tag:theconversation.com,2011:/uk/topics/biography-659/articlesBiography – The Conversation2024-02-27T19:10:18Ztag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2228102024-02-27T19:10:18Z2024-02-27T19:10:18Z‘Who cares for men like Brian Houston?’ The Hillsong leader’s rise and fall is a gripping story, but how was it allowed to happen?<p>Hillsong was first formed in 1983 by Brian and Bobbie Houston as the “decidedly functional, even dowdy” The Hills Christian Life Centre, in outer-suburban Sydney. Now one of Australia’s most recognisable Pentecostal megachurches, it has congregations and campuses across the globe. </p>
<p>In recent years, “unlikely king” Brian got widespread attention as a “close friend” of Scott Morrison, who had regularly attended Horizon Church, founded by a former Hillsong pastor, before he became Australia’s prime minister.</p>
<p>However, Houston resigned in March last year, after <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/world/2022/mar/19/hillsong-church-apologises-after-investigations-find-brian-houston-engaged-in-inappropriate-behaviour">allegations of inappropriate conduct</a> of “serious concern” with two women.</p>
<p>In the same month, Hillsong was accused in Australia’s parliament of <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/news/2023-03-10/federal-mp-accuses-hillsong-money-laundering-tax-evasion/102077080">“fraud, money laundering and tax evasion”</a>. And last August, Houston was found not guilty of charges of covering up sexual abuse by his pastor father Frank, <a href="https://www.smh.com.au/national/nsw/brian-houston-found-not-guilty-of-covering-up-father-s-child-sexual-abuse-20230817-p5dx7m.html">whom he described as a “serial paedophile”</a>. (The court accepted Brian’s claim his father’s victim had asked him not to report to police.) </p>
<p>In the last two years, there have been two four-part documentary series, a podcast and and an SBS documentary on Hillsong.</p>
<p>Now, Crikey journalist David Hardaker tells the story of Hillsong in his new book, <a href="https://www.allenandunwin.com/browse/book/David-Hardaker-Mine-is-the-Kingdom-9781761069123">Mine is the Kingdom</a>. </p>
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<p><em>Review: Mine is the Kingdom: The Rise and Fall of Brian Houston and the Hillsong Church – David Hardaker (Allen & Unwin)</em></p>
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<h2>How do we tell Hillsong’s story?</h2>
<p>How did Hillsong come to dominate Australian Pentecostalism – and Australian Christianity more broadly? Through the 1990s and 2000s, Hillsong drew crowds and attention: it was young, vibrant and popular. Until at least 2016, Pentecostal churches <a href="https://journal.equinoxpub.com/JASR/article/view/2089">were growing</a> while other Christian churches were declining.</p>
<p>Hardaker tells the story of Hillsong by charting Houston’s ministry through a “rise and fall” narrative, in which the success and failure of Hillsong and Houston become one and the same. For Hardaker, “Hillsong was Houston, and Houston was Hillsong. It was a concentration of fame and power not possible in the traditional Christian denominations.” </p>
<p>He begins by depicting Brian Houston as a boy from New Zealand who “inherited his father’s name as a leading New Zealand preacher, but not much in the way of wealth”. The Houstons moved to Sydney in the 1970s after Frank Houston received “a picture of Sydney, Australia” and a divine message to start a church there. </p>
<p>Hardaker presents Frank and Brian Houston as “outsiders” who “moved to the very top of the Assemblies of God movement in Australia”. He then documents the early contributions of other key players, drawing on a mix of news sources, documentaries and interviews conducted for the book. </p>
<p>Hillsong is known for its <a href="https://brill.com/display/book/edcoll/9789004425798/BP000011.xml">music</a>. While music production is not central to the book, one chapter begins with former music pastor Geoff Bullock, who left his ABC job in the late 1980s to work for Hillsong full-time. He left the church in 1995, after 12 years, deciding he no longer shared its vision. </p>
<p>This chapter also introduces Nabi Saleh, former co-owner of Gloria Jeans coffee chain, who is described as a “fabulously wealthy” donor and key advisor to Houston. Hardaker shows how the business interests of Gloria Jeans and Hillsong were often “symbiotic”, with coffee shops on site at Hillsong churches and Gloria Jeans franchises owned by Hillsong attendees (who returned financial tithes or donations to the church). </p>
<p>He details how Saleh cultivated relationships with leading American evangelical preachers, including two, Casey Treat and Rick Godwin (also authors and motivational speakers) who were “among the most influential” in Houston’s life.</p>
<h2>‘Go to another church’</h2>
<p>In the second half of the book, Hardaker moves on to discuss “the sins of the son”. He begins by turning to an incident in 2019, when Houston spent 40 minutes in a hotel room with a woman “known to Houston as a financial supporter of the church”. </p>
<p>Little detail is known about this incident, and <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/religion/2022/03/21/hillsong-brian-houston-board/">Hillsong has stated</a> Houston can’t recall what happened in the room, as he was under the influence of alcohol while taking anxiety medication. </p>
<p>Hardaker also focuses on the mishandling of complaints made by <a href="https://www.christianpost.com/news/after-assault-by-hillsong-church-administrator-she-fought-back.html">Anna Crenshaw</a>, who was assaulted by Jason Mays, an administrator and volunteer singer at Hillsong, at a party in 2016. She was 18. She says Hillsong only took her complaint seriously and notified police after her father, an influential American pastor, pushed church leaders to act. Hardaker describes this as starting Hillsong’s “own #MeToo movement”.</p>
<p>Hardaker records that one young woman, Helen Smith, said after the Crenshaw incident:</p>
