Andrew Croome's Midnight Empire

It was a lively meeting when we met to discuss our April book, Midnight Empire, with its author Andrew Croome. There's nothing like having an author present to get discussion going. Midnight Empire, essentially a spy thriller in the Le Carre tradition, is rather outside our usual literary fiction fare, but it fit our decision to focus on Canberra in our reading this Centenary year. Croome currently lives in Canberra, and the main character in the novel, Daniel, comes from Canberra, though the book is set in Las Vegas and Europe.

Courtesy: Allen & Unwin

Croome told us that the inspiration for the book was drones. Daniel Carter is a 26-year-old computer programmer whose company's encryption program has been bought by the US government for its drone program. Daniel is sent by his company to Creech Airforce Base, out of Las Vegas, to install the software and make sure it runs properly. Suddenly he finds himself at war, albeit sitting at a computer terminal in the American desert, a long way from Afghanistan where the actual war is being waged. This though is the point Croome wanted to explore: the idea that in modern drone-driven warfare, you can be at war during the day, in your office, killing people, and come home at night to bathe your kids! Unlike the airforce pilots and CIA agents Daniel is working with, he has not been trained for war. He is, in fact, a rather naive young man who, through most of the novel, still feels like "a boy". He's not though, and gradually he becomes mired in some dirty business.

Running parallel to the political/professional story of Daniel's work is his personal story. He comes to Las Vegas for work against the wishes of his long-term girlfriend Hannah. Their relationship has been floundering and this, to her mind, poor decision of his is the catalyst for her to break up. Daniel is disappointed, but it leaves him free to meet someone new - and he does, of course. He meets Ania at the poker table. This is Vegas after all and Daniel decides to take up poker to fill in some after work hours. Besides his interest in the recent world-wide poker-playing phenomenon, Croome told us that he saw poker as a way for Daniel to define and develop his masculinity.

In terms of the plot, things start, as you would expect for the genre, to go awry. An agent double-crosses them, and the drones are sent in to Peshawar to take out their targets. At the same time, pilots start dying mysteriously in Vegas. Daniel becomes perturbed about the morality of what he sees and takes some actions that, let us say, the CIA would not like. Meanwhile, his life with Ania becomes complicated when she tells him her brutal husband has come to Vegas looking for her. Daniel is torn between his work and his personal responsibilities, and starts crossing even more lines from which he may not be able to return. As we read on, we are not sure who to trust or believe. Is or isn't Ania the traditional spy-tale Femme Fatale? And are the CIA starting to suspect him? Suffice it to say that Daniel ends up on the run playing poker - off the grid, as Croome described it - throughout Europe. And that's about all I'll say about the plot.

Our discussion, with Croome, led us down all sorts of paths. We discussed the construction of the book with one Minervan feeling that it was more about plot than character. She wanted to know more about Daniel, wanted his character to be developed further. Another Minervan felt that having Daniel's relationship break up at the beginning was a clever device. It showed that Daniel had been given the chance to change, but hadn't taken it, and it also set him free for new relationships. Most of us felt the set up was plausible, and one member said she felt sorry for Daniel who was too naive to realise that he couldn't "fix" things as easily and simply as he thought. A couple of members talked of how "visual" the book is, and liked the strong transitions between Daniel's loft in Vegas and the airforce base. Croome, we discovered, did spend some time in Vegas researching the book. Several of us found the Poker sections too technical and wondered whether this was more of a "man-thing". Croome responded that he tried to make human points about the play rather than get too carried away with the recording the technical play itself. We could see that, but probably still felt there was a little more play than we needed! And the ending was to most of us more ambiguous than Croome intended - but we gathered that we weren't the only readers to feel this. Hopefully, Croome enjoyed our perspectives and took them in the right spirit. I think he did.

The discussion then turned back to drones and their military and civilian uses - leading to a discussion about privacy. We of course had no answers, but Croome believes that we need to be aware of the increasing incursions into our right to privacy if we are going to have any chance of controlling/protecting it. Some of us, I suspect, feel it might be a lost cause!

