Friday Five: BorrowBox

I don't usually listen to audiobooks - I prefer the tactile nature of reading a book and will never ceased to be amazed by the fact that printed words on a page can conjure precise worlds in the mind. However, a friend introduced me to BorrowBox, an app affiliated to my local library, where I can borrow books to listen to, and I decided to give it a go. 

I am particularly intersted in autobigraphies and other works in which authors read their own words and tell their own stories. Here are five I have listened to and enjoyed so far. 

 

Candid and amsuing autobiography from a young woman who suffered a traumatic childhood, fragile mental health, the death of her son and a terrifying stalking incident that culminated in a home invasion. her voice is authentic as she describes learning about the highs and lows of the music industry (number one singles and mainly male media backlash) in a very public spotlight. Her father, Keith Allen, does not shine through this account despite his obvious assistance in her career - he gave her a recording contract and abandoned her to take drugs at Glastonbury. She is aware of her position of privilege, but also that she has worked hard for her success.

Gabriel Byrne has one of those voices that I could listen to reading the phone book. This is much more interesting than that. He speaks a lot of his youth and his training to be a priest and then a plumber, before trying acting, which he quickly discovered was his true vocation. His is a story of searching for acceptance and finding it in a passion rather than a place. Although he is occasionally sentimental and whimsical about the Ireland he has left behind, he is thankful for his chance to escape and create a life for himself, which he guards against the frivolities of fame.

Not just an amazing footballer, Megan Rapinoe is also a firm advocate of women's rights and social justice. She had a fairly typical loving family upbringing in the semi-rural town of Redding, California, the youngest (with her twin sister, Rachael) in a family of eight. She and her sister chose football - it pains me to read soccer, but she is American so I have to get used it - as an early means of self-expression. She talks of training, of games, of injuries and triumphs as one would expect from a sport memoir. She also talks of the drug epidemic, the penal system, the understanding that she was a lesbian, the reaction to her coming out, and the fight for equal pay. Her stand on taking the knee made her an outcast in her own team and to the likes of Donald Trump and those who want to 'keep politics out of sport' when it suits them to do so. She denies she is unpatriotic - she is proud to captain her country - but is still prepared to call out injustice, which makes many of the target white republican audience mad. "I know what it means to look at the flag and not have it protect all of your liberties." She has a strong work ethic and believes in learning from mistakes and trying to do better. It may sound simple, but it is sadly unfashionable. She also believes in using her platform (and as an olympic gold-medal and two-time World Cup winner, she has a pretty big one) to speak up for those who don't have a voice. 

Another beautiful voice, coupled with a love of food and family - this was music to my ears. Stanley Tucci relates his life through important gastronimical touchstones which invoke memories and discoveries as he learns about his culture and his past and relates it all to his present and his career. He has a delightfully sardonic style and a dry humour, which is unusual for Americans, and he tends to steer clear of hyperbole, which is frankly refreshing. Through film narratives, health scares, loss of a sense of taste, and a delight in family and friendships, he shares anecdotes and recipes in a way that has the listener drooling - only partly for the food.

William McGonagall is often lampooned as the world's worst poet. That is a pretty bold claim and I have been insterested as to why he is so called. His poems are bad - they feature endless repetition, deridable rhymes, irrelevant details, poor scansion and weak metre. The mockery existed during his lifetime (1825-1902) and continues today with his work being celebrated with an Ig Nobel award in 2011. (He was also J.K. Rowling's inspiration for the name of her beloved character Minerva McGonagall.) He had no idea of this ridicule and fancied himself as having a calling to write, announcing himself as The Queen's Poet. Despite Queen Victoria refusing him patronage, he walked almost 100 kilmoetres from Dundee over mountainous terrain and through a violent thunderstorm to present himself at Bamoral where he was refused entry and had to return home. He made some money reciting his poems in pubs (the anti-drinking ones were particularly ill-advised), theatres, and the streets. As his reputation grew, his performances were attende by raucous crowds who drowned out his recitations and occasionally forcefully carried him out of venues. He found lucrative work performing his poetry at a local circus where he was pelted with eggs, flour, herrings, potatoes and stale bread. His story has many parallels with that of Florence Foster Jenkins, and one could perhaps feel great discomfort at his treatment (he was very probably on the autism-Apserger's spectrum), were it not for the fact that his self-aggrandising writings are incredibly pompous and dismissive of others. His poems, biography and other works are read by Scottish actor David Rintoul in brilliant fashion. He allows the unintentional humour to shine forth and reveals the terrible poetry in all its magnificent awfulness. It is a thing of unimaginable joy.

