This is not a book about ‘how to feel good, how to find happiness or how to reap some reward for your goodness’. Hugh Mackay’s message is that while those things may well be by-products of living ‘the good life’, if you try to chase them, you will have missed the point of the journey. He postulates that society is consumed by narcissism and the ‘Utopia complex’, which demands perfection in all areas of life. Marketing ‘brand me’ feeds our obsession with self-esteem, the ultimate goal being anti-ageing. Add to this our pursuit of a permanent state of happiness and it’s no wonder we’re downright miserable. Which leads to the question, is there a better way to live and, eventually, die? Mackay draws on real-life stories and on the observations of philosophers, poets, scientists and theologians, as well as reconstructed and imagined scenarios, fables and parables, to explain his theories. Life is a spectrum of emotions and experiences and this user’s manual advocates wholeness. Mackay is a social researcher, novelist and honorary professor of social science at the University of Wollongong.
Paula Grunseit is a freelance journalist, editor and reviewer. This review first appeared in the Issue 1 2013 of Books+Publishing magazine. View more pre-publication reviews here.
Cory Taylor’s debut novel—the critically acclaimed Me and Mr Booker—was a brilliant and darkly comic coming-of-age story. My Beautiful Enemy, her second novel, is a story of love, desire and shame, set in a Japanese internment camp in regional Victoria during World War II. Arthur Wheeler is a young soldier who develops a life-changing infatuation with a Japanese youth, the stunningly beautiful and enigmatic Stanley. While Stanley’s beauty, antics (as a tennis-playing circus performer with a habit of escaping the camp) and sadness are mesmerising, Matron Conlon’s gin-soaked care, Bryant’s thuggish behaviour, and Baba-san’s tragic stoicism also evoke the complexities of war, as well as the horrors of ingrained racism and homophobia. Arthur’s own confused voice is central to these themes, and a painful journey of obsession and loss ensues as Arthur tries to recover from the war, from memories of his youth and his feelings for Stanley. Black humour is cunningly tangled with moments of sheer emotional devastation; Taylor crafts sentences of such sharpness and insight that I was forced to pause at moments to bask in the prose. My Beautiful Enemy is a heartfelt and beautifully written novel about love and war for readers of exquisitely crafted literary fiction.
On Christmas morning a biblically epic storm traps Sarah Barnard and her horse on the (nominally Tasmanian) Devil’s Mountain. Sarah finds shelter and supplies at an abandoned workmen’s camp and settles in for what she hopes is just an uncomfortable night. And then out of the rain and mist emerges a lone, unequipped bushwalker. Sarah now has to contend not just with an increasingly destructive storm, but also with the unsettling presence of a handsome stranger, Heath, whose story rapidly unravels. Is he alone? Why is he really on the mountain? And how does he know it so well when he claims not to? As if this isn’t enough, hidden essentials go missing, supplies begin to dwindle and, as Sarah and Heath reach an uneasy intimacy, dangerous undercurrents in their lives are revealed. Honey Brown, author of the Miles Franklin-longlisted The Good Daughter (Viking) does an excellent job of this taut and atmospheric thriller, successfully adding a darkly sexy tone. The characters are well drawn and charismatic, and the twists are great—even the reader gets trapped and confused by lies. And hooray for the twist at the end, I’m still puzzling it over.
The Cloud Road is the second book in Isobelle Carmody’s ‘Kingdom of the Lost Book’ fantasy series for younger readers. After the events of The Red Wind, brothers Bily and Zluty are on the run. The mysterious rain of stones destroyed their idyllic home in the valley, and they have decided to flee, carrying what they can. Their friend Redwing flies with them, and Zluty keeps the strange metal egg he found in his pack. At Bily’s insistence, they have also brought the Monster, the wounded creature that Bily is fascinated with and Zluty can’t quite trust. The monster claims to know of a new place they can live, but first they must cross the White Desert and something they’ve never seen: the monster calls them ‘mountains’. On the way they meet new allies, encounter terrifying new enemies and begin to unravel the mysteries of the strange world they live in. Bily and Zluty are brave, curious and intrepid explorers. Carmody’s world-building remains first class, and the many mysteries of this world begin to unravel in this volume, adding a level of intrigue to the adventure. This is recommended for younger fans of fantasy tales.
Many adjectives have been used to describe Georgia Blain’s work, including evocative, powerful, atmospheric, haunting, rich, thought-provoking, skilful, uncompromising and finely detailed—all of which apply to this collection of short stories, Blain’s seventh book. To the mix I would add succinct and insightful. Somewhat misleadingly titled (although it is the title of the first of the 13 stories), The Secret Lives of Men is a series of vignettes exploring aspects of life in contemporary Australia. That said, the stories are in no way obviously political—rather, their Australianness is situated in the the easily relatable suburban contexts and pared-back prose. I enjoyed joining the characters mid-stream, and that Blain trusts the reader to quickly catch up with the intricacies of the plot. The stories that resonated most with me include ‘Just a Wedding’, in which a young bride is having second thoughts about her rushed nuptials; ‘Murramarang’, which examines failed friendships and finishes with a delicious twist; and ‘The Bad Dog Park’, where a man’s devotion to his unwell pet is severely tested. Blain’s clear and distinct voice provides the consistency and integrity for these moving tales—a rare treat.
