Amy Witting, Isobel on the way to the corner shop

Our first book of the year was an almost-classic Australian novel, Amy Witting's Isobel on her way to the corner shop. The second in what was expected to be a trilogy about Isobel, this novel won The Age Book of the Year in 2000, and was shortlisted for that year's Miles Franklin Literary Award and Nita B. Kibble Literary Award.

Born Joan Austral Fraser, Amy Witting is a pseudonym devised from a promise she made to herself to "never give up on consciousness', not be unwitting, but to always remain 'witting'".

The novel is set in Sydney and the Blue Mountains in the early 1950s. 

As always, we started with our ...

First impressions

• Found it such a joy to read, to be in the life of this resilient, witty but still developing young woman. Loved the insights into humanity provided through setting it in the confined world of a sanatorium which contains a wide gamut of humanity - patients of a disease that doesn’t discriminate between rich and poor, and a variety of doctors, nurses and visitors. 
• Found it tedious to start with, but as more characters were introduced, particularly with Dr Wang and the poetry discussions, started to like it, and by the end was enjoying it.
• Enjoyed it from beginning, including when she should she was mad, and enjoyed the "scattergun of insightful things" said throughout.
• Really enjoyed the novel, finding nearly all the characters captivating, and impressed by Witting's powers of observation.
• Found it light, fun, after just reading Middlemarch, but on the fence overall. 
• Took a little while to get into it, particularly the "dithering around at beginning", but enjoyed the good range of characters.
• Read it a few weeks ago and it left no impression. Had forgotten most of it. It wasn't long, and a bit ho-hum.
• Enjoyed it, and was drawn in quite quickly. Found it full of insights, and thinks there's "lots there". Reread the introduction by Maria Takolander, and felt that elevated the book. 
• Took a little while to get into it, but then found it immersive, and enjoyed keeping up with Isobel. It's an observational book, providing an insightful look into a young woman finding her value. (Thought the first book, I for Isobel, was a knock out. It's more shocking, and poignant, and makes clear why she had no self worth.) 

Isobel

We talked a bit about Isobel, and how she was "saved by the disease". She herself is relieved to find that her problem isn't "madness" as she'd been fearing. We enjoyed her early description of herself, when she first becomes sick, as being:

a parcel. She didn't mind being a parcel. It was easy.

It was clear from this that Isobel was very sick, because in the first few pages she had established herself as capable of being rebellious and not, as one of the group said, "a people-pleaser".

This is probably partly due to the fact that Isobel, growing up, was not used to people liking her. (We know this from I for Isobel, but also from the early pages of the novel and her own thoughts about herself.) Early in the novel she rebuffs affection from a young man, realising too late that he'd been sincere. An emerging writer (though they didn't use that term when the novel is set), she tries to set this right through a poem.

But, as the novel progresses, she comes to realise that people do like and care for her and that she's fortunate. However, it does require her to change her way of thinking:

I have to live as if...I have to assume that I have some importance to other people. I have to live accordingly. I have to step out into space.

Isobel is a wonderful character - warm, resourceful, accomplished (she can knit well too!), flawed, and willing to learn.

Other characters

The novel has a wide range of often colourful, but certainly "real" and well-drawn characters. We discussed several of them too, but particularly Val, Isobel's peevish room-mate for a significant part of her time in Mornington (the sanatorium). She's well-drawn as a self-centred inflexible woman who has few resources of her own. She makes life difficult for Isobel, but through her (as well as through others), Isobel learns and develops. Isobel comes to realise that Val is probably illiterate, but she is honest enough to recognise her "own illiteracy" - emotional illiteracy -  and that she'll have to work to overcome it.

But, there's a whole cast of lively characters, from the woebegone lovelorn but immature patient Lance to the poetry-loving Dr Wang, from patient Boris who looks out to help others to the patient who's also a cultured pianist, Elsa Soames. 

Sister Connor is, superficially, the stereotypical, senior nurse, enforcing the doctors' rules, wanting a tidy ward that the boss doctors won't criticise, but when it's appropriate she shows care, flexibility and wisdom.

And then there's the doctor-in-charge, Dr Stannard, who seems to have made Isobel a favourite. What does that all mean and how should Isobel react when he makes an interesting offer at the end?

Themes

We didn't talk a lot about themes, but we briefly touched on three: learning to be one's authentic self while not being unkind to others, understanding what love means, and making one's way as an artist (writer, in Isobel's case.)

The setting

Most of us enjoyed the setting, both in terms of the history of medicine, hospitals and tuberculosis sanitoriums, and regarding similarities and differences with hospitals today. Our nurse member who loves hospitals, and others of us who had experienced hospitals, found much that was true still today. We talked a little about the problem of institutionalisation and also about Isobel's awareness of the unspoken rules and etiquette involved, the dos and don'ts.

Some of the older members of the group had memories of people with, even dying from, tuberculosis, and also of the tuberculosis x-ray vans that would travel around schools.

One member said Witting, who had had TB herself, was quite delicate about the more gruesome aspects of TB, like the coughing, and didn't mention the ever-present sputum bowl till near the end.

Writing

We talked a little about the writing. It's not a long book but most of us felt there was a lot going on. We admired the way Witting "nails things" in just a few words. 

We also talked abut her career. One member had done some research into her career said that everything she wrote people wanted to publish. Witting was a teacher in Sydney with Thea Astley, who, admiring a particular short story suggested she submit it for publication. This story was published in The New Yorker in April 1965! Not bad eh? Patrick White also admired her writing.

Other books mentioned

Two books were mentioned as relevant to this read: Amy Witting's I for Isobel, and Margaret Barbalet's Blood in the rain which is set in the beginning of the 20th century and tells the story of two young people whose start in life is difficult like Isobel's. Others were mentioned but our failing memories couldn't remember the titles!

Present: 9 members

The Believer by Sarah Krasnostein

 Encounters with love, death and faith.

 

Our final book of the year, for our November meeting, was Sarah Krasnostein's The believer. The meeting was well attended, and included one of our former members, which was a lovely surprise.

 

This non-fiction work is another example of her exploring people’s lives who live on the ‘boundaries’ of the general public. In her award-winning previous book, The Trauma Cleaner she told us about Australians who have very complicated and dangerous lives due to poverty and domestic abuse, and issues with gender and mental health. In this book she investigates people in Australia and in America who are challenged by their faith in God through unusual faith ‘paths’ and by their beliefs in ghosts and UFOs, cancer sufferers with huge issues, and a woman who faced terrible domestic abuse and the legal consequences of her actions. 

 

There are 6 stories of believers interwoven into 53 chapters so the reader is constantly having to recognise and ‘accept’ the character and the circumstance of the person or people being written about. There were many ‘light bulb’ moments too where the author showed her brilliant intelligence and respect and compassion for these people and gave us insights. Most of us enjoyed it more than we expected.

