Newspaper Analysis - The Weekend Australian Inquirer 27-28 May

When I returned to Australia after five weeks in Europe, I thought I would have a slow Sunday of reading the paper in the pub and catching up with local news and events. I forgot that the selection of Sunday papers in this country is strictly limited to a tabloid gutter-press and right-wing Murdoch-owned subsidies of an American mass-media cartel. 

So, I was stuck with The Weekend Australian from which I learned that the country is up in arms over The Voice referendum, which seeks to give Indigenous Australians representation in the constitution. Apparently it is divisive and unclear, although how they reach that conclusion is difficult to say as they also argue that the government has not released enough detail about something which will make the people 'bound in perpetuity'. 

Many other articles criticise Stan Grant, who questioned the role of the monarchy in contemporary Australia during the coverage of King Charles III's coronation on the ABC network, the country's national broadcaster, principally funded by direct grants from the Australian Government and  administered by a government-appointed board. Opinion pieces opine that Stan Grant is out-of-step with public opinion and this six-and-a-half-hour broadcast was not the place to raise this issue. It doesn't help The Australian's cause that the multi-award-winning journalist Stan Grant is a proud Wiradjuri man. He has since quit television-hosting duties in response to online racist abuse over his coronation comments about historic Aboriginal dispossession. The Australian does not suggest when would have been a good time to make these comments. 

Without a hint of irony or awareness of hypocrisy, other articles claim that police tactics over COVID-19 were regressive as they shut down free speech based on questionable science. The Australian thinks there should be an inquiry into why people's Twitter comments were shut down. Speaking your mind in a time of great uncertainty in the midst of a pandemic with the potential of whipping up hysteria and pandemonium is clearly fine - as long as your view is individualist and supports capitalism. 

There is much frothing at the mouth about body dysmorphia, transgender popularity, and the discomfort of listening to women when they tell their stories. Brittany Higgins (a Liberal party junior staffer who alleged that she she was raped by a Minister in Parliament House) is a particular target for villification.

According to journalist Janet Albrechtsen, Brittany Higgins had a 'strategy' to go to the media first and the police second. She is the face of the #MeToo movement and, as a role model for other women, her 'tactics' 'may be mimicked by other women'. Albrechsten claims that, "Decisions by her and those around around her to air her allegation in the media have undermined key features of our criminal justice system." She continues, "The more times Higgins gave her version of events to the media, the more likely there may be inconsistencies in what she said happened."

Of course it helps The Australian to have a female reporter discrediting the words of an alleged rape victim. Albrechsten takes pot shots with sneering comments such as, "On more than a few occasions, the normal rules and sound judgements appear to have been discarded for Higgins." And she affirms this position with, "So many people in positions of power who were caught up in the hype of the Higgins media storm appeared to have made more decisions." Albrechsten appears to pander to the notion that size matters in the hunt for more column inches, and whereas I believe we should listen to women and take their accounts of abuse seriously, this article has me agreeing with one thing at least: #notallwomen

Richard Guilliatt weighs in on the debate (how is it even a debate?) by trashing as unreliable the memories of abuse victims after recovering repressed memories of trauma through a counselling technique called eye movement desentsitisation and reprocessing (EMDR) conducted by "so-called experts." He argues that, "sexual assault allegations were no taken as seriously as they should have been in the past but the public mood has shifted towards believing an allegation must be the truth." While neatly glossing over all that messy trauma, Guilliatt is upset that, "prosecutors in the current climate appear to see their role as supporting claimants rather than assessing cases on their viability." Heaven forfend any abuse victim might actually receive support as well as justice. 

More examples of the smug, patronising, sexist, ageist, scaremongering, homophobic, racist tone of the paper follow. But that's just my opinion. 

Dangers of AI risk smothering its benefits by Natasha Bita

I'm not saying it's alarmist but, "Like Siri on steroids, AI super-intelligence is rapidly disrupting the world of teaching and learning in ways that threaten to make reading and writing redundant." OK, so I am saying it's alarmist. The danger is, according to Bita, that "AI has caught most educators unprepared for its potential to turbo-charge teaching while giving lazy students an easy opportunity to cheat." She goes on to ask, "Will AI make students so lazy that they don't learn to think for themselves? What if AI re-writes history, spouts propaganda or 'hallucinates' by generating the wrong information?" What, like certain newspapers do now? 