Croome mentioned a few authors/books that he likes, including Ian McEwan, Don DeLillo (that was intriguing) and Kevin Powers' novel, Yellow birds, about the impact of war on soldiers and those at home.

It was a good night's discussion. There's nothing better than a book that stimulates discussion about it, itself, and then leads us onto talk about the wider issues it draws from. Midnight empire proved to be such a book and we felt privileged to have the author with us to contribute to both discussions. Thanks Andrew for giving up your time to talk with us.

The Invisible Thread, editor Irma Gold

"The Invisible thread : one hundred years of words" is an anthology of writing from Canberra authors (I counted 75 of them) celebrating local fiction, non-fiction and poetic writing in the year of the centenary of the national capital. Our group was pleased and proud that Irma Gold was able to attend last week's meeting and add her perspective as editor to our discussion of the book. We had lots of questions for her.

We were interested but not surprised to hear of considerable debate among the Advisory Committee members as to the criteria for inclusion. It was decided that the writing did not need to be about Canberra, though much of it is, but that the author needed to have lived a significant amount of time in the region. This explained the omission of Frank Moorhouse whose "Cold Light" (that we studied recently) was set in Canberra but who has not actually lived here. Another debate was whether there should be more than one piece from some authors. To keep the book a manageable size it was decided to limit authors to one piece each. Thus while some prose authors get five or more pages, someone as eminent as David Campbell is represented by just the eight short (but memorable, we thought) lines of his poem "Mothers and daughters". Some of us felt that the extracts from prose works had created a taste to dip further into works of an author while others felt that the works which were complete in themselves had more impact in the book.

Irma explained that each member of the committee had studied the works of particular authors and made a shortlist from which she herself had selected the one piece for inclusion. She explained that one objective in the inclusions had been to create a flow from one piece to the next - so that there could be "a conversation" between adjacent pieces and they could inform each other. In our group some had enjoyed this feature while others had preferred to skip to writers they knew or to pieces which caught their attention.

We all noticed the wide range of genres covered, appreciating, for example: Dorothy Green's scathing review of "Porn birds"; an extract from CEW Bean's war history "Anzac to Amiens"; startling extracts from the science fiction short story "The Glass woman" by Kaaron Warren and from the young adult fantasy novel "Mister Monday : the keys to the kingdom" by Garth Nix". We appreciated the wide range of backgrounds our authors come from, including two indigenous authors. We each had 5 or 6 favourite works from the book too numerous in total to list here, but some appeared on more than one of our lists including the works from Alan Gould, Geoff Page and Marion Halligan. We enjoyed, as one member put it "the breadth of vision of Canberra authors - outward looking and bringing a wealth of experience of other places". 

Irma said that each member of the committee had enjoyed finding surprising pieces they had never read before. All of us certainly did. One of us said "I thought I knew Canberra writers, but I didn't".

We were able to thank Irma for her attendance and insights and plan which Canberra writers we were inspired to read more of over tea or coffee and delicious cake with quinces.

The invisible thread - Meeting preparation for those who have time

Irma Gold, the editor of The invisible thread anthology, has conducted 20 interviews over the last few months with some of the authors included in the anthology. They are well worth listening to - I haven't listened to them all yet, but those I have I've enjoyed.

Here they are with their links:

• Bill Gammage (14:58)
• Jackie French, Part 1 (16:30) and Part 2 (16:22)
• Omar Musa (23:39)
• Roger McDonald (16:32)
• Jennifer Martiniello (10:18)
• Adrian Caesar (16:25)
• Jack Heath (13:19)
• Nigel Featherstone (10:00)
• Peter Stanley (12:25)
• Melinda Smith (9:19)
• Marion Halligan (31:30)
• Kaaron Warren (7:17)
• Craig Cormick (6:15)
• Kim Mahood (9:05)
• Lesley Lebkowicz (8:36)
• Barbara Blackman (13:36)
• Alan Gould (18:58)
• S.K. Helen (11:29)
• Dorothy Johnston (13:12)

There is also the ACT Writers' Showcase which was launched at the same time as the book. It provides more background on the authors in the book, as well as other ACT-related authors.

