thing is flashy and entertaining and so crammed full of macho-bullshit that it makes me happy to be a peasant.
  5. The Virtues (Stan) - I really think it's time that Stephen Graham got to play a happy role - one where he isn't an alcoholic with a deeply troubled past who loses his kids because he's an unreliable parent. Meanwhile, he's in this miniseries drama from 2019 co-written and directed by Shane Meadows in which he plays Jospeh, an alcoholic with a deeply troubled past who loses his kids because he's an unreliable parent. It also features Niamh Algar, Helen Behan, Frank Laverty and Niamh Cusack. After a horrifically-well directed drinking binge, Joseph uses the last of his money to return to his estranged sister in Ireland, thereby unearthing traumatic incidents which he has repressed from his memory. The Virtues is a powerful and bruising story that examines the sacrosanctity of the parent/child relationship and the horrific effects that abuse can cause for many years to follow, like the ripples caused by a stone thrown into a stagnant pond.

Tuesday 16 January 2024

Entry-Level Feminism by the Book: A Month of Sundays


Four people who have met as part of an on-line book group take a month to go to a cottage in the Blue Mountains to talk about books – what bliss! When the club set out ten years ago, there were more members, but over the years the numbers decreased, leaving these four women who still had their regular meeting via Skype. Although they have been part of the book club for ten years, they have never met in person before, so this is the perfect opportunity to get to know each other.

Adele, who has organised it (and everything else), suggests they each chose a book, “that will tell us all something significant about you. Be prepared to be honest about why you have chosen it and why it matters to you. This makes it more than just a suggested read, it is an invitation from each one of us to the others to get to know each other better.” They will then discuss the book, but of course, “it’s true that we all bring something of ourselves to what we read” so they learn more about each other as the book progresses.

They are all reaching retirement age so they have the luxury of time, and they can indulge in self-reflection and learn more about female friendship and feminism, which they might not have thought was right for them when they first encountered its concepts. In that regard, it is frustrating to read, like listening to a group of grandmothers explaining how it was not like that in their day.

Judy runs a knitting shop but feels overwhelmed with the business; Ros comes with a dog called Clooney and a dead husband, James, who died jumping off a bus and she has yet to come to terms with it. She also has Parkinson’s disease, about which she is in denial. Lastly Simone does yoga and seems to have it all together, until she discovers she has a long-lost sister who was the result of a hitherto unknown relationship of her father.

Other reviewers have been coy about mentioning the books discussed in case it ruins the suspense of the story. It doesn’t. They are Tirra Lirra by the River by Jessica Anderson, Sacred Country by Rose Tremain, Truth and Beauty by Ann Patchett, and Unless by Carol Shields. These are all celebrated and acclaimed novelists. They are also all white, Western and middle class. That’s definitely the territory in which we find ourselves. For all that the characters have their dramas and personal experiences, there is little variety or plot in this novel. They plod on and hopefully find friendship, learning better late than never that women can support each other and they don’t have to fit into society’s expectations. Their reference points are Helen Reddy’s I Am Woman and Julia Gillard’s misogyny speech.

Society has changed a lot more than they know, and if they take refuge in a cutesy Blue Mountain town to talk to like-minded people about their social epiphanies, they will probably never develop past the pages of a book. Maybe they don’t want to, and that’s fine, but it’s not a journey on which most women would choose to embark, having been past the point way before.