She warns that "schools and universities will need to change assessment methods, relying less on take-home assignments and more on supervised exams, spoken tasks, and video assessments". It's almost as if educational institutions haven't been constantly adapting and changing their assessment methods every single year anyway. While one might think that drawing attention to the digital divide is a left-wing concern and an opportunity to talk about class and wealth inequality. "All state governments have blocked ChatGTP in state schools but many private schools are embracing its use, potentially giving their students an academic headstart." However, the example used of the school that is reaping the rewards of this unfair advantage is the Islamic Collage of Brisbane, because of course, why would you miss an opportunity for ramping up a touch of Islamophobia?

Left Dangling in a climate protest crackdown by David Penberthy

David Penberthy writes about the new laws in South Australia which impose greater financial accountability on protestors, or "those causing the mayhem", His language includes describing some of said protestors as, "retiree revolutionaries", "a small but crafty band of elderly 'rebels', as the XR activists call themselves", and "XR rebel Meme Thorne, a 69-year-old actor from the hippie haven of Willunga." 

Thorne abseiled down a bridge and "dangled above the traffic" in Adelaide as part of a protest against the Australian Petroleum Production and Exploration Association conference. While Penberthy makes no mention of the political motivation of this group, apart from the glib "in defence of Mother Earth", he expands upon the potential threat to the good citizens of Adelaide. "Her actions brought the city to a halt for an hour, even preventing some patients from making appointments at the Royal Adelaide Hospital".

The tone is exasperated and patronising, hiding a credible death threat behind an attempt at blokish banter. "Capturing the frustration of South Australians, Police Commissioner Grant Stevens spoke for many when he said dryly: 'The ropes are fully extended across the street so we can't, as much as we might like to, cut the rope and let them drop.'"

In response, Opposition Leader David Spiers, announced on talkback radio proposed amendments to the Summary Offences Act, increasing fines for such protests from $750 to $50,000 or three months' imprisonment. "It was a hitherto unseen moment of gut-instinct politics from the new SA Liberal leader and was lapped up by talkback listeners, many ringing in with messages of support from inside their stationary cars." Do we really want policy to be decided by knee-jerk reactions and people who lap things up like dogs and make phone-calls while driving?

Surprising life of the accidental president - review by Troy Bramston 

In an article about a new book, An Ordinary Man: The Surprising Life and Historic Presidency of Gerald R Ford by Richard Norton Smith (in which Smith describes Ford as being "charismatically challenged"), the reviewer, Troy Bramston adds this reflection:

"You can pass judgment on Ford or any other president by any standards you want, including contemporary standards. But it seems to me that you can only understand Ford or any other president or any other difficult decision, by immersing yourself in the context of the time."

Harpy Daniels wants YOU: US military goes for woke by Adam Creighton, Washington Correspondent

US Navy Yeoman 2nd Class Joshua Kelley appeared in persona as drag queen Harpy Daniels in a TikTok video encouraging young Americans to join the service. Creighton reports that, "Republican senators, former marines and much of the American public were shocked that the navy employed drag queens, let alone endorsed them to boost recruitment." Except, it doesn't. Kelley may be employed by the US Navy but, as the articles admits, this was not a sanctioned video. "The navy, which at first defended the promotional decision publicly, later denied Kelley was part of any formal program."

It transpires that the US military is struggling to meet its recruitment targets. "The US military, which has about 1.35 million active-duty personnel spread across the navy, air force, army, marine and space forces, requires more than 155,000 new recruits this year to replace departing personnel." Apparently this tough recruitment environment is comprised of "a perfect storm of low unemployment and steadily declining patriotism, fitness and interest among young Americans. Covid-19 made all this even worse."

Many young people are rejecting active military service because they don't see a need to ask what they can do for their country. "A prominent survey of Americans published in the Wall Street Journal in March revealed a huge drop in traditional values - patriotism, religion, family, community service - since 1998, especially among young people. Overall, only 38 per cent of respondents said patriotism mattered, down from 70 per cent."

In an outstandingly hypocritical swipe at the audacity of young folk to want decent compensation for their labour, the article goes on, "The only priority the Journal tested that has grown in importance in the past quarter-century is money, which was cited as very important by 43 per cent in the new survey, up from 31 per cent in 1998, the paper said, in what was a depressing read for anyone with traditional values." Well, curse those young people for needed money to survive in a consumerist world of high rent, fuel and commodities of someone else's making.