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<p>I wasn’t sure that I was okay with taking my kids to church, which is what I grew up expecting I would do. I didn’t see it as a safe place anymore for me or my children. The way they handle serious allegations, they think that they’re above the law.</p>
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<p>In documenting these accounts, Hardaker is compelling, while largely resisting sensationalism.</p>
<p>In the next chapter, Hardaker takes us back to 1995. He describes the burnout experienced by volunteer music and production crews. Bullock re-enters the story, and recalls telling Houston, “Listen, if we keep going this hard, it’s gonna break.” </p>
<p>“This was a spiritual home for them and they were just working like dogs,” he reflects. Houston apparently had little concern, dismissing Bullock by saying, “you’re not a union rep […] if they don’t like it […] Go to another church.” </p>
<p>Houston’s response is certainly uncaring. Yet, churches typically rely on volunteer labour and Hillsong is no different in this sense. As Hardaker notes, “Hillsong’s music had taken off worldwide and was set to become the river of gold that would fund the church’s expansion.” </p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/were-told-pentecostal-churches-like-hillsong-are-growing-in-australia-but-theyre-not-anymore-is-there-a-gender-problem-199413">We're told Pentecostal churches like Hillsong are growing in Australia, but they're not anymore – is there a gender problem?</a>
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<h2>The pastor and the politician</h2>
<p>Hardaker describes Houston’s dream of “a world beyond borders, where Hillsong and Pentecostal Christianity would reign”. Houston, who “ruled the roost” as a “salesman” for Jesus, is described throughout using images of monarchical rule, sales and showmanship. </p>
<p>Hardaker is interested in another rise and fall, too. Hardaker weaves Houston’s story with that of Scott Morrison, whom he works to “unravel”. The first chapter sets up this dual narrative by recounting <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2019/jul/10/scott-morrison-calls-for-more-love-as-he-prays-for-australia-at-hillsong-conference">the moment</a> “the two men – the pastor and the politician – prayed on stage together”, at the 2019 Hillsong conference. “Both of them, at this moment, were at the peak of their powers.”</p>
<p>This pairing is an interesting aspect of Hardaker’s book – one I wish had featured more prominently. </p>
<p>The convergence of Pentecostal theologies and neoliberal ideologies is embedded in the text, but underexplored. Early on, Hardaker uses Morrison’s oft-repeated refrain, “if you have a go, you’ll get a go”, to introduce the concept of prosperity teaching and to frame the wealth of the Houstons and Hillsong</p>
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<p>As the Houston story would show, all things were possible if you had the spirit to spread the word of Jesus Christ. If you had a go you would certainly get a go – and a God-given go at that.</p>
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<p>Hardaker explains that within prosperity teaching, the word “blessing” has</p>
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<p>an overt meaning of “material blessing”. It was based on an interpretation of the Bible that Christ lived in poverty while on earth so that we could live well and be removed from the curse of poverty. […] if we did not claim our rightful blessings as Children of God, then we were wasting the life of poverty that Christ had led.</p>
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<p>This is a risky lesson. Hardaker rightly notes it “has the effect of demonising the poor: if you are wealthy because you believe in God, then the flip side is that you are poor because you lack faith.” </p>
<p>Pentecostalism’s creep into Morrison’s politics emerges as a key issue. Hardaker contends:</p>
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<p>In some ways, Houston’s brand of prosperity Pentecostalism is so perfectly intertwined with neoliberal thinking that it is difficult to say where the religion stops and the political policy begins.</p>
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<p>Though Australians tend to feel uneasy when they see religion creeping into public life, Christianity has <a href="https://theconversation.com/yes-religion-plays-a-more-prominent-role-in-politics-but-secular-australia-has-always-been-a-myth-160107">long been part of it</a> – through policy, education, church-based charity and welfare. </p>
<p>Pentecostal leaders and churches who embody the neoliberal values of individualism, competition, market value and merit are not merely influencing politics – they are <a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/24764190">responding to neoliberal conditions</a>. </p>
<p>As pastors and politicians continue to “rise and fall”, we need to look to the systems and cultures that enable them.</p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">Scott Morrison called allegations he tried to get Brian Houston invited to a US dinner ‘gossip’, but refused to deny them.</span></figcaption>
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<h2>A familiar pattern</h2>
<p>Brian Houston is not the first evangelical leader to “rise and fall”. Hardaker tells us other global ministers Houston had been close to fell from grace long before he did.</p>
<p>Hardaker illustrates a “familiar pattern”. South Korea’s <a href="https://www.christianpost.com/news/megachurch-pastor-david-yonggi-cho-convicted-of-embezzling-12m-says-suffering-taught-him-individuals-shouldnt-possess-anything.html">David Yonggi Cho</a> embezzled church funds. In the US, <a href="https://abcnews.go.com/US/scandals-brought-bakkers-uss-famous-televangelists/story?id=60389342">Jim Bakker</a> was found to have sexually assaulted a church staff member and committed fraud.</p>
<p>“Rise and fall” narratives bring us into the lives of powerful leaders and show how the worlds they create spectacularly fall apart. As outsiders looking in, the personal drama is part of the appeal. </p>
<p>The problem? Such narratives frame these once-powerful leaders as the source of trouble. If only we could be rid of such people, churches (and parliament) might be safer, healthier places! It is an enticing idea. </p>