 

‘In each case (ie the 6 stories), I needed to understand them, these people I found unfathomable, holding fast to faith in ideas that went against the grain of more accepted realities’. (page 2)

 

First impressions 

• I admire her writing but I found the characters challenging as I do not understand how they can believe some of the ideas expressed.
• It is well written, lots of anecdotes rather than science and the question of ‘why’, which intrigues me more. I enjoyed the autobiographical moments.
• I was not sure whether it was short stories or a monograph but thought the structure was better that way, otherwise it would have dragged if each story was sequential.
• Krasnostein is a wonderful story teller about slightly painful people such as Freddy and Rhonda. Annie, the Death Doula, is a beautiful portrayal of a woman where Krasnostein is engaging with the characters.
• The whole topic is an emotional one and we admire Krasnostein for those portrayals. There are particular characters, mainly women, who stand out, such as Lynn, who was incarcerated for many years after killing her abusive husband. Her sentence was extended unnecessarily and unfairly. The Mennonites are another interesting thread. The creation scientist, Georgia Purdom was interesting in the audio book version, as she was deaf and the reader sounded as if she was deaf reading her narrative. 
• As a former Life Line councillor I found it intensely interesting as Krasnostein has incredible insights into the philosophy and psychology of these people. I would have preferred more analysis at the conclusion (which was a preference from many of us).  
• Her observations of the human condition were excellent and her fairness and respect for some of these odd characters is admirable. 
• I found it hard going as there was no structure. I expected a thesis with examples to illustrate with an essay at the end but it wasn’t there. I liked some of the characters such as Annie and Lynn but not the creationists. One can only be amazed by people who think the Ark had little dinosaurs on it who could be vegetarian for the duration. 
• I found the book annoying but engaging. I was struck by the tragedy of Lynn, her life sentence in gaol and her resilience. Also drawn to the characters of the lost pilot, Fred, and Annie, the Death Doula. I was struck by the dissonance with the Brian Cox show which is presently being shown on ABC TV where he discounts any form of life on other planets. 
• I like to read to ‘get into’ other worlds and I found the 6 worlds completely different from mine. It was a bit patchy but I enjoyed it. The 6 subjects could be divided into 2 personal, 2 religious and 2 ‘other world’ stories. I also liked her exploration of how some people crave certainty and control, and how these ‘needs’ lead people to believe in conspiracy stories. This helped explain, for me, how some people have become susceptible to anti-vaccination propaganda etc during the pandemic. I love books which end up with questions.
• I was interested in the stories but I didn’t engage with it. I have just read the book: The tattooist of Auschwitz by Heather Morris which is an excellent read. 
• Having recently suffered a bereavement I found this book was talking to me with some of the characters, especially Katrina who is dying from cancer. I was particularly drawn to the sad story of Krasnostein’s grandmother living as a Jewish child and barely surviving the second world war. Her difficult childhood had an effect upon her daughter (Sarah’s mother) and those difficulties influenced Sarah. Sarah realises, as she's writing this book, that she 

‘… had been born into a line of missing mothers’.  (page 74). 

 

Discussion

 

There were certain characters who were amazing as we have said in our first impressions, such as Annie and Lynn. They were leading complex lives but showed resilience and strength of character in the rough and tumble. They were empowering themselves and others by their strengths and being ‘rocks’. 

 

Sarah Krasnostein’s own searching for ‘belief’ comes through. ‘If I could only ask the right questions I could understand’. You need answers but the questions are more interesting.

She gives beautiful personal insights, ‘finding a psychologist worked for me’.  So in some ways this book is a personal journey. As the author is a Jewish woman the Christians/Mennonites did not try to convert her we felt. 

 

The choir was interesting as they were united by emotions.

 

The people are so variant in the ways they see the world. I can see my own childhood in Loisann’s childhood, said one member. So there is common humanity that unites us and which is empowering. 

 

We admired the way the author is so respectful of the people she interviewed such as: Freddy’s fiancée even though the sentiments expressed by Rhonda ‘got to her’ at times; we laughed about the Buddhist monk living as a lodger in Annie’s garden; and we were amazed at the dignity of Lynn, the ex-prisoner who had suffered so much and was still so selfless. The injustices perpetrated on Lynn were concealed under disorder according to one of our members, especially see ch. 42. In 1970s America when Lynn was convicted of killing her husband, self-defence was not a permissible legal claim by a woman but it was allowed for men convicted of a murder. This was a lightbulb moment for some members.

 

We discussed the fear Mennonites expressed of education, especially higher education. It poses a threat to their understanding of the world, and particularly of the Bible. See especially chapter 40.

 

‘Anthony’s conflict comes from the fact that the certainties he received instead of education are poor tools for daily living …’ (page 258).

 

And 

 

‘Theology always scares me because it takes the things that seem simple and makes them complex.’ (page 259)

 

Ms Krasnostein also comments on the Mennonite’s naivety such as exhibited by the Krieder family. They had no idea that families could be homeless in New York so easily. It is as if they are living on a separate planet. They have no concept of the people’s lives living nearby and  no understanding of the structural inequities faced by these folk. See particularly pages 313-314.

 

We talked at some length about the structure of this book. The criss-cross of the stories made it harder to get into but we also wondered whether it would have been boring or at least not as interesting if each story was written straight through. One reader found the spook parts less integrating than the ‘ufologists’. 

 

We all admired her writing style, with one member describing it as quite poetic in places.

 

The stories are based on fact as shown by the story of Fred, the young pilot who went missing. Internet searches will produce the details just as Krasnostein relates them.

 

We decided that the apparent alien spacecraft was probably just an illusion created by the light or some other banal explanation.

 

Human beings seek meaning in life and sometimes we look for patterns, which is why the US government has just announced a new UFO office to be set up to examine various sightings of unexplained objects in the sky.   

  

We decided that if Sarah Krasnostein had analysed the characters according to psychology, it would have been a very different type of book from the one we read. In this work the reader takes a journey and respects the characters no matter what we think of their ideas and life styles.

 

One member mentioned Roger Ailes who worked for Fox news and was influential in their portrayal of ‘facts’ for many years. Some of the people in this book want certainty, which suggests they would be influenced by news channels such as Fox which portray the world in simplistic black and white terms. 

 

We also talked a little about seances and how people can be convinced of things which are not true – eg moving of the board or trying to find answers. People want certainty. 

 

Belief is fascinating – such as a belief in ufos and aliens. 

 

We found Krasnostein’s account of her grandmother’s and mother’s relationship and her own connection to these women so affected by being Jewish and living through the second world war revealing. The author herself is searching for answers just like her interviewees  (pp. 71-73).

 

In talking about the Creation Museum we liked the quoting of Hannah Arendt – knowledge for thought, converting fact into meaning, but truth isn’t meaning. 

 

‘To sit in the lecture is to experience a great untethering from what Hannah Arendt called the “human world”. …shared world of stable processes, laws and institutions which create the conditions for social negotiations and the pursuit of common goals…’ (pp. 43- 45)

 

An unusual book but quite pertinent to our present times.

Book recommendations

Just one book came up this month: The believing brain by Dr Michael Shermer.  The recommender felt it was an excellent book which explains how beliefs are born. It sounds very pertinent to our times. 

 

Present: 10 plus our special guest.

Sofie Laguna, Infinite splendours

With pandemic post-lockdown restrictions still in place, but not wanting yet another Zoom meeting, Minervans "pivoted" (to use the word of the day) to a late afternoon meeting in the park opposite our October host's home.  We enjoyed our savoury nibbles, wine and cake in the late afternoon sun, while still keeping to our tried-and-true bookgroup formula - chat for half an hour or so, book discussion for around an hour, followed by cake and chat for another half hour or so. 

Our book was Sofie Laguna's Infinite splendours, which tells the story of Lawrence who was, as a sensitive, imaginative ten-year-old, groomed and raped by his visiting uncle. What happens to Lawrence after this, how he traverses life as a damaged person, occupies the major part of the book. It's a tough, heart-in-throat book about, as Laguna says, the price paid when certain boundaries are crossed.

We started of course, with our ...

First impressions

Several of our first impressions aligned, with the following reactions recurring most often:

• a bit repetitive, so longer than necessary
• a tough, painful, disturbing read, "a bit of an ordeal", particularly given we've already done novels about intergenerational First Nations trauma, and poverty and alcoholism, this year
• powerfully, beautifully, superbly written, including the writing about the mountain, nature and the landscape

A few of us were uncertain about the credibility of Lawrence's reaction to his experience. The book could read that his reaction is inevitable whereas evidence points to the contrary. Some of us weren't completely convinced by Lawrence's trajectory, though we were able to go with it.