Could it be possible that environmental factors and toxic politics have leached the sense of service from young men?  Being told what to do without rhyme or reason is unappealing. This would indicate that the conservative role model is failing to attract young folk, and the 'values' of docile following of a capitalist construct is no longer something towards which they slavishly aspire. But sure, blame the drag queen. Perhaps Kelley should change their moniker to Red Herring.

Urban planning design transformed post-COVID by Bernard Salt

It's well written and well argued, and it definitely wants to give power to the individual and wrest it away from the 'nanny state'. Might that be because individuals can be persuaded to do what they are told, while collectives can stir up trouble for corporations? It starts out well, as Salt claims, "It makes sense that Australia, a nation largely founded on immigration [once again, the Indigenous contribution to nationhood is completely overlooked, but that's a whole different Stan of Grants], should evolve as a proving ground for town planning. Since European settlement we have created new cities and accommodated urban growth on a vast scale. And there is every reason to expect our cities to grow further in the years ahead." 

He can't resist a dig, however; "Modern homes typically have water tanks which (notionally) reduce demand for municipal water supplies. Solar panels and battery storage also shift responsibility for power generation and storage from the collective to households. It's all done to help the environment, of course, but it also has the advantage of freeing up funds that in a previous era would have been directed to creating public assets." This is a hugely selfish way of looking at things that supports the wealthy individual who can, and leaves those who can't afford such modifications out in the cold.

We can make people responsible for their own amenities and claim it is all in their best interests. "Knowledge workers living and working together in the dense inner city generate a frisson that creates entrepreneurial and/or economic activity. This idea supports the argument for density. But the pandemic unleashed powerful new forces that challenge the logic of how a city should operate. The reign of the knowledge worker is giving way to new roles such as carers, who live and work mostly in the suburbs. Plus there is a proportion of people who will work from home several days a week." Yes,this doesn't mean they don;t want city amenities or public transport, and it doesn't support any user-pays theory. If you can't pay; you can't use them. That doesn't mean you don't want to. 

"I think the narrative of city life is changing in the post-pandemic era. Our priorities have shifted towards security and the home, and our tolerance for commuting has lessened... It suggests a rising empowerment of moderately skilled workers based in the suburbs and regions, who, therefore, should have a greater say in how collective resources might be allocated." In other words, keep people in their homes, don't encourage them to become involved in community enterprises, and you won't have to build any facilities or infrastructure, unless people are prepared to pay for it themselves. Sorted. 

Misfortune; Carelessness; and...: My Sister, The Serial Killer

My Sister the Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite

Atlantic Fiction

Pp. 226

The novella begins, “Ayoola summons me with these words – Korede, I killed him. I had hoped I would never hear those words again.” Immediately we are in familiar but foreign territory. The structure is reminiscent of Charlotte Brontë’s, “Reader, I married him”, from Jane Eyre, but the shocking content is a lot less comforting. Originally published in Nigeria as an e-book entitled Thicker than Water, this tale of two sisters crosses genre lines from thriller to black comedy and socio-political commentary. As Richard Lea writes in their interview with the author (published at the end of the novel), “A novel that puts the relationship between two sisters at its heart, with men as supporting characters who may or may not make it to the final act, has been greeted as a riposte to crime fiction where the plot is so often set in motion by the gruesome death of young women.”

It clearly strikes a chord as it won the 2019 Los Angeles Times Book Prize for Best Mystery/ Thriller, the 2020 British Book Award for Crime & Thriller Book of the Year, and it was longlisted for the 2019 Booker Prize. As well as being critically praised, it is also popular with the public, and won the 2019 Amazon Publishing Reader’s Award for Best Debut Novel. It is certainly easy to read with short chapters (all with a one or two word title) and a fairly universal theme – we may not all have murderous siblings, but many of us understand sibling rivalry and family dynamics.

As the oldest, Korede is obliged to care for her younger sister, Ayoola, and now, she literally cleans up her sister’s messes. It doesn’t help Korede’s mental state to feel that her sister is outstandingly good-looking, and to constantly compare herself unfavourably. “The resemblance is there – we share the same mouth, the same eyes – but Ayoola looks like a Bratz doll and I resemble a voodoo figurine.”

Ayoola carries a knife on dates and she seems to have little compunction in disposing of her suitors, she claims in self-defence. Korede wants to believe her, but there is a touch of the Oscar Wilde loss of parents about her narrative; after all, she has killed three people; “Three, and they label you a serial killer”. Ayoola is seemingly remorseless and is back partying and posting on Instagram and Snapchat straight after she has killed her partner. She apparently believes that she is entirely innocent: “Her actions were the fault of her victims and she had acted as any reasonable gorgeous person would under the circumstances.” The implication is that she is excused because of her looks – it’s different if you’re beautiful.