Museum of Tropical Queensland: The Pandora

The Museum of Tropical Queensland (or Queensland Museum Tropics - institutions tend to change their name over the years, but only slightly; just enough to cause confusion) is a spot in Townsville where I went to visit what purports to offer 'a deep dive into the collections of Queensland's tropical paradise from pristine rainforests to the magnificence of the Great Barrier Reef and the ocean's bountiful treasures.'

The Great Gallery is dominated by a replica of the HMS Pandora, the ship sent by the British Admiralty in 1790 to capture the Bounty and her mutinous crew in Tahiti. Captain Edward Edwards (son of imaginiative parents) had one mission - to bring the 'pirate villains', as he called them, to justice. Armed to the teeth, and heavily laden with provisions, HMS Pandora set sail under Edwards' command in 1790. Expecting to capture the Bounty, Edwards took twice the crew to sail both Bounty and Pandora home.

After almost five months of travelling, Pandora arrived in Tahiti. Over several weeks, 14 mutineers who had returned to Tahiti surrendered or were caught. Another two were declared dead.

Edwards spent the next three months searching the South Pacific in a fruitless hunt for the remaining nine mutineers. Little did he know, Pandora had originally come within half a day's sail of these mutineers before ever reaching Tahiti. Fletcher Christian and eight other men found refuge at Pitcairn Island before burning and sinking Bounty. They lived there undetected until 1808.

By August, Edwards was running short of supplies, had lost 14 of his own men and still not found any more mutineers. Feeling the loss of his crew and fearing a mutiny of his own, Edwards headed home.

Fourteen mutineers were shackled to rows of leg irons in a cramped, dark box. It wasn't high enough to stand upright; the toilet was a bucket; movement and fresh air were lacking. Constant heat created sweat pools on the floor and continuous filth brought maggots and rats to live with them for three months.

This was the treatment of Edwards' 'pirate villains'. They were imprisoned on the ship's stern in a purpose-built jail they dryly called 'Pandora's Box'. According to the ship's surgeon, the prison was airy and healthy, 'the most desirable place on the ship'. Clearly the reality was far worse.

Tragically, on her return journey in 1791, Pandora hit the Great Barrier Reef and sank, taking 31 crew and four mutineers to their grave. As the ship went down, 13 prisoners escaped the box thanks to last minute efforts by the Boatswain's mate, Moulter. One mutineer, Henry Heildenbrandt, could not be freed as Pandora sank, condemning him to an eternity in Pandora's box.

The wreck of the Pandora

Reeling from the horrific death of their friends and the loss of Pandora, the 99 survivors - 89 crew and 10 mutineers - recovered at a sandy cay near the wreck site. Their trials weren't over yet. They still had to navigate 2,100km to Timor before finally making it back to England in mid-1792. Here, seven of the ten remaining mutineers were acquitted, while three were convicted and hanged.

Pandora remained undiscovered for 186 years and today, objects recovered from the wreck are part of the Pandora exhibition at the museum. Among these objects are nearly 200 essence of spruce pots.

For hundreds of years, scurvy was the most feared of all diseases at sea. It affected all people in all climates, without apparent cause. By the time of the Pandora's voyage, scurvy had been linked to a lack of fresh fruit and vegetables. However, it was not until the early 20th century that Vitamin C was identified as vital to preventing the disease. 

Captain Edwards made sure the Pandora was reprovisioned with fresh foods as often as possible. Anti-scorbutic foods such as sauerkraut (pickled cabbage), wort (a drink made of malted grain) and a thick cordial known as 'rob of lemons' were also carried. The Pandora's log records that '380 pots of essence of spruce' were loaded. Contemporary records suggest that the essence may have been combined with molasses, yeast and water, allowed to ferment for a few days and then drunk as a beer.

About 40,000 litres of beer, wine and spirits were stored in barrels and bottles. A sailor's daily allowance of beer was one gallon (4.55 litres). Drinking was a way of life on board and was tolerated, but if it caused a sailor to neglect his duties or disregard the ship's rules, he could expect a flogging as punishment. 