Other impressions included:

• had faith that Laguna would leave us with hope, but this time it felt a bit thin
• liked that it put a human face on a child molester, showing that underneath there is often a suffering person who is damaged, but overall found it too much of a social messaging novel, and felt lectured at
• thought the art was boring and predictable 
• thought the best parts were the children interacting at the beginning
• didn't believe the character or resolution
• was drawn in by the lovely depiction of childhood, really liked the use of the mountain to evoke Lawrence, and found it so sad, but was entranced
• found the characters, even minor ones, very well described
• found the fear, foreboding visceral at times

Further discussion

Naturally we focused a lot on what happened to Lawrence, how and why it happened, and how nothing was done for him after the event. We discussed the suggestion in the novel that his mother and uncle (Reggie) had been molested, and that Reggie told Lawrence not to tell his mother because it would destroy her. We also noted that Lawrence's mother had likened Lawrence to Reggie, describing them both as clever. One member wondered whether the mother had been molested by her brother (Reggie) when young, but the rest of us didn't see this. We noted that Paul had been less interested in Uncle from the start. After the event, he suspected something had happened, asking Lawrence "what did he do to you?", but the traumatised Lawrence refused to answer. This was heartbreaking, given he had done all he could to protect Paul from being abused similarly. All these and more affected why the situation played out the way it did.

We considered that one of the reasons Laguna set this novel in the past was that it was a time when there was less awareness of abuse and of its potential longterm impact. It enabled her to more authentically tell a story about someone who went under the radar.

We discussed the writing of the main abuse scene, and how it was described from a 10-year-old's perspective. We agreed that Laguna conveyed well what happened without using language that Lawrence wouldn't know.

We talked a lot about Lawrence, and his apparent naïvety as an adult. In many ways his development stopped when he was 10-years-old, which is not surprising. He changed from the sensitive, imaginative, curious little boy he had been to someone withdrawn, and prickly. He fluctuated between love and hate for his mother and Paul. 

We noted that Laguna quickly spans the years from 10 to 25, when the mother dies, and doesn't detail Lawrence's reaching puberty. Laguna uses various ideas to convey the effect of the trauma on Lawrence, one being his bowel-movement difficulty with visits to the outhouse being excruciating for him, and another being descriptions of his "two selves", which started at the time of the abuse: 

I felt myself dividing; there were two selves to choose from. One inside, one outside. (p. 152/3)

Much later, when the final crisis comes, Lawrence reflects

It was another moment on the way to the next, and I was both in it and outside of it. Yet was it not the same for all moments? One part engaged, another observing. Two selves. (p. 411)

One member suggested that, in some ways, 10-year-olds are the peak of human achievement. Expanding this, another member added that Lawrence reads in his art book that Constable had said he had seen all he needed to see for his paintings by the time he was 10 years old.

We discussed the ending a little, but got a bit waylaid by one member saying she didn't believe it at all. This resulted in a good discussion about art and artistic talent, and about Lawrence's skills and what style we thought he painted in, but we didn't discuss other aspects of the ending.

We also briefly discussed the large number of motifs in the novel: the bunker, Wallis (a mountain in the Grampians), the outhouse, the scarecrow, Robinson Crusoe, colours, Madame Butterfly, to name some. Were there too many? We all liked the role of Wallis, as something unchangeable/stable but also magnificent in Lawrence's life. We also felt that the bunker worked well as a place of safety for Lawrence, even if sometimes that safety meant hiding from himself rather than resolving his inner demons.

We talked about the title, which came from the artist Millet who said that "I see far more in the countryside than charm, I see infinite splendours." Lawrence spent his life trying to capture those splendours, and at the end his art, in a sense, achieves "eternity" (or "infinity") for him.

We talked also little about Paul. Some felt he'd been an excellent brother, while others felt he had been too cursory in his care. We liked Mrs Barry, who had recognised that Lawrence behaved like the men who had come home from the war (ie. traumatised) but, of course, she didn't know why.

Some members were concerned about some anachronisms (caused probably by editors being too young!):

• Ten-year-old Lawrence would not say "f**k off" to his brother in 1953
• The scarecrow's face was coloured with a marker which members felt didn't exist then (According to Wikipedia they were around, but would they have been prevalent in rural Victoria at the time?)
• Reggie makes coffee which was not likely in a 1950s country home

A member referred us to other works on child abuse, Polish-Swiss psychologist Alice Miller's Thou shalt not be aware, and Andrew Bovell's play, When the rain stops falling.

No matter how much we liked or struggled with the book, we ended up having our usual highly engaged, wide-ranging and insightful discussion - but, we also agreed that we'd like to fit in a few lighter (though still meaty!) books next year!

And, some pics ... with thanks to the (absent) photographer

Present: 11 people

Douglas Stuart, Shuggie Bain

With Canberra back in lockdown for the first time since the middle of last year, Minerva pivoted (to use current Covid-19 jargon) to meeting via Zoom again. Fortunately, having now experienced Zoom meetings in various aspects of our lives for well over a year, and under the expert chairing of Kate, the meeting ran smoothly. This is just as well, because we had plenty to say about our book, Douglas Bain's Booker prize-winning, Shuggie Bain.

The novel tells the story of a young working class boy and his mother in struggling working class Glasgow during the 1980s. It's about what happens when love and dreams of a better life meet poverty and alcoholism.

As always, we started with our ...

First impressions

• Struggled with the story, because of its bleakness and brutality, and could only read it when the sun was shining. But appreciated the humour, liked the highly visual descriptions, and thought it explored well themes like violence versus tenderness and love.  
• Found it an impressive account of many issues and ideas. Found it bleak at first, but it became unputdownable. Thought it was very much about love, and liked Stuart's comment in his ABC interview that "Art is meant to move you".
• Chose not to read it because of its potential to trigger vicarious trauma, but was interested to hear our discussion. 
• Having experienced female alcoholics in her family is unsympathetic to alcoholics, and wished Agnes had "tossed in the towel earlier"! But, loved the writing. 
• Had to put it down often because the evocation of poverty is so sad, but loved the interview with Stuart as he came across as such a positive man. Liked that the ending was somewhat positive.  
• Was initially hesitant, because feared vicarious trauma, but thinks the novel is a masterpiece. Couldn't put it down. Liked that it was peppered with humour, and its portrayal of children's love for parents. 
• Found it both devastating and brilliant (even though had just read another devastating story, Educated). Felt it was accurate about the period (1980s Glasgow). Was really moved. 
• Greatly enjoyed it for its descriptive writing, the humour, and the warmth and respect towards its characters. It was bleak, but heart sank most when Shuggie and his mother arrived back in the city, and Shuggie, watching young children play, wonders “what it must feel like ... to be so carefree”. It was so clear that Shuggie had never had that.  
• A tricky novel, but mesmerising, immersive, and made you feel as though you were there. Some reviews suggested it could have done with more editing, but doesn't agree because the detail is important to our understanding of the life. The novel redefines love. 
• Agrees with everyone else. Loved that it started with Shuggie at nearly 16 because you knew he was going to survive. Masterful management of darkness and light, and loved all the Scottish terms. A very visual book. Shuggie kept you going. Thought Eugene was mean and nasty in encouraging Agnes to have a drink. 
• So glad she read it. Brought up important issues, and its truth to domestic violence and alcoholism were spot on. 