When Ayoola shows interest in the doctor with whom Korede works, he of course reciprocates it, despite never having noticed Korede’s passionate feelings towards him. This might inform her questioning her sister’s version of events, at which Ayoola accuses her of victim shaming. “Victim? Is it mere coincidence that Ayoola has never had a mark on her, from any of these incidents with these men; not even a bruise?” At a time when we are struggling to believe women, this seems irresponsible, but education is not the duty of the author. Indeed, in her interview, Braithwaite contends, “I like to have fun. The books where I can tell I’m being taught something are a trial in the reading. If there’s a story and you learn something along the way; it’s a bonus.”

It transpires that the girls’ father subjected them to traditional and tribal cruelty, and Korede is concerned that Ayoola may have inherited some of this inherent brutality. “More and more, she reminds me of him. He could do a bad thing and behave like a model citizen right after. As though the bad thing had never happened. Is it in the blood? But his blood is my blood and my blood is hers.”

There are some things which may seem a little far-fetched for a genuine crime thriller – how could they possibly not get caught? One explanation is that the police force is highly corrupt, as are many other institutions in Nigeria, and they can be bribed to look away. Another consideration is that this is not meant to be forensically accurate. The page numbers are in a font that looks as though letters have been cut from newspaper print, or perhaps a graphic novel where all the information is condensed into one frame. It is currently being considered for film, which will be dramatic but not exactly realistic.

Oyinkan Braithwaite has provided us with a fast-paced, high-actioned, black-comedy crime thriller. It covers a lot of genres and is a terrific story. It seems churlish to expect more from her and we should be grateful for this offering and the knowledge that there are authors who can still deliver a gripping novel.

Bigotry in Bournemoth: Whatever Happened to Margo?

Whatever Happened to Margo? by Margaret Durrell 

Penguin

Pp. 259

Those who read Gerald Durrell’s Corfu Trilogy about the escapades of the Durrell family on the Greek island in the 1930s, will be familiar with the character of Margo, and may indeed be interested in discovering what became of her. Fortunately for them, she has written a book about her subsequent life as a landlady in a Bournemouth boarding house. Unfortunately, she is not as entertaining a writer as her brother, and, whereas his anthropological remarks on animals were amusing and informative, hers on people are snobbish and dated.

After prompting from an aunt, Margo decides to buy a property across the street from her mother’s house, with money which was “a legacy from my father – dwindled somewhat”. She is ‘respectable’ and ‘middle-class’ with a divorce and two male children to her name, but there is no evidence of actual work. Her plan to take in a series of lodgers is a decent one especially since (one suspects) she has no employable talents.

It is 1947 and attitudes were different then, but the language and assumptions about her lodgers are quite ugly when related to modern readers. Edward Feather is a flamboyant red-bearded painter, leading to words like ‘nonce’ and ‘pansy’ being bandied about and smirks about men who wear tight trousers. Harriet is an eccentric old lady who accuses others of stealing her belongings while removing all the lightbulbs in the public spaces; when the residents gather over psychology books to decide what is wrong with her, at first they think she is “on the change”, a theory they quickly discount as “she’s too old for such capers”. Nelson is an obnoxious Billy Bunter type schoolboy (whom we are supposed to like for some inexplicable reason) and his harassed mother, who have fallen on hard times as their father/husband is in prison serving time for assault of her mother; he broke a plate over her head and she had to have twenty stitches.

Other residents include a man who abuses his wife – no one does anything until they dislike the noise – There is also Jane, a spinster, who is mercilessly ridiculed for being unattractive; a man who comes into money, which makes him a catch; a pair of musicians, one of whom Margo falls in love with; two glamorous nurses; and a bloke trying to get a job and a partner with equally limited success – he has a relationship with an Eastern European woman whom Margo, when she discovers she is transgender, reports to the police and a psychiatrist. All the women are in competition for men’s attentions, and the men are all expected to drool over attractive young females, while making fools of older ones. “It was surprising what a compliment from another man could do, lifting the drabbest of married women almost to prettiness.”