<p>However, we need to look beyond analysing the actions of any individual church leader. We need to ask what sort of systems allow abuses of power to happen again and again.</p>
<p>In her analysis of the now-dissolved American megachurch Mars Hill, anthropologist <a href="https://www.dukeupress.edu/biblical-porn">Jessica Johnson</a> argues we should not view abuse of spiritual authority as the isolated acts of a few bad men: the supposed rotten apples. Rather, we need to attend to the networks and systems that support and produce the kind of hierarchical leadership which parishioners do not feel safe to question.</p>
<p>If we want a healthier Hillsong, we cannot look just to Brian Houston. While he may have been the founder and face of the movement, the movement is bigger than him.</p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/religion-would-take-my-life-two-women-testify-to-enduring-and-surviving-harm-in-evangelical-christian-communities-207146">'Religion would take my life': two women testify to enduring and surviving harm in evangelical Christian communities</a>
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<h2>Who cares?</h2>
<p>Throughout the book, Hardaker points to a lack of institutional accountability to explain both the minimisation of Frank Houston’s crimes and the “reign” of Brian. Hillsong’s elders were apparently unaware of how Brian Houston operated as global pastor: </p>
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<p>Hillsong’s elders are the church’s most illustrious figures; some date their association with the church back to its earliest days. They are meant to act as spiritual counsellors and to provide wise advice to the church, But they were now hearing disturbing details about Brian’s behaviours for the first time.</p>
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<p>This raises more questions than it answers. If a church has elders who are charged with providing spiritual care, how can a king-like leader rise without being kept in check – and without being cared for? Is a leader only in need of oversight after they fall? And then, are they cared for or cast aside? How can we make sure such a figure does not rise again? </p>
<p>Who actually cares for men like Brian Houston? I mean that in its most generous sense. Houston was successful. Hardaker asks: “So why the pills? And why the Booze?”. He refers us to an interview Houston gave in 2018:</p>
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<p>I was overseeing a whole movement of churches in Australia, eleven hundred churches. I sort of dealt with it as a church level and on a father level … but I’ve probably never, ever really looked after myself, and the grieving and the impact on myself. So from that point – over the next, maybe, ten to twelve years – I think, slowly, I was winding down emotionally.</p>
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<p>Neoliberal conditions push us to be responsible for our “<a href="https://theconversation.com/how-neoliberalism-colonised-feminism-and-what-you-can-do-about-it-94856">own wellbeing and self-care</a>”. Yet, at the same time, the need to work, to make money, to be bigger and better, often robs us of the ability to genuinely care for ourselves or our communities. </p>
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<p>I’m wary of being overly sympathetic towards Brian Houston, but for the sake of the community of believers who were under his “care”, we need to ask: who is making sure these people and their leaders are genuinely cared for? </p>
<p>Houston may have cared for his own material wealth, but did he have the capacity to care for his spiritual and emotional health, to seek help when it was needed or to genuinely care for others?</p>
<p>As Hardaker acknowledges, within Pentecostal Christianity “the extraordinary reigns” and miracles are commonplace. Christianity itself is centred on the belief the dead do rise. </p>
<p>Phil Dooley, the new global pastor of Hillsong, wants Hillsong under his leadership to be a <a href="https://hillsong.com/newsroom/blog/2022/08/church-update-evening-building-a-healthier-church/">“healthier” church</a>. Brian and Bobbie Houston have <a href="https://relevantmagazine.com/faith/church/former-hillsong-pastor-brian-houston-is-starting-a-new-church/">announced on social media</a> they’re starting a new online ministry and church. </p>
<p>As we plot the rise and fall – and potential rebirth – of churches such as Hillsong, we should leave space in the narrative to carefully attend to the ways churches and their leaders are safeguarding against spiritual, financial and sexual harm. </p>
<p>We should care that Christian leaders are cared for, so they may be able to care for those in their community.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/222810/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Rosie Clare Shorter does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>A new biography tells the story of Hillsong and its leader Brian Houston. How did Hillsong come to dominate Australian Pentecostalism – and Australian Christianity? What can we learn from its decline?Rosie Clare Shorter, Research fellow, Deakin UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2209762024-01-18T15:30:58Z2024-01-18T15:30:58ZSoul Brothers: the story of a band that revolutionised South African music<p>Biographies of important South African musicians often fall into two categories: they either emerge from PhD or other university-based research, or are the fruit of dedicated digging by a fan or family member. The first kind benefit from institutional resources and support; the second from community knowledge of personal details that may be documented nowhere else. </p>
<p>Because of that very scarcity of a public record, the first kind might miss many parts of the story that can’t be checked in formal records and archives. The second risks being bent out of shape by hero-worship or fallible memory.</p>