Further discussion

The discussion that followed was lively, with many ideas being explored:

Humour

We explored the different types of humour in the novel, with some finding more humour in it than others. One saw the "cackling" laughter of the Pithead women as a distancing mechanism. Another felt there were many humorous scenes, such as Leek teaching Shuggie how to walk.

Alcoholism and addiction

We discussed many issues regarding alcoholism. Regarding Eugene and the question of whether he was better than Shug, one member argued that Eugene wasn't mean when he encouraged Agnes to have a drink. She suggested that he didn't understand and genuinely believed that in a stable loving relationship, Agnes would be able to drink, like a "normal" person. Another confirmed that the encouragement to drink is a very common challenge that recovering alcoholics have to face. One member commented that Eugene felt badly about what he'd done and tried hard to support the family with food for some time after.

Another member wondered how an alcoholic like Agnes managed to maintain a nice house, but another suggested that Agnes and her family had a high degree of "emotional intelligence". Some of us weren't sure that emotional intelligence is the relevant term, but we did note that Agnes and family came from Wullie and Lizzie who seemed to have a good handle on life. 

Where, we wondered, did the alcoholism come from?

We also discussed the references to Valium, and the fact that it was mentioned but not really developed in the novel.

A member mentioned Jimmy Barnes' memoir Working class boy, which starts in Glasgow and describes a life surrounded by drink and drunkenness. As we all agreed, the Thatcher era was a grim time in Glasgow, particularly for men with mines closing down resulting in loss of work and their roles in life.
 

Agnes

Of course, we talked a lot about Agnes and why she was the way she was. She "wanted and wanted and wanted". Why? She had aspirations for a better life. Was this simply because she was spoilt, as her father Wullie came to think she was?

One member suggested that the book is partly about dreams and aspirations. Both mother and daughter had aspirations. So, really, did Leek. For all her faults, Agnes was admirable for her resourcefulness and her ongoing attempts against so many odds to maintain face against a harsh world. Her story was heartbreaking.

We also noted how neither of her two husbands - Bernard and Shug - wanted her to work, and yet her work at the petrol station, when she was in recovering mode, gave her pleasure and self-worth. She was happy when she was working. Another of the book's themes is gender, and the lack of power and opportunity for women.

We discussed Agnes' relocation with her family to Pithead, a dying mining town where few had jobs, and how desolate the place was. Shug, we agreed, was truly cruel in taking her there with every intention of leaving her. One member did say however that alcoholics do move, that they are "geographic", believing things will be better when they move.

Shuggie

Our conversation about Shuggie roamed around a bit. We talked about his life, and his dedication to saving his mother. One member commented on the scene near the end where he undresses his mother, and also where he fixes Leanne's mother's dress. These felt very real, as though Douglas had experienced it. As this novel has strong autobiographical elements, we felt he had.

One member raised the death scene, Chapter 31, and wondered whether there's a suggestion that Shuggie could have saved Agnes but chose not to. Most of us, however, didn't read it that way.

Shuggie Bain is, in part, a coming-of-age novel, but he's also queer. From the beginning, there is an underlying idea that he's "no right", and he is mercilessly teased for his difference from a very young age. When he is 10, he asks his mother, "What's wrong with me Mammy?" From her answer, it's not clear to us that she knows, but he does realise at the end of the novel that his brother Leek has always known. We suspected that his father Shug also knew which is why he never appeared to like him.

One member, thinking of Raimond Gaita's memoir, Romulus my father, wondered what gave Shuggie his resilience. We didn't have many answers, but wondered whether his grandfather Wullie's early love and support, and Leek's being there, contributed. Some felt he'd inherited his mother's propensity to dream.

It was interesting, we though, that, despite their upbringing with Agnes, none of the children seemed to become alcoholics.

Some mentioned feeling sorry for Shuggie living alone in the boarding house at the end. It was helpful, we thought, that he didn't have overweening confidence, because it meant that he listened to others, such as Leek, unlike his mother who took little advice. We liked that the book ended with Shuggie having a friend, in Leanne, who also had an alcoholic mother. It enables the book to close on a sense of hope.

The novel is semi-autobiographical, or "autofiction", and we saw some similarities with Trent Dalton's Boy swallows universe (our review). We suspected that Stuart's story can be found in both Leek (both Stuart and Leek were accepted into a Fine Arts course) and Shuggie (Stuart, like Shuggie, did do his best to care for his mother until she died.)

Bibs and bobs

Besides the above issues, we talked about several other topics too. Our book trade member commented on how lucky Stuart was to get his Scottish dialect past the editors, as publishers tend to dislike language that might challenge readers. (In his ABC interview, Stuart talked about how important it was for him to use the language of people who rarely find themselves in literature, partly so that they might read it.

One member who had listened to Stuart reading excerpts from his book, said he made it sound like poetry.

We wondered about Shuggie's older siblings, Catherine and Leek, having no contact with their father.

One member commented that debut Booker prize winners, like Keri Hulme's The bone people and DBC Pierre's Vernon God Little, tend to be gritty. She wondered where they go next.

We talked about the impact of winning prizes on sales. Our booktrade person said that the Booker and Miles Franklin are the biggest awards in Australia in terms of generating sales, but this rarely means they will sell better than popular writers like Liane Moriarty. 

Finally

In the end we thought Shuggie Bain was a visceral but deeply moving novel about industrial Glasgow and region during Thatcher's 1980s, about alcoholism and the ravages it visits upon sufferers and their families, and about the deep love and loyalty children have for their parents and that siblings can have for each other.

Present: 11 members

Nardi Simpson, The song of the crocodile

 

July is our Indigenous book month and we chose the much acclaimed first novel by the singer and songwriter, Nardi Simpson, called Song of the crocodile. This novel has been shortlisted for 3 awards in early 2021 and Simpson won the black&write! Writing fellowship in 2018.

It tells the story of four generations of an Indigenous family living in the outskirts of the river town of Darnmoor in northern outback NSW. The town is linked to the Indigenous settlement of the Campground by the Old Black Road. This road of four miles has to be walked daily by the main characters in this novel. They are parallel settlements except that Darnmoor tries to deny the existence of the Indigenous workers living in poverty and injustice. This story tracks parts of the lives of three very strong and resilient women, Margaret, (Mili’s grandmother) Celie (or Ceil) (Mili’s mother) and Mili and her boys, Paddy and Yarri. The landscape of the area is all-pervasive in this novel.

First impressions:

 