In a nod to her brother’s writings on animals, there are some in the house, including a dog (a present from her brother, Leslie) that cocks a leg over anything it chooses, including the baby’s pram. Gerald himself brings a python and a troop of monkeys for her to look after, and of course they escape with hilarious consequences. Meanwhile, the insufferable Nelson breeds mice to sell, causing Margo to display one of her many peculiar views as she remarks that there are “white mice breeding in the back lavatory like Communist China”.

The descriptions of her mother as an uptight suburbanite are a long way from the courageous woman who took her children to a Mediterranean island in search of a better life, and mingled with a cast of colourful characters in Gerald’s books. Here she is judgmental and small-minded, referring to a lovelorn woman as “walking barefoot like some male aborigine with twigs in her hair”. Margo packs her own children off to their father and takes Nelson on a trip to the seaside. She seems more interested in him than in her own offspring, and one wonders whether they will in time write their own account of these days in a never-ending family spiral. If they do, let’s hope it is in the style of their uncle rather than their mother.

Upsetting the Apple Cart: The Orchardist's Daughter

The Orchardist's Daughter by Karen Viggers

Allen & Unwin

Pp. 389

I’m starting to think that every Australian novel has to revel in bleakness and misery. This one is set in Tasmania pitting loggers against environmentalists and featuring large dollops of abuse and small-town bigotry. There are three main narratives in the novel: Leon leaves his home (and his abusive father) on Bruny Island to work as a park ranger; Mikki is locked in to the takeaway shop where she works (for no wages) by her brother; and Max, a young boy who lives next door to Leon, is bullied by his father and his best friend’s big brother. All of them experience both physical and mental pain and cruelty.

Leon knows that he will be opposed by the loggers who work in the community. He tries to stay away from the politics, and make friends with the locals through playing Australian Rules football, but although he is one of the best players on the team, he is not accepted and receives hostile treatment on the training field.

The toxic masculinity extends to relationships off the field as well, and it is common knowledge that the star-player, Mooney, beats his wife, Liz. Leon is aware that the treatment he receives on the AFL field “wasn’t out of the ordinary. The guy was a prick.” But no one does anything about it, because they don’t want to upset the apple cart (pun intended). There is a cycle to this abuse, as sons learn behaviours from their fathers, and Leon is worried he may be trapped within it.

There are glimmers of hope and restorative signs within the novel. The book is divided into sections – Seeds; Germination; Growth; Understorey – and metaphors of sustainable logging, and of healing and regenerating through fire are clear. Another symbol of mistreatment is explored through animals. The boy who bullies Max and forces him into shoplifting, tells him he wants to feed his puppies to his German shepherd. Max loves the puppies although his father has drowned previous litters and threatens to do the same with these: cruelty to animals and children is well-known as the apprenticeship of a psychopath. Mikki is evidently on the side of the righteous as she fears for the eagles and the Tasmanian devils with their facial tumours. She and Leon attempt to save the devils, as the author explains that ninety percent of them have already been wiped out, and intimates that society needs to preserve the endangered; the weak and the defenceless. Mikki is herself vulnerable but she longs for a chance to explore and experience life.

Mikki gets a crash-course on awakening and self-recognition through literature. Geraldine, who works at the visitor centre, lends her novels and they discuss the characters: “Then you realise parts of their lives are just like yours. Different setting and time, but the problems are the same. You just have to be clever enough to see it.”

If literature is a way to encounter people and places to which we might not otherwise have access, then The Orchardist’s Daughter lets us into the world of small-town Tasmania where there is hurt and anger, but also happiness and friendship. The novel suggests that if the community nurtures the fragile seedlings, they will blossom and bear fruit. Everything needs space and time to grow, and we can choose which aspects of our nature we feed and nourish.

The 2018 Archibald Prize - Part Four

Further to previous posts, here is the fourth installment in my visit last year to see the touring Archibald Prize at the marvellous Orange Regional Art Gallery. The Archibald Prize is awarded annually to the best portrait 'preferentially of some man or woman distinguished in art, letters, science or politics, painted by any artist resident in Australia.' Often I don't know the subject, so I really enjoy finding out about the people as much as I appreciate the artwork itself.

Treatment, day 49 (sorbolene soak) - Nicholas Harding

In a room full of colourful portraits, the stark black-and-white rendering of this one, really stands out. It's craggy and straightforward at first glance, but a close inspection reveals lines and years of knowledge and expression. The self-portrait was made after the artist was diagnosed with cancer at the base of his tongue. He commenced seven weeks of treatment at Lifehouse, keeping a visual journal to record the process. After 35 sessions of radiation and seven doses of chemotherapy, his treatment finished on day 49. At the time of the exhibition, he was cancer-free.