<p>Sydney Fetsie Maluleke’s book <a href="https://www.google.co.za/books/edition/The_Life_and_Times/1qyXtQEACAAJ?hl=en">The Life and Times of the Soul Brothers</a> benefits from an author with a foot in each camp. Maluleke is a university-schooled researcher, but also an insider fan – he’s administered the band’s <a href="https://www.facebook.com/p/Soul-Brothers-100044409727019/">Facebook page</a> and comes from a family who, by his own account, were even more fanatical than he is about the legendary <a href="https://www.allmusic.com/artist/the-soul-brothers-mn0000044338#biography">band</a>. </p>
<p>So the book, recently revised and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vjMypAcv41g">relaunched</a> for its second edition, combines the strengths of both kinds of biography, and avoids most of their weaknesses.</p>
<h2>Who are the Soul Brothers?</h2>
<p>The <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCVo6lHNFkz3h-aWIaR-pa-g">Soul Brothers</a>, formed in KwaZulu-Natal province in the mid-1970s by the late vocalist <a href="https://www.timeslive.co.za/sunday-times/opinion-and-analysis/2015-07-12-obituary-david-masondo-lead-singer-of-sowetos-legendary-soul-brothers/">David Masondo</a> and keyboardist <a href="https://iono.fm/e/1373266">Black Moses Ngwenya</a> (and still working as a band today, though with new players), was the outfit that shaped the sound of South African <a href="https://www.masterclass.com/articles/mbaqanga-music-guide">mbaqanga</a>. That’s the name of a popular genre blending traditional African vocal styles and lyrical tropes with transformed borrowings from western pop. It grew from a predominantly Zulu-speaking fanbase to dominate Black South African hit parades for more than a decade.</p>
<p>The band scored multiple gold and platinum hits, and although their most recent studio recording was more than a decade ago, Soul Brothers music still gets radio play and is popular at family and neighbourhood parties. Soul Brothers were innovators. They drew in members from across language groups, and multiple inspirations, at the very time the South African <a href="https://www.sahistory.org.za/article/history-apartheid-south-africa">apartheid</a> regime was entrenching separation and difference. </p>
<p>Incorporating Ngwenya’s soul keyboard into what had begun as Zulu close-harmony vocals and guitar work was as startling an innovation for mbaqanga as US musician <a href="https://raycharles.com">Ray Charles</a>’ introduction of electric piano had been for American rhythm and blues. </p>
<p>Tired of exploitation by big, white-run record labels, the Soul Brothers also established their own label and studio, making them part of South Africa’s first generation of modern Black music entrepreneurs too.</p>
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<p>Maluleke’s book takes us through all these developments. Though its subtitle describes the narrative as told “through the eyes of Black Moses”, he’s careful to source what he learns, label what is contested, and acknowledge that other interpretations are possible. </p>
<p>The book’s voice is resonantly human. Though chapters are organised thematically around the lives of various artists and the group’s stages of development, the story backtracks, repeats and comes at the same subject from different angles, just as people do when they speak. At points, I found myself hankering for more direct quotes from these insider voices and less paraphrase.</p>
<h2>A new edition</h2>
<p>The book’s first edition in 2017, Maluleke tells us, left out the setbacks and disputes from the tale, something for which Ngwenya himself gently rebuked the author. So in this second edition we learn also, for example, of the professionalism that permitted spellbinding and seamless ensemble performances onstage while, behind the scenes, the principals were literally not talking to one another because of disputes over leadership and power dynamics.</p>
<p>Maluleke and his family’s obsessive fandom, meanwhile, means there’s a priceless archive of press clippings, album covers and photographs to draw on. That provides nearly 40 pages of illustrative evidence to deepen the story. </p>
<p>Along the way, there are multiple bonuses not advertised on the cover: histories of associated musicians such as the veteran <a href="https://umsakazo.bandcamp.com/album/makgona-tsohle-reggi">Makgona Tsohle Band</a>, explanations of tradition, and descriptions of township community life more than half a century ago. Though the <a href="https://www.britannica.com/topic/township-South-Africa">townships</a> – segregated and impoverished areas for black workers removed from the “white” cities – had been designed by apartheid, residents built their own rich networks of solidarity, self-help and shared culture. Music was one of its <a href="https://books.google.co.za/books/about/Soweto_Blues.html?id=_fwkCIKoTpgC&redir_esc=y">pillars</a>. </p>
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<p>For me, a big surprise was learning that the young Ngwenya – regarded today as South Africa’s finest mbaqanga keyboardist – was inspired back in the 1960s by watching the rehearsals of the band Durban Expressions, whose keyboardist became one of the country’s finest jazz players: the late <a href="https://www.independent.co.uk/news/obituaries/bheki-mseleku-south-african-jazz-pianist-932017.html">Bheki Mseleku</a>. </p>
<p>All those are strengths that could make the book a storehouse of inspiration for music scholars. Each one of its details and detours could inspire a study of its own.</p>
<h2>Some flaws</h2>
<p>The book’s flaws, where they exist, emerge from the strains of producing a book on a shoestring budget. Maluleke, quoting Nigerian writer <a href="https://www.britannica.com/biography/Chinua-Achebe">Chinua Achebe</a>, wrote it because he was determined the history of lions must not be written by the hunters alone. The book did have one editor: veteran broadcaster and popular music expert Max Mojapelo, whose encyclopaedic industry knowledge no doubt enriched the history. </p>
<p>But it needed another, more prosaic kind of editor as well: a copy editor. </p>
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<p>There are rather too many typographical errors and inconsistencies in, for example, the use of italics for song and album titles. Some date references are clearly unrevised from the 2017 edition. And there is no index; that makes the contents less accessible. </p>