• Hard challenging read, as it tracks racism, injustice and black and white prejudice. However, listening to an interview with the author she has an uplifting take on her creation – she admires the entrepreneurship of the women and their ability to cope with such injustices as wage theft. Many features of the character’s lives were never fully explained but clearly suggested in the novel.
• Hard to get into after just finishing Hilary Mantel’s The mirror and the light. Very tragic, but also shows strength and resilience which are positive features of the characters.
• Liked the merging of the living and the dead.
• EPIC and harrowing and impending things are going to happen. (We returned to ‘EPIC’ many times during the conversation).
• Glossary would have been good. 
• Irritating book, loved the characters but frustrated by certain features eg in the ending, the water didn’t travel over the levee (but others felt we are not told are not told whether it did or didn’t). Didn't like that all the good characters got killed or died eg Tom and Wil. Was Wil’s death because he consumed so much sugar ? Was Tom run over by a semi-trailer?
• Can’t believe all white people are shits – thought that was overdone. Found it an extremely challenging novel and didn’t like the writing style. Felt bashed over the head by the same point and felt it needed a good edit. Even felt it alienating.
• Really liked it and enjoyed it. Felt it was more a fable than a ‘real’ story. Gave a sense of what life is like for Indigenous people rather than reflecting exact reality. There were deaths like Wil and Yarri’s but there was also joy. For example, the communal life at the Campground before the levee broke up the community. There was so much sadness but also much love between the characters. Liked the interplay between the spirit world and the human world.
• Found it engrossing, but the feeling of doom pervaded. Admired Celie setting up the laundry shed which was positive and the relationships with the other women workers. Reminded me of Pachinko and the relationships between those isolated Korean women living in Japan.
• I am not into magic realism but I liked the spiritual world Simpson created. Her language and expression was wonderful. For example, when Mili was raped by the Mayor it wasn’t spelt out but inferred with metaphors. Also, there was one good Greek man – Angelou who helped Celie. (This was questionable according to another who felt he may have been ‘bothering’ the women.)
• Is this book a bit like works by Isabelle Allende? Another member disputed that claim. The author does not like the term ‘magic realism’. 
• Simpson comes from a very talented family of creative people and I am really glad I read it.
• She is a supersmart woman who was not able to finish a formal education at school but is now doing further tertiary studies. 
• The deaths were shocking but the author blended them into the cycle of the character’s lives. 
• Strong resilient people who were not able to realise their potential. 
• The book felt like a tribute to these people she has created even though they were apparently a mixture of people she has known. 
• How do people keep going when struck by such adversity?
• I don’t understand why people died – a bit romanticised.
• The campground was community even though it was 4 miles out of town. Injustice upon injustice. 
• I found it quite uplifting. I was expecting a dramatic climax – for example, a water spout or the war memorial monument rising up!
• Fabulous book, ambitious and very rewarding – very different way of seeing the world.

 

Discussion

 

We began by discussing the main characters, Celie and Mili. We all felt very sad that they were unable to love Paddy who was the result of a rape of a very young and vulnerable Mili by the Mayor. As one reader said, Rape and its consequences are hard to make anything good out of. Mick Murphy knew that Mili was a treasure and some felt she was set up with the acquiescence of Vera, Mick’s wife. One member would have liked more about Vera and others felt sorry for her. Darnmoor was male-dominated and Mrs Murphy was definitely under the thumb of her husband.

One reader thought there might be a way of understanding the talk about Mili’s eyes – an unusual shade of green. The baby’s (Mili’s) eye colour changed when her father was killed by the truck. The idea had been that Tom would get a house for him and Celie and baby Mili. This also involved with the sad story of Mili’s friends, Trilpa and Eadie.

However, we decided that for us as white people it is hard to read and fully comprehend an Indigenous resolution to problems.

We thought Celie was a successful character who demanded a job from the Mayor’s wife and then worked very hard doing the town’s laundry. However, we couldn't be sure that they were receiving correct wages for the labour. We all admired Bess, Celie’s sister, who was not romanticised and who also worked very hard and sewed so beautifully.

Wil was a strong character who cared for his boys and Mili. He had threatened the mayor in order to obtain their promised house. This house, we felt, was a blessing but also a curse for Milie as it isolated her when she most needed friends and family.

For the family, life after the rape was very difficult. It was even harder after the birth of Paddy. Mili is unable to relate to her child. Her mother and aunt also retreat. Yarri loves his brother, in fact idolises him.

We all appreciated Celie's mother, Margaret Lightning, who like the others was at the coal face of prejudice. She worked so hard in the hospital but was then dismissed crudely. All these characters face prejudice each day.

Mick Murphy is proud of his grandfather and so he explained it to Mili. One reader found his interest in talking to her unbelievable.

Nardi Simpson is reflecting stories she has been told and her perspective on town folk arises from holidays she spent up near Walgett visiting friends and family. Her characters are an amalgam of various people and her imagination. This is an Indigenous story and we as white women can never fully comprehend the full ramifications of their difficulties.

Nardi is keen to share her language in the novel and did not provide a dictionary. She doesn’t want readers too worried about individual meanings but go with the flow.

An excellent interview with the author is by Daniel Browning from ABC Radio National. 

We discussed the language of the spirits, such as the crocodile. Is the crocodile only a negative spirit? He is part of the environment so it is not black and white (no pun intended).

It seems an evil spirit but it is nuanced – not in a Judeo-Christian way.

There is also the question of how to live as a good person – which is often posed by people at the end of their life.

There is a spiritual view of the world in this novel. The stories are not didactic but create ways to think. It was reminiscent of Greek tragedy for one of our members. In that, there are similar larger than life characters between the divine and human.

We thought there was some humour in the novel, which slightly eased the sense of tragedy. A good example was the funny scene in the laundry where Celie and Mili compare their hand done washing to the quality achieved by the new appliances. They do it by washing one handkerchief. Our member who grew up in South Africa said she remembered similar hesitancy by her mother’s staff when washing machines became available.

The style of the novel was not discussed widely, although one reader said she thought it was in the ‘middle’ of the recent novels by First Nations’ writers. We also thought that various other Indigenous writers didn’t like the term ‘magical realism’, as it doesn't properly reflect their spirituality, which is unique to Australia's First Nations peoples.

A member advised us of a south coast festival which may be on, depending on Covid in NSW, the October version of Giiyong Festival.

 

Present: 10 members

Steven Conte, The Tolstoy Estate

Our group's June book was Australian author Steven Conte's second novel, The Tolstoy Estate, which takes place over six weeks - November-December 1941 - of Germany's World War 2 campaign in Russia. The specific setting is a German medical unit that was based in Yasnaya Polyana, Tolstoy's estate, near Tula, south of Moscow. 

The novel is told through the perspective of German military doctor, Paul Bauer, who is based there with a medical unit led by Julius Metz. At the estate is the curator of the site, Katerina Trubetzkaya, who is, not surprisingly, hostile. A relationship develops between Paul and Katerina, but against a backdrop of deteriorating conditions both on the war-front and in the unit, as commanding officer Metz's behaviour becomes increasingly erratic.

The book has been shortlisted for the 2021 Walter Scott Prize for Historical Fiction, and longlisted for the 2021 Colin Roderick award.

We started of course with our ...

First impressions

• Enjoyed it because of its setting in a German army hospital in Russia, its exploration of love (particularly of love in difficult times), its discussion of writing and literature with wry reflections on Conte’s own book, and its structure with its sudden change of tack partway through. 
• Loved it, couldn't put it down, because of its details which suggested it was well-researched. The harrowing details felt convincing, and the ending didn't let me down. 
• Loved it, though got tired of all the operations, so loved it when the first set of letters appeared, because this kept me going. Haven't read War and peace and felt it might have added some layers. Loved the description of the house. 
• Really enjoyed it, found the historical context very interesting, including that Tolstoy was a pacifist, as this novel is. It's a little romanticised, but reality wasn't romanticised. Hitler and many in the army used drugs during war, which may have resulted in some madness or deluded behaviour. There were great characters in the medical team, some feeling real, others more "hyper-real".
• All of the above. As with Overstory, this is a book I'd love to write an essay about to draw out all the paths. Enjoyed the themes about love and writing (such as its discussion of "the usual reasons one values a novel"). Thought the book was particularly about Katrina, and the many facets of her as a person. Was interested in the reference to the Kreutzer sonata. 
• A bit "iffy" at the start but ended up enjoying the book; it won me over. 
• Liked it but didn't love it. Thought A gentlemen in Moscow was a better novel (says the member who recommended this one!) The references to the use of drugs during war are real. The surgery scenes felt like they'd come straight out of a textbook. Thought the Caesarean scene by candlelight was a bit far-fetched but "it probably did happen sometimes". Made me want to read Tolstoy again. 
• Enjoyed it, particularly all the different characters. Found it a gentle book, considering the topic. Liked the descriptions of the snow, trees, countryside. 
• Really enjoyed it, though doesn't think it's a great book. 
• Really enjoyed it too, found it a visceral read with the descriptions of the icy cold conditions on the dressing station, in particular. The surgery scenes were very real. Thought it a political story, about a good man in a bad army. Katerina, also, was a good person in a bad regime. 