"One of the compounding side effects of the radiation is the burning of the skin, so when my neck was blistered and bleeding it would be treated with sorbolene, Flamazine cream and ice-cold wet bandage wraps. On the last day of treatment I took a selfie on my iPhone during one of these regular sorbolene soaks and later did a drawing from it, which I used for this self-portrait. Once the colour was removed, it achieved the stark quality I was after."

Herb and Flan by Julian Meagher

There is something fabulously flamboyant about this portrait. The presence of the galah lightens what might otherwise be a sombre palette with dark greys and blues. The subject has piercing blue eyes and a gaze that is full of inquisitive intelligence and confidence.  This is Richard Flanagan, a man whose novels have received numerous honours and awards (including the Commonwealth Writer's Prize in 2002 for Gould's Book of Fish and the Man Booker Prize in 2014 for The Narrow Road to the Deep North). 

"He is one of my favourite novelists but it is his writing and interviews on literature, the environment, art and politics that particularly make him one of Australia's most important voices. Herb, Richard's writing partner, was pretty insistent that he be included in the painting."

Self Portrait by Amanda Davies

I knew nothing at all about this person, but I liked the shiny forehead and the natural skin without enhancements or embellishments - it struck me as a stark, almost communist-style depiction where modern expressions of beauty were to be discouraged, as the inner personality shone through. It turns out that this is a recent self-portrait in a new series of figurative paintings 'addressing the theme of decay and remedy, where the relationship between body, mind and emotion is heightened'.

"In response to a story where an elderly woman mistakenly applied toothpaste to her face instead of moisturiser, I put toothpaste on my face and washed it off numerous times. Toothpaste is very astringent. It gets in your eyes and it stings. Taking hundreds of self-timer photos, I felt numb, exhausted, and relieved afterwards. This self-portrait is drawn from the en of that process and reveals a shifting emotional state between distress and relief.

"I set up situations in my studio that engage the tradition of theatricality in painting - performance being part of the process in developing my work. Here the figure lies horizontally - the position for sleeping, dreaming, healing and dying - yet the painting is exhibited vertically, eliciting a sense of disorientation.

"At the point of decay, the perceived boundaries of the body dissolve ad our sense of self can shrink or expand, allowing us to experience the edge of the self as elastic."

Self-portrait after George Lambert by Yvette Coppersmith

I'm including this one not because I like it (it's fine but doesn't particularly appeal to me) but because it won the Archibald Prize, showing how much (or, rather, little) I know about art. To me, the posture is unnatural, the subject a little bland (with that trout pout beloved of insipid teenagers in selfies, thinking cheekbones are a substitute for personality), and the focal point seems to be the golden curtains behind the subject, rather than the subject itself.  Apparently I am wrong.

The artist, Yvette Coppersmith, has had five previous entries into the Archibald Prize and she is drawn to the self-portrait because, 'it allows me to work from life, with intense absorption in the painting process'. Her theme is female empowerment and she originally wanted to paint Jacinda Ardern, the Prime Minister of New Zealand. I believe the rationale is more impressive than the painting.

"Ardern wasn't available but I thought I might channel something of her in my self-portrait... I had several reasons for asking Jacinda Ardern, but through her role she expands what an image of a young woman can signify - inspiring others to think beyond any perceived limits of their own image in relation to the contemporary political landscape. 

"[George Lambert's] style was academic, yet he supported the avant-garde in Australia and painted portraits of his artistic contemporaries Thea Proctor and Hera Roberts - both independent, self-possessed style makers at a time of burgeoning female empowerment. In referencing George Lambert's style, it's like an outfit slipped on, creating a fixed image of an ever-changing self."

Guy by Ann Middleton

Or perhaps I am in tune with the public after all, because this portrait of Guy Pearce by Ann Middleton won the People's Choice Award. And I like it a lot too. It is a familiar face, but I think the artist captures his expression with all its quirky sensitivity, intelligence and sense of fun. Perhaps it is the blank background which draws me in to focus purely on him; perhaps it is the light which illuminates half of his face, recalling the comedy/ tragedy theatre masks; perhaps it is his naked torso indicating a certain vulnerability; whatever it is, I find this portrait deeply affecting and extremely personal.

"I see profound depth of emotion and some sadness in Guy's eyes, however, his gaze is direct and bold. It was this curious melding of uncompromising determination and a certain boyish sweetness that led me to ask if I could paint his portrait. 