Paris dreaming by Anita Heiss

This is 'chick, chook or choc lit' for a female readership in the 20-30 age range so it was a little hard for some Minervans to fully appreciate this novel.

It was considered rather lame and lacking substance however that isn't the purpose of this style of literature.  Rather it entertains, discusses fashion, young men and all to do with male/female relationships with a happy conclusion.

Anita Heiss is a young and 'proud member of the Wiradjuri nation of New South Wales as well as being Adjunct Professor with Jumbunna Indigenous House of learning at UTS, Sydney'. (Quote from her website).  Heiss is a prolific writer and researcher, writing children's books, novels (eg Manhattan Dreaming) and non-fiction such as Am I black enough.  She seems highly focussed and thereappears to be a touch of Anita in Lauren in Paris dreaming.

Her choc lit style is incorporated into a novel about a young Indigenous professional woman Lauren who works at the National Aboriginal Gallery in Canberra who has the temerity to push the boundaries. She questions her identity, her single status and her politics. She also extols the wonderful Indigenous artists, writers and poets with possibly an effect upon her reader's knowledge.

We also spoke about the use of Aboriginal words in the novel. These are a good introduction for readers.  We really appreciated the warmth of her relationships with her 'tiddas' -- both in Canberra and in Europe. These are strong bonds and there is a real feeling of responsibility between these good friends. We also liked the mother/daughter relationship, where Lauren is allowed to grow up strong and independent in contrast to her brothers.

Some members felt that Heiss degraded Canberra in contrast to Paris however that is often a feeling when one is bored. Another feature we liked was the introduction of an underlying plot about a Gypsy girl. This highlights Lauren's status as well as her compassion.

Overall an interesting and different novel !      

(February 2013 meeting)
 

Cold Light: Edith comes to Canberra

To start off this Centenary of the Naming of Canberra, we read Frank Moorhouse’s Cold Light, the third in his Edith trilogy.

We had some years before read and discussed Grand Days, the first book, covering his radical heroine Edith’s adventures in Europe and involvement in the League of Nations. He is a witty writer, and Edith a feisty and energetic character. Cold Light was not so warmly received by the group. Many in the group felt it was too long and indulgent, needing some tighter editing, and less labouring of some of the political and personal intrigues. It was obvious Moorhouse had done a lot of research, and wanted to use it in the book!

It was enjoyable to read the references to Canberra in the fifties: to the Canberra Hotel, Parliament House, the city before the Lake, discussion on planning, their home in Forrest etc. The emphasis on having her own office, and being able to furnish it stylishly, as well as her developing relationships with those whom she could trust, was a little insight into the bureaucracy of the time. Some things don’t change!

We agreed Moorhouse tells a good story, and creates some appealing and very human characters. Ambrose, the lavender husband  comes across as witty and warm. Janice was a witty and pragmatic foil to Edith’s earnest brother Frederick, an organiser for the Communist Party. And Edith is passionate, a little vain, ambitious, and adventurous. She seems to be playing at various roles: that of wife and stepmother, her drinking and smoking, a potential gay relationship with Janice. She has an encounter with suburban domesticity with her relationship with Richard, which ends rather sadly.

Sexuality is a continuing thread through the book, as the characters flirt, undertake their own sexual piccadellos, even describing the sensuousness of clothing as Ambrose cross dresses, and Edith herself is open in her sensuality.

Some described the book as a Comedy of Manners, with its arch, flirtatious tone, the dinner parties, and the ‘crass’ social mores of Australia contrasted with European sensibilities.

Other themes we teased out: the resignation of aging; we spent some time trying to discern Edith’s age and felt she would have been in her 50’s or 60’s; and we have a sense of her resignation in the face of her possible death at the end. The failure of idealism, or the shortcoming of ideologies, as the demise of the Communist Party, the failure to stop nuclear armament, and even the compromises in the planning of Canberra are portrayed through his mixture of actual and fictitious characters.

And secrecy: what is known and what is kept secret; we find Ambrose is a spy; Edith is asked to keep secret documents for her brother, Edith and Ambrose are covering up aspects of their relationship … and so on.