When nine-year-old Peat is blamed for bringing misfortune to the local settlement, she flees to the marshes. There she is caught by a marsh auntie whose trade is stories that act as gateways, and Peat finds herself trapped in somebody else’s life-and-death bargain. Peat is an appealing protagonist, and the characters that people her world are wonderfully realised, from the capricious little foxlike sleek who is Peat’s constant companion, to the marsh auntie with her secrets and coat growing over with marsh weeds whom Peat cannot decide whether or not to trust, to the 900-year-old boy with the very odd speech and his master, the gently sinister Siltman. The world-building in this book is exceptionally rich, and the danger and new characters keep the plot engaging and frequently exciting. Peat herself never loses agency in the story, despite the many events she has no control over: it remains her story, not a story that happens to her. Song for a Scarlet Runner will appeal to older children and younger YA readers who enjoy secondary worlds and magic. Fans of Diana Wynne Jones and Lloyd Alexander will love it. (Read the interview here)
In 1950 in far north Queensland, a pregnant 19-year-old boards a train with her baby boy, only to have her child wrenched away by her violent husband. Years later, the loss of Peter still haunts Yvonne, even as she tentatively begins to create a life with a new partner. Kristina Olsson, the eldest child of Yvonne’s subsequent marriage, was never told the details of her half-brother’s abduction. She writes: ‘the story had its own force-field … our mother’s sadness as effective as any electric fence’. Growing up, Olsson and her siblings were aware of their mother’s subterranean grief but it was only much later that Olsson gathered enough of the missing pieces to be able to re-imagine her mother’s early life, as well as to track the grim trajectory of Peter’s: motherless, afflicted by polio and in and out of state care. What makes Boy, Lost such a powerful memoir is its echoes of bigger national stories of lost children, whether it’s the stolen generation or unwed teenagers forced to relinquish their newborns or poor British children separated from their parents and sent to remote institutions in Australia. Olsson’s prose is lyrical and heartfelt as she sensitively explores her family’s history.
Giraffe, elephant, hippo and baboon all live by the lake. They are neighbours, happily co-existing side by side without any territorial disputes. But although they politely acknowledge one another, they rarely communicate; they are acquaintances rather than friends. Then one fateful day, giraffe sees a shadow of a lion in the mountain. Soon the rest of the African wildlife is informed and baboon has an idea to join forces to combat their enemy. Janine Dawson’s dainty watercolours coupled with Phil Cumming’s words make Night Watch perfect for preschoolers or early primary school readers. Both Cummings and Dawson have a large portfolio of children’s books and their experience shows. There is lots of rhyme (prowling, creeping, stalking, sneaking), alliteration (splish splash, gruff grunt, boompety boom) and generally evocative language, and a nice comic touch, such as when the giraffe splutters out a mouthful of half-chewed leaves on sighting the predator. The simple moral behind the story—the rewards of working together to attain a common goal—is easy for the young ones to understand. To be brave and to overcome a seemingly almighty force of nature (the king of the jungle, no less!) is also a valuable lesson.
Having recently read Anna Goldsworthy’s celebrated first memoir Piano Lessons, I jumped at the chance to review her second, given how much her honest authorial voice and eloquent turn of phrase had impressed me. Welcome to Your New Life is written to Goldsworthy’s son and joins a growing number of motherhood and parenting memoirs. While Goldsworthy relates some fairly common experiences as part of her induction into the world of pregnancy, birth and infant-raising (birth plans, driving home with baby, the shock when it hits home, breastfeeding problems, sleeplessness, beginning childcare), this book’s value lies in its telling, and in Goldsworthy’s own quirky personality. Sudden anxiety in new parents is nothing new but Goldsworthy fearlessly recounts her obsessions. The section on her irrational fear of losing her non-mobile newborn down a composting toilet is a gem. It’s warm, funny and candid. She shares her love of language with her infant son and beautifully captures the bond between parent and child. I love the way Goldsworthy uses words and felt honoured to witness the private magic and joy as her son changed her world. (Read the interview here.)
Independently and together, Janeen Brian and Ann James have produced many successful and award-winning picture books for young children. Both know how to appeal to children’s sense of fun, and how much they love to take an active part in the reading. Toddlers in particular love to join in the playful antics depicted in books such as this one, and never tire of hearing the same story over and over, which helps to develop their reading skills. So this book will be a great success at an early childhood level. It is about getting dirty and enjoying it—a pursuit all toddlers can relate to. It has action, repetition and rhyming text, and will be fun for young children to join in with. It has simple, uncluttered illustrations that focus on the main character, the mud and very little else besides a small bird, which adds extra interest. James uses ‘magic pencil, mud and watercolour’ for the illustrations, and she probably got very dirty in the process. This fun book could be successful as a prelude to bath time, urging reluctant bathers to dive right in. It is recommended for early childhood.