"My portrait of Guy was inspired by early photographic portraits of Indigenous people using tintype photography, the otherworldly translucency of skin it imparts and the compelling directness of an unselfconscious gaze.

I painted Guy in the natural light of my studio. One side of his face is in deep shadow. Obscure and mysterious, it speaks of hidden difficult times. The other side is brilliantly lit. It is an uncompromising light, honest and unflinching. This extreme tonality enabled me to explore Guy's chameleon nature and his personal awareness of the light and dark within that makes him both an extraordinary actor and a kind, funny and unassuming bloke."

Insert headline here by Amani Haydar

Initially the bold print, bright colours, and wonky expression make this appear to be a child's drawing or collage which seems fun and frivolous. Closer inspection, however, reveals the subject has a determined focus and that she is holding an image of a woman holding an image. It has a surreal Russian Doll effect suggesting a mysterious background. The fact that the picture within the picture is a black and white photograph also hints at some sort of reportage or story-telling. I did not know who this person was, but I wanted to. I learned that this is a self-portrait in which the artist holds a photograph of her mother, who holds a photograph of her own mother.

"When my mum was murdered in her home by my abusive father on 30 March 2015, some media outlets circulated a Fairfax photo taken in 2006 while my mum was grieving the death of her own mother, who was killed in an Israeli airstrike while fleeing the southern villages of Lebanon. 

"I incorporated the photo, which I printed straight off the internet (you have to pay for a proper print) as a way of reclaiming my story from the headlines. By painting a self-portrait, I was able to reinstate its personal significance to me.

"I also saw it as an opportunity to challenge assumptions that women victims of crime are helpless, weak or subservient. I have used vibrant colour to convey a sense of hope, while the repetition of patterns echoes the repetition of trauma in my life, but also draws on the type of art found in mosques, which for me symbolises faith, survival and regrowth."

Second Person Singular: You

You by Caroline Kepnes

Simon & Schuster

Pp. 422

Joe Goldberg narrates this erotic thriller in a way which is intended to be claustrophobic and creepy, but just results in being tired and formulaic. Maybe it is because Gone Girl ruined everything and there have been so many imitations of the toxic controlling relationship and the unreliable narrator that we are no longer shocked by the horrible things people do to each other in the name of their warped ‘love’. Perhaps the advent of the Fifty Shades phenomenon leads us to an expectation of more dominant sexual content in contemporary novels. Whatever the reason, this novel does not surprise, titivate, nor really even register interest.

The USP of the novel is that it is narrated not only in the first person, but that it is addressed to the second, so the ‘you’ of the title is both a character in the novel, and also potentially the reader. Joe Goldberg is the owner of a bookshop, into which walks his obvious love interest, Guinevere Beck (who prefers to be called Beck, as you would). The interaction between them is what is known in the movies as the ‘meet-cute’, and it is meant to recall scenes from rom-coms such as You’ve Got Mail.

Because it is a first-person narration, the reader is drawn into his world and perspective, but alarm bells ring straightaway. Stalkers are not sexy. Joe likes to observe people without them being aware they are being watched, which is uncomfortable when he preys on Beck, stealing her phone, hacking her emails and stalking her on Twitter, analysing every message and tweet that she sends, trying to fathom hidden meanings and monitor her behaviour under the guise of being her protector. He also stalks her physically, following her home and watching her through the windows – she doesn’t close her curtains – perhaps she does know and her behaviour is intentionally that of an exhibitionist.

Joe likes to play games, but it seems that Beck does too. She leads him on and then turns away, which infuriates him, but is she really teasing him or is that just his interpretation? Beck is not an attractive character either; she seems narcissistic and self-obsessed, but is that his portrayal of her? Beck is studying for an MFA in creative writing, and thinks of herself as a writer inventing scenarios, although feedback from her fellow students suggests her short stories are thinly-disguised diary entries. Joe’s record of the relationship makes his reasoning sound acceptable, until his violence and depraved actions surface. Is it interesting or depressing to be inside the mind of a privileged, entitled predator?

Joe uses many popular culture references of disturbed minds to drop clues that all is not rosy in his world. The allusions begin innocuously enough although they rapidly get darker as elements of fantasy, delusion and mental illness creep in to the descriptions. People with mental conditions are often aware of them in others but blind to them in themselves. In mentioning American Psycho he deliberately draws attention to the artifice and the twisted imagination of certain people. We are cautioned that this may not be real (there is a cage in the basement of the bookshop; few other characters with whom he interacts etc.), but the characters are so dislikeable, and the novel appears to be derivative and playing on all the popular tropes of the recent erotic thriller glut, making it impossible to care.