The calorie content of beer was a much-needed source of energy for sailors performing a hard day's work. Off-duty hours could be spent socialising or 'yarning'. If the beer ran out, hops, malt and water were available for brewing. Watered-down wine or rum (grog) was issued instead of beer. Officers drank as often as the sailors. They were known to reward deserving sailors under their command with a drink or a bottle from their private stores: usually port, gin or Dutch gin (jenever).

Admiral Edward Vernon by Thomas Hudson

The word 'grog' derives from a nickname given to Admiral Edward Vernon, who was called 'Old Grog' because he always wore a coat made out of grogram (grosgrain). He was very unpopular after his decision to curb drunkenness aboard navy ships by watering down the rum ration. The sailors promptly named this watered-down drink 'grog'.

The crew was divided into messes. These were groups of 4-12 men who usually worked together as a team. The core of each mess was a table, hinged at one end and suspended from the deck beams at the other. Meal times were not interrupted, unless in exceptional circumstances. It was a time of much needed rest and relaxation. A 'cook of the mess was appointed each week. He collected food from the gallery, cleaned the eating utensils, and kept the mess in order.

The term 'chewing the fat' originally described the crew talking and grumbling while sitting in their mess, eating their toughened salt meat. An ordinary seaman's diet typically consisted of cold oatmeal porridge at breakfast, salted beef or pork with ship's biscuit or bread at lunchtime, and a small piece of cheese, butter or oil with more biscuit in the evening. 'Portable soup', a hard meat extract, was added to the boiled meat. Additional foods such as vinegar, mustard, onions and sauerkraut were sometimes served. When available, fresh fruit and vegetables supplemented this diet. The beer ration amounted to over four litres a day and was a substitute for water. 

The sandstone dripstone was sometimes described as a 'water purifier' although it could not remove bacteria or salt from salt water. It was effective in removing large particles, such as algae and debris, from fresh water collected from rivers or streams, or from water stored in barrels. The dripstone was placed above a barrel. Water decanted from a cask would slowly filter through the porous sandstone into the barrel. This water was probably reserved for use by the captain or the officers. The large volume of water stored in the hold was used for cooking rather than drinking. Although seamen were able to drink water from a large barrel placed on deck, they preferred to drink beer, or water mixed with wine or sometimes with rum.

Many of the artefacts found on the wrecksite belonged to officers or petty officers who aspired to higher social status. Particular objects may have been acquired by officers to demonstrate their status as gentlemen.

Royal Navy officers in the 18th century usually joined as midshipmen or captain's servants. Most were sons of professional men or the gentry. After at least six years' service they sat their lieutenant's exam to become a commissioned officer. 

Officers were expected to behave like gentlemen. They had to follow an unwritten code of behaviour, master skills such as navigation, and possess leadership abilities. A gentleman owned objets de virtu, such as a gold and silver fob watch with an ornate chain or an étui (small case) with writing implements. When travelling, he would also have a portable writing desk, in which he kept his journal, papers, writing materials, and possibly a signet or name stamp. 

Preparations for a long voyage were expensive. An officer had to provide his own navigational instruments, bedding, cabin furnishings, crockery and glassware, uniforms, clothing, linen, toiletries and a private supply of provisions and beverages. 

Many Polynesian artefacts and natural specimens have been found buried in the shipwreck. They were acquired by the officers and crew as the Pandora sailed across the Pacific. These objects have now become one of the most important collections from traditional Polynesia. The importance of these finds is that none of them could have been in use in Polynesia any later than 1791. They come from a time before any lasting European influence on Pacific cultures.

Eighteenth century European voyages to the South Seas stimulated intense public interest back at home. Collectors were keen to obtain exotic objects (artificial curiosities) and animal and plant specimens ('natural curiosities') from the newly discovered lands. Dealers in 'curiosities' were often seen at the waterfront waiting for returning ships.

Sailors on Pacific voyages used objects such as metal tools, nails and glass beads as barter for 'curiosities' with local inhabitants. Surgeon Hamilton's voyage account records the Pandora's crew trading for 'curiosities' wherever they visited. The Polynesian items recovered from the Pandora are a unique record of 18th Century Polynesian technology and the natural environment.