Further discussion

We talked about the novel's exploration of the past and the future. Metz saw himself as a man of the future, a d criticised Bauer for wallowing in the past (in Tolstoy). In one of his letters, Bauer talks about old people wanting to "wallow in memory, when clearly the healthier thing to do was to stride into the future". However, it's a complicated issue as Bauer seems to realise. In his letters, he wants to pick up the past and stride into the future with Katerina.

We talked about Nazism's master race theory, which posited the German race as the heroes of the future. But, as one member said, Bauer's life on the front is immersed in the consequences of aiming for this future. The gay dentist/anaesthetist Hirsch is an example of Nazism's vision riding roughshod over individuals. 

Bauer, on the other hand, saw people as individuals. War and peace, he tells Katerina, restored his faith in

doing good in the world; because if, as Tolstoy argued, we are all specks in a vast world-historical drama, including those who think they’re in charge, it follows that everyone’s actions are potentially significant, that the humblest person can influence events as much as any general, emperor of tsar. (p. 218)

One member reminded us of Bauer's recognition of the future in Demchak, 

It was good to be reminded of the talents of the young, who in time would run the world and, one hoped, make a better fist of it than those who were currently in charge.

Ironically, though, the black-and-white Hiwi Demchak is perhaps not the best of the young to achieve this!

One member commented that war is ethically confronting, which we Australians are seeing played out now in the SAS Officer Ben Roberts-Smith court case.

We also talked about the links with War and peace re Napoleon's retreat from Moscow. As one member said, both Napoleon and Hitler's armies had confronted unseasonably cold winters.

We looked at some of the questions from Steven Conte's website. 

One question is, "Is Julius Metz a bad person? What about Hermann Molineux? Norbert Ritter? ‘Tout comprendre, c’est tout pardonner,’ goes a French proverb: to understand all is to forgive all. How true is this?"

We talked about Metz being mercurial, unreliable, and able to be "played" by Katerina. Bauer believed the drugs being given experimentally to Metz affected his mental ability. We talked about their being value in "understanding" bad behaviour but where is the line? At what point can you forgive? Also, how do you empower people to stand up for their own beliefs? One member noted that Metz was good at his job, and did save lives.

One person wondered whether Bauer is a somewhat idealised character? Some thought perhaps he was, while others thought that he falls within the range of "real" people. As a surgeon, Bauer didn't have to be involved in the politics, one member suggested, though others felt that being a doctor in the regime, he couldn't avoid it.  

Considering the discussion this question engendered, one member suggest that it was a sign of a good novelist that we could get so much into the skin of his characters.

SOME SPOILERS

Another question concerned the structure and plotting: "What did you think when the first letter was introduced into the narrative? Did it shock you? Did it change your mind about the novel or change the way you read it? Did it reduce the tension for you or increase it?" 

One member had already mentioned in her first impression that it kept her reading, as she had become worn down by the extended chapter on the surgeries. Another member commented that it told us that Bauer and Katerina had survived the war, and wondered why he had decided to tell us this? What did he want us to focus on if it wasn't that plot issue?

We discussed how Conte explores a relationship coping with the stress of competing regimes, and that it showed what a strong bond they'd formed. One member hadn't got the feeling that Katerina was "into" Paul (Bauer). However, as others said, the novel is told from his third person subjective point of view, so, until the letters, we only see the relationship from his point-of-view - and he is uncertain about her interest. Another noted that Katerina's reference to not ruining his looks in the frostbite scene suggested her attraction to him! 

A member complimented Conte on his insight into human feelings, finding particularly real Katerina's description of how she missed Paul.

The final question we considered was: "Siegfried Weidemann advises Bauer to ‘Focus on your own job. Don’t look left or right. Obey orders and let someone else fret about the rest.’ What do you think of this advice? In your family, your workplace, your locality or your nation, is it unethical, necessary or reckless to disregard politics?"

Being Canberrans, we immediately thought of the challenges currently faced by public servants whom we feel are not encourage to give "frank and fearless advice" but to follow party lines. We talked about other works which explore personal responsibility, including Bernard Schlink's The reader, and Christopher Hampton's play, A German life, about Brunhilde Pomsel who worked in Joseph Goebbels’ Propaganda Ministry. 

One member talked about the Government's being invested in creating heroes because we need people to go to war. Conte, we agreed, makes us think about making decisions. We can get caught up in the heroic stories. 

We liked that Conte has covered here a story that hasn't been told before - the 41 days of German occupation of Yasnaya Polyana. (Though, as one said, the book was inspired by Marie Curie's daughter, Eve Curie's Journey among warriors, 1943, which includes her description of a visit to Yasnaya Polyana, three weeks after its liberation from invading German forces.)

This was a book that engaged us all and generated a wonderful and wide-ranging conversation. A great choice, even if the person who recommended it didn't love it!

Present: 9 members

Best Australian Science Writing 2020

Back in 2016, our group went a bit left field and scheduled the 2015 edition of Best Australian Science Writing. We thoroughly enjoyed it and the discussion, and so decided it was time to do it again with the current edition. This one, Best Australian Science Writing 2020, was edited by Sara Phillips, and is the 10th Anniversary edition.

In a slight variation of our usual start where we go around the room giving our first impressions, we decided for this meeting, as we did for the 2015 edition, to start with each person naming a favourite or standout article, and describing why they'd chosen it.

This is how it went ...

Dyani Lewis' An identity crisis for the Australian dingo: the ecological importance of the dingo, the taxonomy issues involved, and the politicisation of science. This was a thread through the collection but is reflected here in how different taxonomic decisions can affect policy regarding the dingo (native or domestic?)

Ceridwen Dovey's True grit: an elderly scientist has his day, finally. Also liked the sense of human warmth in the story, and found the science itself regarding moon dust interesting

Jo Chandler's The Murray-Darling's dry mouth: the politicisation of science is saddening; also sad about the ongoing deterioration of the beautiful Coorong and its impact on the whole Murray-Darling system.

Peter Meredith's Underwater and underrated and Rebecca Giggs' Bovine friends forever: this member snuck in two favourites! Grew up around cows, and loved reading about something she'd seen and experienced.

Cameron Stewart's Brain wave and Konrad Marshall's Jeepers creepers: another member who snuck in two favourites. Loved the medical ones in general; was particularly interested in the brain research involved in "Brain wave" and the work of the woman driving the research described in the article.

Lesley Hughes' The milk of human genius: really liked Jo Chandler's Coorong one too, but that had been taken, so nominated "the milk one" because of the environmental issues and the research involved in finding alternatives.

Bianca Nogrady's Meet the families; Jen Martin's Listening to Antarctica and Jane Cadzow's Sixteen zoo staff. More than 200 animals. An encroaching fire. The rescue operation that became the pride of Mogo: Another cheeky member, this one nominating three! Each one spoke to topics or places of specific interest to her (taxonomy, Antarctica and Mogo Zoo).

Ricky French's The case of the missing frogs: really liked the evocative opening paragraph about a frog suddenly giving birth through its mouth, while it was in a cage on the passenger seat of the car a ranger was driving. This member had chosen Ceridwen Dovey's True grit, but it had been taken already, so French's article was her back-up choice! She really liked Dovey's writing.