Making it Up: Today I Am A Book

Today I Am A Book by xTx

CCM Design

Pp. 117

All of the short, poetic segments (it feels wrong to call them stories, and, besides, they have the tart juiciness of an orange) in this collection are introduced with the words ‘Today I am a…’ It is a great creative writing exercise, and a way to express thoughts and feelings, but a lot of them are complicated and negative.

Many are tales of abuse, violence, sexuality and shame, with cripplingly low expectations; a woman goes to bed early because she wants to masturbate without her husband disturbing her; a woman seeks out compliments from a man she knows “isn’t good at saying nice things”; a woman desperately wants to hear the words ‘You are wanted’. In Today I am a Slave, the author writes, “Except for trying to kill me every day, Pepito is pretty nice. He’s definitely getting better at it though. Surprising me now, but I am vigilant. I don’t want to die and I don’t think he wants to kill me. Yet.”

Let’s get the question of authorship out of the way. Who is xTx, and does it matter? I assume the author is female, although some segments are written from a male point of view. The first page announces, “Today I am a dedication. Today, and everyday you are my driving force. Thank you, Roxane Gay, for making me believe. Still.” Many of the themes are similar to those found in Roxane Gay’s book Bad Feminist. For example, one harrowing piece reveals, “Today I am a bulimic. I take in the world. I throw it up. Do you want to see pain? Hold on for a minute. Just one minute. That’s all it takes for me to work it back up. Do you have patience? Are you a patient person? The one who waits the longest gets the best payoff. Please trust me.”

The narrator goes on to list the things she has swallowed; “An ongoing gorging since I was a girl: Frosted Flakes, a handful of bow shaped barrettes, twelve ice creams, seven fingers of my brothers’ friends inside me”. She explains, “The time it takes doesn’t matter. What matters is how you feel afterwards.” Her specific instructions of what to do are heartbreaking and visceral (don’t read them while you’re eating) from “1. Eat enough to make you feel sick and/ or hate yourself” through “4. Approach the toilet. Make sure it hasn’t been cleaned in a while. The filth will help you” and “7. Stare at the toilet water. Feel how gross you are, how utterly disgusting and worthless you are” until “11. After each hurl reach again. Keep fucking puking. Empty your fucking guts. Remember to breathe. Remember you are a big piece of shit.” That is absolutely raw and confronting; it is shocking and emotional; it is exceptional.

She is often the gateway for someone else’s needs or frustrations. In Today I Am A Time Machine she writes, “He has made me his time machine so he can stay there. He tells me this. He wants me to open myself wide enough that he can crawl through. Go back to the boy he once was… Back to when his life wasn’t as tarnished as it is now.” She is not often considered as a person in her own right but in how she relates to others and what they can take from her. In Today I Am A Lion she confirms “It’s hard being everything for everyone when you just want to be someone else’s everything.”

But women are expected to be all things to all people, and that is exhausting, even though we should be prepared for it. “It’s easy to be a make-up artist when you’re a female. So much of what we’re meant to be is pretend anyway.” As she continues in Today I Am A Make Up Artist, she can no longer tell tall tales and make up big stuff as an adult, so she has to “resort to little things like giving the guy at Starbucks a fake name just so I can see it black Sharpied on the cup… convincing my boss I am completely on top of things, assuring my two kids that everything will be okay, telling my husband I love him.” This story switches from comic to bleak in the twist of a sentence.

Her prose is sparse but full of imagery. The analogy in Today I Am An Outlier is breathtaking when considered more deeply: “My period blood is made for bigger things. It’s an important liquid made waste when not called upon. It’s like the genie from the lamp giving up and leaving, bags slung over shoulder, after eons of nobody rubbing.” And, like all good story-tellers, she returns to the beginning with Today I Am A Writer: “Today I am a writer. I say this thirty-three times while forcefully bashing my head into the metal keys of a typewriter. I want the answers to imprint my face. I want its ribbon to birth answers. Tell me what I need to say… All the blood mars any facial embossing and I am still sitting where I began – blank.”

There is a lot of style in these segments, but there is also deep substance. The stories that seem short and even superficial are full of meaning. Much of that meaning is grim and dark; this is an uncomfortable glimpse into a tormented mind that is trying very hard to make up.