<h2>Hugely important story</h2>
<p>Yet, if Maluleke had waited until more resources were available, he – and we – might still be waiting. A story hugely important for South African popular music history would have remained largely untold. He made the right choice. </p>
<p>Every music fan eager to understand how the “indestructible sound of Soweto” was born and shaped is in his debt.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/220976/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Gwen Ansell does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>The book tells the inside story of how they changed the sound of urban pop.Gwen Ansell, Associate of the Gordon Institute for Business Science, University of PretoriaLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2166192023-11-23T19:02:22Z2023-11-23T19:02:22ZFriday essay: ‘when the facts conflict with the legend’ – how does a biographer balance storytelling with the truth?<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/561178/original/file-20231122-26-fufacy.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C0%2C6720%2C4466&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Ron Lach/Pexels</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>In October 1975, at a talk in Wollongong, Frank Moorhouse discussed the first project for which he deliberately undertook archival and historical research – a feature film called <a href="https://www.austlit.edu.au/austlit/page/C532391">Between Wars</a>. This process would become integral to Frank’s work.</p>
<p>It would culminate in his celebrated “Edith trilogy”, which followed the League of Nations (a forerunner of the United Nations) from the 1920s through the 1940s, then the establishment of Canberra as our nation’s “Capitol” in the 1950s, through the fictional Edith Campbell Berry.</p>
<p>In Wollongong, Frank discussed balancing what he called “the historical element” with the “the narrative element”. In his notes for that talk, he wrote: “When the facts conflict with the legend print the legend.”</p>
<p>Since 2015, I have been working on a two-volume <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/frank-moorhouse-strange-paths-9780143786122">biography of Frank Moorhouse</a>. This has involved its own process of archival and historical research. </p>
<p>But biography is a sub-field of history. For a biographer, when the legend conflicts with the facts – print the facts. The problem is that establishing the facts, and disentangling fact from legend, is not as straightforward as one would hope – especially when the subject is a protean figure like Frank Moorhouse. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/556508/original/file-20231030-23-11of4i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/556508/original/file-20231030-23-11of4i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/556508/original/file-20231030-23-11of4i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=377&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/556508/original/file-20231030-23-11of4i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=377&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/556508/original/file-20231030-23-11of4i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=377&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/556508/original/file-20231030-23-11of4i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=473&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/556508/original/file-20231030-23-11of4i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=473&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/556508/original/file-20231030-23-11of4i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=473&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Frank Moorhouse at his Ewenton Street studio, circa 1970s.</span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>When initially considering this project, I realised although I had read many literary biographies, I had never really considered how biographies are written. I took for granted certain aspects of the process, which involve complicated, time-consuming reconstructions. </p>
<p>Take, for example, establishing a seemingly simple timeline. I first pulled together a basic chronology of Frank’s life from various public sources. I found nearly 2,000 articles referencing Frank, which included public statements by and about Frank. There were interviews, reviews and news reports on various activities he was involved in. </p>
<p>Frank gave me a 30-page curriculum vitae. He had also written various pieces of memoir over the years. This allowed me to define the scope of the project. </p>
<p>I also started working through Frank’s archives. The initial plan was to integrate the general outline I had pulled together with the more detailed contents of the archive – to use the outline as a method to organise the archival material, a form of call and response. </p>
<p>This proved to be wrongheaded and embarrassingly naïve. </p>
<p>Increasingly, the archive contradicted both my outline and the public sources. Additional research was required to establish otherwise simple facts and sequences of events. There were two seemingly trivial moments, in particular, that forced me to reconsider nearly everything. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/bringing-edith-home-frank-moorhouses-cold-light-7270">Bringing Edith home: Frank Moorhouse's Cold Light</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>‘I speak for Whitlam at the Opera House’</h2>
<p>In 1980, Frank edited <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/days-of-wine-and-rage-9781742746562">Days of Wine and Rage</a>, an idiosyncratic anthology of the 1970s. One section opens with a reference to <a href="https://theconversation.com/australian-politics-explainer-gough-whitlams-dismissal-as-prime-minister-74148">Gough Whitlam’s dismissal</a> on November 11, 1975. The second piece is an excerpt from <a href="https://theconversation.com/donald-hornes-lucky-country-and-the-decline-of-the-public-intellectual-80743">Donald Horne</a>’s <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/709947">Death of the Lucky Country</a> (1976), a book about the dismissal and the subsequent federal election on December 13, 1975. </p>