Arwyn Stone's Not-so-smart technology: The science (or lack thereof) behind period and fertility trackers: she was impressed by the journalistic style, the science, and the fact that it dealt with apps. (This article won the Bragg Student Prize, and was added at the end of the book, after the after-matter.) 

This last member, as some did with the 2015 edition, read the book by following the links of like articles at the end of the article she was reading.

Then the free-for-all ...

We then talked about other articles we enjoyed, and some of the issues the volume raised for us:

Michelle Starr's The repeating signals from deep space are extremely unlikely to be aliens - here's why: partly because of what it says about scientific method.

Peter Doherty's Foreword: Science writing for normal and not-so-normal times and editor Sara Phillips' Introduction: Seeing the world with fresh eyes: enjoyed reading Doherty's perspective on COVID-19 (written very early in the pandemic), and liked the effortless way Phillips covered the volume's contents. One commented on Doherty's statement that "the reason that COVID-19 can be so bad is that it is both a respiratory infection and a blood clotting disorder", although a medical member of our group didn't fully agree that it was "a blood clotting disorder".

Andrew Wear's Gone with the wind: the description of how Denmark, over 40 years ago, started addressing the "energy" issue, and its ongoing innovative social, scientific and economic approach versus Scott Morrison's lack of vision (still). We particularly liked that Denmark has only two TV stations, both government, which means Danes trust the news. We did note that Denmark had been quick to stop AstraZeneca immunisation which seemed a paradoxically emotional rather than rational response.

COVID-19: We commented on the three articles on the pandemic - noting that the choice of articles for the edition had been made in March 2020, which was very early in the pandemic. Nonetheless, the three articles were illuminating: Felicity Nelson's What is pathogen sovereignty, Liam Mannix's The perfect virus - two gene tweaks that turned COVID-19 into a killer, and Tessa Charles' Synchotrons on the coronavirus frontline. Regarding pathogen sovereignty, we discussed the issue of sharing science with the world (which is also covered in Smriti Mallapaty's article on protists). One member was particularly interested in the synchrotron article. It filled in some holes in her understanding of things she'd read.

We talked about Wilson da Silva's The good earth and its message about improving mircodiversity in the city. One member was interested in the issue of animal ethics, and the view, as explored a little in Peter Meredith's Underwater and underrated, that animal "intelligence" provides arguments for treating them ethically. We agreed that the fact that they are living, regardless of human notions of "intelligence", should warrant ethical care and treatment of all creatures. One member then talked of her awareness of a stick of celery's "will to live" in her fridge!

In terms of the overall volume, we noted that most of the articles - probably not surprisingly - are about cutting edge developments, and also that the majority are written by science journalists rather than practising scientists. The journalists translate the science for lay readers, but they also tend to use a journalistic formula to do so - anecdote, explication of the science, conclusion. 

This led us to talk about research in general and the dire situation in Australian universities. We teased it out from personal, political and economic angles, the poor support, in particular, provided research and researchers. Universities have moved from a salary-based research system to a grant-based one. One academic in the group noted that you tend to have to "have the results" before you apply for the grant to prove the grant is worth being awarded! Smriti Mallapaty's article on protists, For risky research with great potential, dive deep, looks at other research, looks funding models, particularly for risky or longterm research.

We briefly discussed the early 20th century Australia father and son scientists and Nobel Laureates, William and Lawrence Bragg. They are too little known in Australia, but they are commemorated in the Bragg Science Writing Prize which is associated with this anthology. The 2020 winner was Ceridwen Dovey's True grit, and the runners up were Ricky French's Case of the missing frogs and Konrad Marshall's Jeepers creepers. Lesley Hughes' The milk of human genius, Donna Lu's Stranger things, and Nicky Phillips' Bringing home the ancestors, were the other shortlisted articles.

Finally, we talked about the two poems in the collection, Jenny Blackford's Black ice, frogmouth and Alicia Sometimes' Gravitational waves.

Present: 9

Tsitsi Dangarembga's This mournable body

Our second book of the year was Zimbabwean writer Tsitsi Dangarembga's third novel, This mournable body, which was shortlisted for the Booker Prize in 2020. It proved to be a challenging but ultimately worthwhile choice. 

When we say This mournable body was Dangarembga's third novel, we should also say that it's the third in her trilogy, the first two being Nervous conditions (1988) and The book of not (2006).  None of us have read these, but we understand that they were more positive than This mournable body, by which time protagonist Tambudzai is out of work and struggling to survive. She's desperate to be the success she has alway wanted - and believed herself able - to be.

As always, we started with our ...

First impressions 

One of us loved the novel from the start. She engaged with the second person voice and enjoyed the novel's exploration of "the personal is the political" through its protagonist. She liked how the voice conveyed the character's remoteness or dissociation from her "self", versus a third person voice which tends to provide a more objective commentary or first person voices which tend to be more intimately confessional. 

Most of the rest of the group did not immediately engage with the novel, though they came to like or, even, appreciate and enjoy, it somewhere along the way:

• initially thrown by the voice, largely due to the narrator's fluctuating state of mind, the scenario-style, and the story's focus on cruelty, but started to get into it by part two, and ended up loving it. 
• found the beginning hard and confronting, but then began to appreciate it.
• struggled early on, but found reading some background about the book was helpful in giving her the boost she needed to find stimulation in the story.
• found its disjointed nature off-putting, but liked aspects such as the little kindnesses Tambu meets along the way and how Dangarembga conveyed Tambu's paranoia. Suggested that it's refreshing to read a book by a black female author.
• found it difficult get into, but was interested in its discussion of ecotourism and poverty interesting. Came to enjoy the writing style, and appreciated the wide variety of issues the book explores. 
• also found it hard at the start, but suggested that it's a good example of why we read books, which is to experience the lives of others that we would otherwise know nothing about. Was interested to see what happened to this once rich African country, and particularly the impact of the West, of Mugabe, the sexism, violence, racism. 
• was surprised to find it hard to get into because is sympathetic to Zimbabwe. Put it aside and picked it up again too late to finish, but found that it started to make sense in part 2 when Tambu is in the mental institution. 

Discussion

We confirmed that the book is primarily set around the turn of the millennium, and that Tambudzai at this time is around 40 years old.

Our discussion roamed over the place a bit, but we talked about how Tambudzai embodies the nation's post-Independence trauma and sense of false hope. We liked that the novel is not black and white, and that most characters are complex.

One member initially saw the book as being about metal illness and paranoia, but decided that it is more political, exploring issues like the impact on the individual of national trauma. 

We discussed various issues to do with Zimbabwe and Africa, including how white Tracey would try to exoticise "Africa" for the tourism trade, and how the West is portrayed as generalising Africa, lumping all countries into one. We talked about the compromises and bribes Tracey had to make to get her ecotourism business going. 

We also talked about gender, about women being expected to dress modestly, about women being beaten (of which there are several examples in the book, by strangers, sons, husbands, etc.) We also noted the competition between people - such as Tambu and Pedzi - in their desperation to succeed in a tough world.

We talked about the language, with several members sharing favourite quotes. Several of us commented on the ant and hyena imagery used to convey Tambu's emotions, the ants seeming to convey her anxiety in various situations and the hyena her lack of control:

The hyena laughs as you enter the gate. It has slunk once more as close to you as your skin, ready to drag away the last scraps of certainty you have preserved the moment you falter ...

A member liked this description of a woman who'd been beaten:

Evening light drips shadows onto her skin, thickening the knots of swelling, deepening lacerations.