We discussed the significance of the title: Cold Light, partly a reference to Canberra and the cold climate, perhaps the cold light shone on Communism (and the Cold War), perhaps the Cold Light of aging and experience, and beyond the heady and idealistic days of our main characters’ youth.

Overall, while there was much to enjoy, and to comment on and discuss in this book, many in the group were somewhat disappointed in the volume, and probably pleased that this is the third and final in this series. We will however continue our journey looking at books with relevance to Canberra in the coming months, and are looking forward to that!

Novel Sentence Challenge, 2012

Some years we set a literary challenge for our end of year celebration - and 2012 was one of those years. The challenge was to write a sentence using all the titles of the books read by the group in the year, with as few additional words as possible.

Here are our contributions, with some rather creative interpretations of the challenge. Who said there's only one way to skin a cat?:


The street sweeper from the plains of Stasiland visiting the museum of innocence was intrigued by the mystery of a hansom cab, a life in seven mistakes of a difficult young man. With pride and prejudice, he cried, clutching his foal's bread, 'I shall not hate the sense of an ending!' (Gerda)

The ending a mystery. A plain life of innocence, no mistakes, street bread and just a little sense of prejudice, some pride and difficulty at the museum, his workplace. So which of the seven cabs in Stasiland swept this hansom young man off the foal? (Jenny C)

When the street sweeper, a difficult young man whom - no, I shall not hate - took the foal's bread rather than the Hansom cab - no mystery there! - across the plains to Stasiland, was this a life in seven mistakes, pride and prejudice, or the sense of an ending - ah that's for the museum of innocence to file! (Kate)

So it was the pride of a difficult young man, the mystery of a foal's bread, which led to the prejudice of Stasiland, where a life in seven mistakes gave rise to the sense of an ending, which I shall not hate, but take off with the street sweeper in a hansom cab. (Kate)

Hate, bread and mystery on the street
Stasiland mistakes innocence for prejudice
Life is ending for the young man on the plains (Kate)

Prejudice is bread to Stasiland
Hate sweeps in a cab to the plains
While innocence mistakes the young. (Kate)

I shall not hate the street sweeper of Stasiland even though he's a difficult young man and his pride and prejudice made me cough up my foal's bread on the plains. What's the sense of ending my life in seven mistakes in the museum of innocence and never solve the mystery of the hansom cab. (Sue B)

I shall not hate the street sweeper, a difficult young man full of pride and prejudice, because he solved the mystery of a hansom cab, before leaving to work at the museum of innocence on the plains of Stasiland where, researching foal’s bread, he experienced the sense of an ending on seeing his life in seven mistakes. (Sue T)

The mystery of a hansom cab laden with Foal's bread parked outside The museum of innocence was solved by The street sweeper; he had The sense of ending his Life in seven mistakes but despite his Pride and prejudice he cried “Though I am A difficult young man I shall not hate The plains of Stasiland”. (Susan H)

The street sweeper watched and listened. The young people talked about the mystery of the hansom cab decayed and abandoned in the yard. They called it quaint. He remembered. Once a difficult young man, full of pride and prejudice had driven it through the dark streets to bury the unwanted out on the plains. The young would soon learn that the cab was not a museum of innocence. He thought and sighed, 'my life in seven mistakes'. He left the room. / A young girl watched an old man walk away muttering nonsense. He had tried to live a quiet and good life, with wishes such as 'I shall not hate' but failed. There was a changing of the guard. It was time to leave Stasiland for the sense of ending.  It was time to think of simple things like foal's bread and leave the dead behind. (Sylvia)

Enjoy ... and think what you might have done!

Gerald Murnane's The plains

Courtesy: Text Publishing

Gerald Murnane's The plains was a fascinating novel for we Minervans to finish our reading year on. It was our third Text Classics book of the year, though we enjoyed looking at the wide range of editions the members who attended the meeting had read.

I use "fascinating" somewhat loosely because most of us found it a challenging read, with some of us enjoying it more than others. One member said that she felt she wasn't getting anywhere, like she "was wading through treacle"! Another said it was "mercifully short"! One member had read several reviews but found they did not really explain the book any more to her. We agreed that that's probably because it's an elusive book and one that's not easy to explain ... which may in fact be part of Murnane's intention.