The adzes on display were made from volcanic rock and originally attached or hafted to a wooden handle with plaited coconut fibre. The 25 basalt adzes excavated from HMS Pandora provide insight into the movement of objects in the 18th century. The captain's log links the stone tools to specific regions in the Pacific Islands where Pandora stopped on its journey, and the archaeological assemblage shows evidence of trade between the crew and the locals. 

By looking at the shape and form of the tools, mid 20th-century typological analysis has identified the certain types of adzes originated from different island groups. This tells us more about where the stone adzes from Pandora were collected and also suggests that the stone was sourced and the tool manufactured in the same place. Most adzes from Pandora have consequently been linked to the Society Islands, where the crew spent many weeks during the voyage. The remaining adzes are thought to be from Aitutaki and Palmerston Island. Notably, one style of adze appears to originate from Tubuai, an island visited by Bounty but not Pandora. 

These Polynesian shells were found inside the shipwreck. They were probably collected by some of the Pandora's crew to take back to England. Shells were popular with sailors. They were simple to collect from beach or reef top and were easy to store.

This cabinet shows fishhooks made of pearl shell (possibly collected in Tahiti), three-piece fish lures made from bone and pearl shell (possibly collected in Tonga),a limestone sinker and pieces of cowrie shell attached to a stick which were used to attract and capture octopus (possibly collected in Tonga or Samoa), and two-piece fish lures, lure shanks and trolling hook points, made from pearl, and all possibly collected in Tahiti.

I understand the adage of taking only photographs and leaving only footprints, but I also admire these collections and stoires which reveal to us some of the ocean's treasures, and the motivations of those who sailed upon them. 

Friday Five: Books Read in September

There are only four for this month so the Friday Five is missing one, but I'm sure it all evens out in the end.

1. Bel Canto by Ann Patchett (Harper Collins) - Set in an unnamed South American country, Bel Canto is inspired by the Japanese embassy hostage crisis of 1996-1997 in Lima, Peru. It begins at a birthday party thrown at the country's vice-presidential home in honour of visiting Japanese dignitary and opera enthusiast, Katsumi Hosokawa. In attempt to secure funding from the guest, the famous American soprano, Roxanne Cross is scheduled to perform as the highlight of the party. Near the end of the evening, a group of terrorists break in, hoping to take the president hostage, but when they realise he is not in attendance, they take the entire party hostage, only to subsequently release all except those for whom they think they might get a higher ransom. The isolation-aspect of the novel is fascinating as the characters develop in relation to each other, and alliances, friendships, and even romances form. As one might expect from a novel that won the Orange Prize and the PEN/ Faulkner Award for Fiction, it is beautifully written, following the score of an opera with great highs and lows and an explosive ending. Part love story; part hostage thriller; part musical appreciation, it contains many unrealistic and implausible plot developments, but leaves a lasting impression on the senses.
2. Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage by Haruki Murakami (Vintage Books) - "From July of his sophomore year in college until the following January, all Tsukuru Tazaki could think about was dying." This is the opening line of the novel and if it has similarities with the beginnign of A Man Colled Ove, there are also strong echoes of Frank Kafka. Tsukuru is 36 and reflecting on his past, particularly why his friends suddenly stopped speaking to him and expected him to know why. Encouraged by a new lover, he sets out to discover the truth, meeting each of his former friends to question them individually, and also to understand himself better - why did he simply accept this fact? His old friendship group was a solid unit of two girls and three boys, whose names and nicknames all relate to colours (for example, Kei Akamatsu/ Aka; 'red pine'), except him; "“Tsukuru Tazaki was the only one in the group without anything special about him... Everything about him was middling, pallid, lacking in colour.” His sole interest is in train stations, and he is the only one who leaves the home town of Nagoya and goes to university in Tokyo to study engineering. He is practical and orderly, featuring in logically progressing sentences with limited adjectives - “He took a shower every morning, shampooed his hair well, and did the laundry twice a week.” Despite the clarity of language, the narrative is complex, containing stories within stories, exploring theories of freedom of thought, death and music, and causing Tsukuru and the reader to question, “People do change. And no matter how close we once were, and how much we opened up to each other, maybe neither of us knew anything substantial about the other.”
3. Unfinished Portrait by Mary Westmacott (Ulverscroft Limited) - When Agatha Christie writes as Mary Westmacott, she enjoys the psychology of her characters rather than the mystery of the plot. In this story within a story, the framework is set by the narrator, Larraby, meeting a young woman, Celia, whom she thinks is going to end her life because she has had enough. Sitting on a seat overlooking the sea, the narrator draws her into conversation and Celia tells the story of her life, which Larraby notes down and sends to 'My Dear Mary'. Because she is concerned with the effects of the events, she pays less attention to the specifics; “I’m not going into details – this isn’t a chronicle of such things. There’s no need to describe the quaint little Spanish town, or the meal we had together at her hotel." Celia was an imaginative child who became a sensitive woman, learning to live more frugally once her family's fortune and social standing mysteriously diminished on her father's death. The summary of the ‘coming out’ period of introductions to the marriage market is amusing, terrifying and deeply instructional, as men flock around the young innocent woman who knows no better and might provide them with an heir and domesticity. The ideas of marriage and maternity are both historic and current, highlighting the trauma and depression felt by women who didn't want these circumstances but were not encouraged in any other aspirations.
4. Master of Shadows by Neil Oliver (Orion Books) - having written half a dozen non-fiction, history and geography books, this is Neil Oliver's first work of fiction. Its backdrop is the fall of Constantinople, the skirmishes in Scotland, and another historical figure, Joan of Arc, thrown in for good measure. This makes for an interesting scope of different generations, geographical locations and time periods, but it also makes the narrative a little confusing. Central characters, John Grant and Badr, are mercenaries so have no affiliation with Christians, Turks, Ottomans or Muslims, and there are many violent and creatively cruel deptictions of fighting and torture. The structure is of a bird who soars above the city, diving in and drawing back, giving us a bird's eye view of specifics, and also allowing for generalisations, similar to the Greek gods looking down from Mt Olympus on the humans and using them as playthings - “High above, impassive and imperious, a lammergeier flew, riding columns of warm air and surveyed the movements of the tiny figures trapped upon the world below.” There are some nice turns of phrase - John Grant is a thin child who appears to his mother like a will-o'-the-wisp: “If he had been a pot of soup, she would have stirred in flour, to thicken him" - but there are also plenty of clichés. When John grant learns that the woman who raised him is not his biological mother, it sets up may alternate possiblities and complicated relationships. The novel seems incomplete, as though there are more planned to follow.