<p>The first piece, however, is by Frank, titled: “I speak for Whitlam at the Opera House”. Frank writes about a lunchtime rally that took place at the Sydney Opera House, with 3,000 people inside and 8,000 people outside. After, at the Journalists’ Club, Frank immediately fell asleep – from “the suppressed tension of it all”.</p>
<p>I wanted to include this anecdote in my biography because of something it illustrated about Frank’s character. He was a very shy person, riddled with anxiety and what he referred to as “verbal impotence”, particularly when speaking to an audience. What is interesting about Frank is that in spite of this, he forced himself to engage publicly, at cost to himself.</p>
<p>The problem? The only corroborating evidence for this incident was a letter Frank wrote to his ex-wife in June 1974 – 18 months before Whitlam’s dismissal. There was no rally at the Opera House following the dismissal, though there was a campaign launch there before the December 1975 election – which Labor lost. </p>
<p>And <a href="https://www.smh.com.au/politics/federal/there-s-a-surefire-way-for-labor-to-lose-the-next-election-20191027-p534km.html">there was such a rally</a> in May 1974, the week of the 1974 federal election – which Labor won; one month before Frank wrote about the event to his ex-wife. The anecdote holds, but the context, and more importantly, the date of the anecdote – and where it fits in the sequence of Frank’s life – is very different. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/jenny-hocking-why-my-battle-for-access-to-the-palace-letters-should-matter-to-all-australians-139738">Jenny Hocking: why my battle for access to the 'Palace letters' should matter to all Australians</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Nude sunbathing and copyright</h2>
<p>This made me reconsider a second trivial anecdote, regarding a landmark copyright case Frank was involved in. In September 1973, a story from one of Frank’s books was photocopied without his permission in the library at the University of New South Wales. </p>
<p>In October 1973, Frank first met with David Catterns and Peter Banki, from the Copyright Council. They had engineered this violation in order to bring a test case before the courts, arguing that copyright holders should be paid for their work being copied and used. </p>
<p>The court case took place between April and May 1974. <em>Moorhouse and Angus & Robertson (Publishers) Pty. Ltd. v. University of New South Wales</em> was part of a larger strategy that eventually led to the establishment of the Copyright Agency Ltd, a not-for-profit that, <a href="https://www.copyright.com.au/about-us/what-we-do/">among other things</a>, collects licensing fees for reusing copyright materials, which it then distributes to copyright holders. </p>
<p>But copyright law is dry and the only sources were court documents and transcripts. I needed something to inject some of Frank’s own personality into the proceedings. </p>
<p>In the 1990s, Frank gave various talks about the case. One anecdote Frank told was about how one day he was reading a book about copyright, while sunbathing naked with a woman friend in the backyard at his Ewenton Street studio, when suddenly his heart started pounding: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>I said to My Friend, there in the garden – “my god, intellectual property is about the very nature of existence. Intellectual property is the key to all understanding”.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>He then explains three approaches to intellectual property – in terms of collective rights, moral rights, and economic rights. </p>
<p>One could be forgiven for placing this anecdote in late 1973 or early 1974. Frank explicitly places it as occurring “one day around the time of Moorhouse v University of NSW”. </p>
<p>But the problem is, in another version of the anecdote, Frank names the book he was reading that day: <a href="https://catalogue.nla.gov.au/catalog/496385">Copyright in International Relations</a> by M.M. Boguslavsky. This book was published in Australia by the Copyright Council, edited by David Catterns, in 1979 – six years after the start of the copyright case, four years after the High Court’s final judgement in August 1975. </p>
<p>Maybe Frank got the book wrong? Perhaps. But this forced a closer look at 1979. I found a reference in October to a woman friend sunbathing nude at Ewenton Street. The following month Frank attended a symposium, hosted by the Copyright Council, on the question of moral rights. The speakers were Peter Banki and David Catterns. Frank was given a copy of their talks beforehand – with, or without, the Boguslavsky book. </p>
<p>Frank’s reference to moral rights and the expansive claim that “Intellectual property is the key to all understanding” is more consistent with that 1979 event than with the copyright case from years earlier. That case was deliberately narrowed down to the single legal question of “authorisation”.</p>
<p>And so, on balance, that anecdote does not hold, at least not as a point of entry into the 1973–74 copyright case. I omitted it from the biography, on the grounds that when the legend conflicts with the facts – print the facts, even when they are dry.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/books-3-has-revealed-thousands-of-pirated-australian-books-in-the-age-of-ai-is-copyright-law-still-fit-for-purpose-214637">Books 3 has revealed thousands of pirated Australian books. In the age of AI, is copyright law still fit for purpose?</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>‘I find it impossible to remember’</h2>
<p>We are all unreliable narrators of our own lives. Faulty memory and self-deception inflict us all when reflecting on our past. Frank is no exception; statements about his own life should not be taken at face value. This unreliability should be taken into account when weighing such statements. </p>