Tambu's sister, Netsai, had lost one of her legs in the war, something we are reminded of regularly in the novel, suggesting that it symbolises the country's trauma, and the fact that many of its people do not, as a result of their experiences, feel whole. One member liked Tambu's description of watching Christine, who had also been to war, working in the garden:

You have seen this manner before, this being where the body is and not being there, in your sister Netsai, who went to war, who lost a leg, and who said to you when they said there was peace, “Yes, I went and I am here but I never came back. Most of the time I’m still out there wandering through the grass and sand, looking for my leg.”

Blood and womb are recurring images in the novel, referring, we felt, to the vulnerable position of women in Zimbabwean society as well as, more broadly, to the war and violence the country had experienced. There is quite a bit of description in the book about the impact of war on those who fought in it:

The women from war are like that, a new kind of being that no one knew before, not exactly male but no longer female.

One member mentioned the many references to Tambu's determination to smile in various uncomfortable or vulnerable circumstances, such as:

Your smile attaches itself to your face more tenaciously as your anxiety increases.

One member thought the denouement came too quickly, while another felt that once we'd got to that point the book would become boring if it were drawn out.

Throughout the discussion we needed to clarify various events in the novel, because at times the language is intense resulting in the actual action being described not always being clear. An example is what had led to Tambu ending up a mental patient in hospital, in part 2.

One member had circulated, prior to the meeting, a link to writer Teju Cole's article "Unmournable bodies", which Dangarembga acknowledges at the end of her novel as "putting many matters into perspective" and inspiring the novel's title. The essay talks about how the West tends to be selective about which bodies it is prepared to mourn (such as the victims of the Charlie Hebdo massacre) and which it tends to ignore (such as many Muslim victims of violence.) We discussed what we thought the title meant, and decided it could be an assertion that "I am worthy, I am worth mourning", something that is hard for people to feel in a place where everyone is struggling.

The question was asked whether we would recommend this book to others. Most said yes, but would accompany it with a warning or some preparation.  

We also considered Dangarembga's intention. We understand that the first two books in the trilogy are more positive, so wondered whether this book reflects increasing concerns about the country's political challenges and also, perhaps, about how life becomes harder for older women. But, we also felt that the epigraph, that "There is always something left to love" suggests an ultimately positive, or, at least, hopeful reading for the novel? 

Present: 8 members

Barchester Towers, by Anthony Trollope

Prepared by Sue B

Our first novel of the year was "our" classic for the year, though, you never know, we may do another! It was Anthony Trollope's Barchester Towers, which was published in 1857and is the second book in The Chronicles of Barsetshire series, aka The Barchester Chronicles. It is set in an imaginary English Cathedral town. As always, we started with our ...

First impressions

• Loved it. Couldn’t resist also rewatching the 1982 BBC TV series filmed in Peterborough, whose excellent cast did full justice to Trollope’s wonderful characters
• Didn’t finish it because read The warden first. The church background was very complex. It was wordy but witty. The deliberately heavy-handed naming of people was fun.
• Loved the engagement with the reader and the ironic tone but preferred The warden which was sweeter.
• Really enjoyed it. The characters were vivid and entertaining. It was hard to find a Kindle version in English.
• Hadn’t previously read it and found it different to anything else we have read. After reading most of it, listened to the last 25% of an audio play which “coloured” the characters. Preferred the “black and white” of the printed text. Loved it, and felt there was much to unpack.
• Only half-way through and enjoying it.
• Loved the wry comments. Not much plot, and the whole thing revolves around very little. Imagined Salisbury Cathedral. Found it hard to get into at first and glossed over the first few chapters. Grew up in High Church Sydney – it brought back memories.
• Love Hardy, but just getting into this when family events interrupted reading.
• Had read it in the 70s. Different to Hardy is more wordy in his landscape description. Liked the authorial voice in Trollope. Loved the satire and comments on life at the time.

Further discussion

Our conversation ranged widely and jumped around, including the following:

• Why write six novels set in a Cathedral Close? Because it is close to government? The politics of the Anglican Church are prominent in the novel, so it was suggested that a guide to Anglican church hierarchy might help us to understand the structure. Dr. Grantly missed out on being made Bishop because of a change of government. 
• The novel was written not long after the Oxford Movement, which was a religious movement in the Anglican Church which focused on High Church, emphasising its Catholic heritage. It led to Newman and others becoming Catholics. In the novel the High Church faction is represented by Dr Grantly, who recruits Mr. Arabin (who had been a follower of Newman) for support against the Low Church or Evangelical faction represented by Mr. Slope and Mrs. Proudie. There’s not much theology in the book, but much poking fun at the Church politics. We discussed that at that time the church tended to be a career rather than a calling. Mr. Harding’s principles were often amusingly in the way of Dr. Grantly’s pragmatism. 
• The warden and Barchester Towers also comment on the role played by newspapers in manipulating public opinion.

As you’d expect the novel reflects the attitudes of its time. There was some degree of sexism, for example Mrs. Bold being referred to as “a delicate creeper [which] has found its strong wall”, and we felt that Dr. Grantly had been highly mysoginistic in his treatment of her. Yet, the novel also has many strong women such as Mrs Grantly, Mary Bold, Signora Neroni, not to mention the formidable Mrs. Proudie and even Mrs Quiverful. It was clear that while the men held the official positions, their wives worked unpaid at the Sunday Schools and held a lot of power behind the scenes. It was noted that in the Trollope family the author’s mother (the highly successful novelist Fanny Trollope) had earned most of the money.

We also noted some occasional antisemitism.

We enjoyed the humorous descriptions of life at the time. An example is Mrs. Thorne’s garden party where she tries to keep some Feudal traditions going, such as the quintain for jousting practice where Harry Greenacre came to grief. The social hierarchy at the time meant that everyone fitted in their appropriate place, except the appropriately named Lookalofts who were dressed up and determined to dine with the gentry instead of in the field with the other farmers. They're mocked by the Greenacres for being “half nekid’ and wasting money on pianos and silk instead of stock for their farm. Mrs. Bold’s widow’s cap became less obvious over time. A sign that she was ready to get back into life again? Mrs. Clantantram wears a Rocquelore. So much was made of it that we googled to find out that it was an 18th century man’s cloak. Characters were really amusingly described, e.g. Miss Thorne: “Had she not been made throughout of the very finest whalebone, rivetted with the best Yorkshire steel..”

We discussed Trollope as an author. He was wordy, as were other Victorian authors. One example shared was: "Should the bishop now be re-petticoated, his thraldom would be complete and forever".

He assumed that his audience had a classical education. He also took the audience into his confidence, for example with the plot spoiler that Eleanor would not, in the end, marry Mr. Slope or Bertie Stanhope. Would we have enjoyed the story more if we had not known this? We thought not. One member said “I love it when the author talks to me”. It was commented that Jane Austen did it too while Dickens did not. Trollope references Fielding in the novel. Did he see himself in that tradition? Fielding had larger-than-life characters but Trollope's are more subtle? Did he kill off John Bold so that Eleanor’s relationship with her father could be the focus?

What did Trollope believe?

We wondered what Trollope himself really believed. Most of the characters are reasonably well-rounded and shrewdly observed. Mr. Quiverful, for example, is torn between being offered the much-needed Wardenship, and feeling bad about Mr. Harding. Mr. Slope and Mrs. Proudie are mostly presented in a very unsympathetic light, but they were right about the Wardenship. Mr. Harding did not need it as much as Mr. Quiverful did.

We were told when they first came back from Italy that the Stanhopes were cold, manipulative people. But they were fun, and in the end behaved with honesty and even kindliness. Did Trollope change his mind about them?

In the last paragraph we celebrate Mr. Harding, “a good man without guile, believing humbly in the religion which he has striven to teach”. Maybe that’s the answer?

Present: 9 Minervans