Art at Strathnairn

Out for a walk at Strathnairn, we wanted to explore the new trails, which we did, and we also admired some art. I promised I would post about it later, so here it is! The featured artists at the exhibition at the cafe are Shakir Rayman, Stephanie Boyle, Louise Spencer, Katie Volter and Belinda Gill.

This exhibition explores the relationship between public and private space through a series of works in acrylic, watercolour and pastel. It features contrasting views of outside lives to personal interiors exploring the quiet sanctity of a home.

Inside out - National Portrait Gallery, 2024 by Belinda Gill

Morning Walk, 2024 by Belinda Gill 

Silent Canberra, 2024 by Belinda Gill

Visitor for Morning Tea, 2024 by Belinda Gill

One of the things I really like about galleries is the way the artwork interacts with the natural light through doors and windows.

On the Way to Bateman's Bay by Shakir Rahman

The Creeping Forest, 2023 by Louise Spencer

Just Hanging, 2024 by Shakir Rahman

Reflections and Reflecting, 2024 by Stepahnie Boyle

Moors of Strathnairn, 2023 by Shakir Rahman

Autumn Hues, 2023 by Shakir Rahman

Through the Looking Glass, 2023 by Louise Spencer

There was another exhibition from the members at the Woolshed Gallery - all the work was available for sale and there were some great pieces of art. The Woolshed itself is visually pleasing with its different shapes and colours. 

Once again, I am drawn to the use of light and colour, from gathering storm clouds above a familiar Canberra landmark in Rod Usback's archival pigment print to the childlike blocks in the black and white landscape of Kathleen Brigdale's polar station. 

Storm Brewing at the Carillon, Rod Usback

Mawson's Antarctic, 2023 by Kathleen Brigdale

The wind turbines are picked out on the shores of the rainswept Lake George in Jenny Blake's moody acrylic piece, and this contrast of sunlight and shadow is also foregrounded in Emma McNeill's chilly pastoral scene. And I know I have banged on enough before about my love of liminal spaces, so I was intrigued by Roger Hancock's Mediterranean interpretation.