<p>Perhaps this is enough to account for the errors regarding these two stated moments? Frank himself suggests an additional explanation. </p>
<p>Writers of literary fiction often draw on actual experiences as a starting point for their work, which becomes – filtered through imagination, literary convention and narrative necessity – something very different from that initial experience. Frank had been writing since he was 12 years old, but as he got older he became aware of a peculiar psychological effect: the act of writing fiction distorted his memory in a particular way. </p>
<p>“By incorporating one incident and processing it into fiction I find it impossible to remember how that incident occurred in reality,” he wrote to a friend in 1967. “I have difficulty in remembering now what incidents occurred in my life and what occurred in stories.” </p>
<p>Two years later, aged only 30, he told an adult education class that one of the “losses” a writer “suffers” is the actual “incidents” of one’s own life: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>he loses the accurate memory of how it actually happened once he uses, however loosely, a mood or an incident or a character – the created incident, mood or character is not simply confused by the fiction it is in fact replaced by the fiction.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Could this process also have occurred in balancing “the historical element” of his own life with the “the narrative element” in recounting that life? There are many examples which suggest so. Moreover, as with this distortion of memory when writing fiction, Frank is aware of this process occurring when telling his own life story.</p>
<p>During an address in 1997 – where he first relates the anecdote about nude sunbaking and copyright – Frank opens by outlining his first meeting with David Catterns and Peter Banki. “I see it occurring in the famous Marble Bar where Henry Lawson once drank,” he said. But did it occur in the Marble Bar? </p>
<p>In 1989, Frank gave an earlier talk about the Copyright Agency Ltd, titled: “How CAL got started in the Marble Bar”. There are two versions in the archives. </p>
<p>In the first version, where Catterns and Banki are referred to by their initials, Frank writes: “My first serious meeting with DC and PB was one day back in 1974 in the famous Marble Bar where <a href="https://theconversation.com/henry-lawson-and-judith-wright-were-deaf-but-theyre-rarely-acknowledged-as-disabled-writers-why-does-that-matter-208365">Henry Lawson</a> once drank.” In the second draft Frank keeps this sentence, putting their names in full, but adding in parenthesis: “I say Marble Bar because meetings did occur there, but it is a metaphorical site to dramatise the compression of many conversations over many months in many places.” </p>
<p>Frank admits he does not remember where that first meeting took place, and so he creates a legend which, after being repeated enough times becomes considered as fact.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/560643/original/file-20231121-27-7kth9r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/560643/original/file-20231121-27-7kth9r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/560643/original/file-20231121-27-7kth9r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/560643/original/file-20231121-27-7kth9r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/560643/original/file-20231121-27-7kth9r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/560643/original/file-20231121-27-7kth9r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/560643/original/file-20231121-27-7kth9r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/560643/original/file-20231121-27-7kth9r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Frank Moorhouse once wrote that the Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) started in the Marble Bar, where Henry Lawson once drank – but did it?</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/evarinaldiphotography/">Eva Rinaldi/Flickr</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Likewise, the legend of the 1975 Opera House rally was consecrated in 2005 in a book published by Melbourne University Press, titled: <a href="https://www.mup.com.au/books/the-dismissal-paperback-softback">The Dismissal: Where were you on November 11, 1975?</a>. Frank wrote one of the pieces, relating how that day he was at lunch with Donald Horne in the staff club at the University of New South Wales when news came in over the radio. </p>
<p>Frank segues into the legend of the rally: “In the following weeks, although I supported no political party, I was invited to speak at a great rally of support for Whitlam at the Sydney Opera House…” He repeats the story from Days of Wine and Rage, including falling asleep at the Journalists’ Club after. </p>
<p>But even here, Frank seems to be aware of the vagaries of memory and narrative, even as he applies this selectively. In a footnote to this 2005 piece, Frank adds a proviso: “Donald and I have different recollections of who was at this lunch. Never trust oral history.” </p>
<p>And never trust the legend.</p>
<h2>Jaded with journalism</h2>
<p>There is a further biographical thread that complicates this matter: a question of intellectual honesty and Frank’s relationship with the media. After graduating from high school, Frank started working as a copy boy, quickly becoming a cadet, then a journalist. </p>
<p>Before he was 21, he was editing a newspaper in Lockhart, New South Wales. He worked off and on as a journalist: for the ABC in the 1960s, The Bulletin in the 1970s, freelance reporting since the 1980s. He maintained his membership of the Australian Journalists Association for decades – hence his falling asleep at the Journalists’ Club in 1974. But he was never entirely comfortable being a journalist. This was a day job, so he could pursue his own writing. </p>
<p>He became jaded with journalism very early on. As a cadet he argued with more seasoned journalists over their use of hyperbole in writing stories, or with their poor treatment of citizens on the court beat. Frank exercised an intellectual honesty that put him at odds with his professional cohort. As an editor in Lockhart, it also put him at odds with the rest of the township. </p>