So, I won't really try to explain it except to say that it's told first person by a narrator who, at the beginning, is a young man who travels to the plains with the intention of making a film about them and the plainspeople. The plains are not defined in specific detail other than being, perhaps, Other Australia. (They are probably inspired, though, by the plains of northwest Victoria). The rest of the novel (novella?) comprises this character's discussions, meditations, ruminations on life among the plains people, mostly from the home of the landowner who has become his patron. The novel starts:

Twenty years ago, when I first arrived on the plains, I kept my eyes open. I looked for anything in the landscape that seemed to hint at some elaborate meaning behind appearances.

Our discussion started with one member suggesting that the novel felt a bit like academic life. She elaborated by saying that it's about a group of people beavering away in their own arbitrarily defined worlds with their own set of assumptions. These people pursue their ideas in their own way, and follow and follow and follow those ideas, not worrying if along the way the ideas they are pursuing become disconnected from life. The obscure wars between Horizonites and Haremen seemed also to fit in with this idea. How many obscure academic disputes - wars even - have happened over the centuries?

One member in particular found it a frustrating read and was infuriated by the secondary role women play in the novel, stating that this dated the novel. She also felt that its focus on wealthy landowners dated it. Others argued that it's a timeless, mythical sort of book and that therefore these things that might bother them in a realistic novel did not bother them here.

What made the book hardest to read, we felt, is the fact that it has no real characterisation or plot, making it quite an alternative sort of literature. This reminded us of Samuel Beckett - and one reader said that her introduction by the American poet, Zawacki, noted that Murnane is closest to writers like Proust, Beckett, and Kafka. The scene in the pub where the artists are waiting to be called into their interviews with the landowners was somewhat reminiscent, a member said, of the characters waiting for the trial in Kafka.

We talked about the beauty of the sentences. Many were long, and some were hard to grasp, but they were generally beautifully formed and lovely to read. It was suggested that you could take almost any sentence and have a philosophical discussion about it. Some felt the first part of the three-part book was the easiest to read and comprehend, while others found the last two parts more readable. Some of us found the book funny, and at times satiric or ironic. It seems often to deal in paradoxes. We wondered whether Murnane is also a poet, as the writing feels a bit like poetry, particularly in the abstract way it explores ideas.

We discussed the idea that our reaction to this book says perhaps more about us as readers than about the book - an interesting idea to contemplate because perhaps, more than most books we've read, this book made us think about the reading process and what we like and don't like, what we look for. We learnt a little more about each other as readers as a result!

As to what the book is about, we threw up many ideas, such as:

• Time, and how we understand time.
• Possibilities and not wanting to achieve them or pin them down but rather to always have them ahead, undefined and unresolved. 
• The idea of secret lives happening, of culture going on elsewhere that we know nothing about.
• History and the desire to make sense of records from the past that might in fact be quite arbitrary.

Another issue we explored was whether we might be able to draw any conclusions from when it was written. It was published in 1982, the Fraser era, a pre-modern (our current modern anyhow!) Australia when, although we were highly urbanised, we still had a sense of being defined by the bush, by the interior. One member saw shades of Patrick White's Voss in the sense of looking inwards, though said they are very different books. Another said it felt a little like Cormac McCarthy's Blood meridian and the mythic sense he conveys with larger than life characters, though again said they are very different books.

Finally we discussed the fact that the narrator plans to make a film - though he never does. We considered Australian films like The proposition and The tracker (in which the characters aren't named). These films focus somewhat on how we deal with landscape, with place. We wondered whether Murnane is creating in this novel a filmic view of ourselves, a chimera perhaps? There's a sense of exploring the nexus between illusion and reality and not being sure, or not wanting to define, where one ends and the other begins. Without giving anything away, the novel closes on an image of the narrator with his "eye pressed against the lens" of his camera. One member thought was a perfect image - in and, perhaps, for the book.

Please, Minervans, add your comments below because this was a hard discussion to write up!