Rain on Lake George, 2023 by Jenny Blake

A Touch of Frost, 2023 by Emma McNeill

Espacio Liminal, 2024 by Roger Hancock

Besides the watercolours and acrylics, there are some really interesting mixed media, textile and cermaic pieces, which are rather glorious, such as the embroidery and natural dye on silk that comprises Indigo Moonrise, or the cocoon ends which run through the layers of cotton, silk, tyvek and lutradur in Robyn Diener's stitched collage of strata. 

Indigo Moonrise, 2023 by Pinal Maniar

Adrift in Geike Gorge, 2023 by Robyn Diener

The patterns and the expression on the ceramic dragon are simply delightful, and the artistry on Susan Curran's wood-fired earthenware made me smile. The footballers running round the vase echo the athletic feats of the Greek heroes, and cement the Matildas' place in local mythology.

Dragon Dragonfly, 2024 by Elena Bozhko Marshall

Matildas, 2024 by Susan Curran

At yet another part of the gallery (The Link) there was an opening of work by the Hall Artists - a group of artists who meet at Hall once a week to paint together. The mix of professional and amateur artists are at different stages of their career but they all say they learn from each other. After two years, they have inspired enough high-quality work to create their first exhibition. We didn't realise it was their opening day, but there were paitings to admire and bubbles to drink - so of course we did. And we bought a painting.

Lake Albina by Sue Marye Cox

Believe: Small Gods

Small Gods by Terry Pratchett

Corgi

Pp. 381

Many people list Small Gods as the best of the Discworld novels. It is, however, probably my least favourite of the thirteen I have read so far. This is mainly due to the fact that the satire seems more obvious than in Pratchett’s other works, but also because organised religion, squabbling philosophers and the nature of belief are such easy targets for mockery.

The story opens in the city of Omnia, whose chief god, Om, has been reduced to a pitiful existence in the form of a turtle because no one really believes in him anymore. Gods need belief to live and thrive, and they fear becoming small gods, barely existing out in the desert wastelands with no believers at all. Om’s religion exists to perpetuate itself, with its rituals and vicious punishments and wars presided over by the psychotic Deacon Vorbis, like a sort of Inquisitor. 

One simple lad, Brutha, does believe in Om, and hears him telepathically when tending to his melon patch. Brutha’s belief is just enough to sustain Om, although the god has a lot of explaining to do. Brutha tells Om that according to The Book of Ossory as dictated to Ossory by Om, Om is omnipotent, but Om counters that not only did he not dictate these words, but “Don’t even remember anyone called Ossory.” He denies he chose anyone to tell his story. “They chose themselves”.

Furthermore, Om admits that he may have not strictly told the truth when he said there was no other god than him. “I exaggerated a bit. But they’re not that good. There’s one of ’em that sits around playing a flute most of the time and chasing milkmaids. I don’t call that very divine. Call that very divine? I don’t.”

The novel was written in 1992, but its discourse on certainty in religion and politics feels particularly pertinent in our post-truth world thirty years on. “Fear is strange soil. Mainly it grows obedience like corn, which grows in rows and makes weeding easy. But sometimes it grows the potatoes of defiance, which flourish underground.” Philosophers gather in town squares and brawl in bars over esoteric topics. Discussion can quickly escalate to argument followed by war, which is often binary and almost always arbitrary. While uncertainty can be troubling, it can also bring comfort with the knowledge that there are no absolutes. One character opines, “You don’t know. That’s what stops everyone going mad, the uncertainty of it, the feeling that it might work out all right after all.” Another counters, “Last night there seemed to be a chance. Anything was possible last night. That was the trouble with last nights. They were always followed by this mornings.”

Mere mortals struggle to make sense of life – hence the plethora of philosophers – but the gods are literally above it all. As the novel draws to a close, it returns to its beginnings, as Om surveys the world from his vantage point above the Hub. In a reference to the famous fable, he considers, “It seemed simpler when you were up here. It was all a game. You forgot that it wasn’t a game down there. People died. Bits got chopped off. We’re like eagles up here, he thought. Sometimes we show a tortoise how to fly. Then we let go.” Pratchett suggests that if there were gods, they have a vicious sense of humour and a total lack of decency.