<p>This was fuelled by Frank’s reading in the history, sociology and psychology of media communications, advertising and publishing industries. In the 1960s, at the Workers Educational Association, Frank developed several courses on these topics, while also writing various longform pieces for the Current Affairs Bulletin (for example, “Now Here is the News…”, 1969). </p>
<p>They were all critical of methods and practices of journalism, obfuscated by what he called “journalistic mystique”. Behind the claims of independence, objectivity and just-the-facts rhetoric were economic and ideological dependencies, partiality, subjective decision-making and simplistic narrative forms that forced the “facts” to fit some pre-determined morality tale. </p>
<p>These functioned in our culture, Frank argued in one course, the same way as <a href="https://theconversation.com/friday-essay-why-grown-ups-still-need-fairy-tales-87078">fairy tales</a> and folk stories. </p>
<p>But from 1969 on, following the publication of his first book, <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/futility-and-other-animals-9781740511384">Futility and Other Animals</a>, Frank’s relationship to the media shifted, from being a consumer, producer and critic of the news, to being a subject of the news. This only reinforced his previous criticisms. </p>
<p>The first thing that happened was the undermining of his literary fiction’s autonomy. The process of writing stories, where the facts of his experience were replaced by the fiction of his imagination, was collapsed by reviewers and journalists, with the resulting fiction being reported as autobiographical or documentary “fact”. Additional associations were then overlaid. </p>
<p>Perhaps the earliest was Frank’s association with the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sydney_Push">Sydney Push</a> – that bohemian subculture that emerged out of the University of Sydney in the 1950s. The influence of the Push became overdetermined and was rarely questioned (consider the hastily written obituaries when Frank died in June 2022). </p>
<p>But many of the intellectual positions Frank held that were shared with the Push – advocating for freedom of expression, for sexual freedom, against censorship – were fully formed in him (and articulated) before he became involved with them. </p>
<p>Many of the short stories he wrote during the 1960s drew on experiences he had in the late 1950s, before he entered this circle. And on the rare occasion he did write about the Push (without naming it as such) – for example, “The American Poet’s Visit” (Southerly, 1968) – it is as satire. In 1963, he wrote a paper criticising this cohort as being “reactionary” and “conservative”.</p>
<p>This should not be overcorrected. The Push was part of the facts of Frank’s life, but only a peripheral part. He spent more time, for example, during the same period, at the <a href="https://ala.asn.au/celebrating-a-century-of-workers-education/">Workers Educational Association</a>, a role he found more intellectually fulfilling and politically relevant – but that was not reported on by the media. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/susan-vargas-hard-joy-explores-the-possibilities-and-limits-of-memoir-182852">Susan Varga's Hard Joy explores the possibilities and limits of memoir</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>‘Ironic involvement’</h2>
<p>Frank’s association with the Push is best described by his own notion of “ironic involvement”, which he defined in the late 1960s as being “where the person participates in human endeavour but as both an observer and game player”. He explains:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Ironic involvement is a description of a relationship to activity. It may in fact, queerly enough, have some of the outward manifestations or appearances of commitment but the relationship beneath the behaviour is radically and fundamentally different. Contained in the ironic attitude is an almost constant awareness of the briefness and insignificance of life, the absence of sacredness, the futility of effort, the paradoxical, the hypercritical, the betrayals, the pretensions, the deceit, the self-deceit, the mutual exploitation and the cruel and bewildering nature of the human condition.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This also describes Frank’s engagement with the media. He became a media game-player, the public persona, “Frank Moorhouse, writer”. This revealed itself in interviews and in news reports on various activities he was involved in. </p>
<p>There is an important caveat to Frank’s “ironic involvement” with the media, however: his intellectual honesty meant he tried to be as accurate as possible when it came to speaking about broader issues and events, and other people. </p>
<p>It was only when talking about himself, his private life and his past that he was a media game-player: sometimes truthful, sometimes not, sometimes telling an anecdote while suggesting it may not be necessarily so. </p>
<p>Frank used hyperbole and distraction in his personal public statements – the cumulative effect of which is the outline of his public legend – in part to protect himself, to cover his trauma and anxiety. And in part he did it to compartmentalise his life, to negotiate the relationship with his family and distinct groups of friends, lovers and acquaintances. To hide from the public, while in public. This was particularly the case regarding his sexuality and gender identity, and the personal difficulties relating to each. </p>
<p>There is a chronological aspect to this: something he would keep to himself at one stage of his life would be slowly revealed over time, in various guises or to various degrees of disclosure. At each moment, Frank would use his understanding of the media to position himself within its coverage in a way that meant he could advocate for ideas he was interested in, while at the same time controlling how those ideas could be applied to himself. </p>
<h2>The personal and political</h2>
<p>In 1971, for example, Frank wrote an essay responding to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anne_Koedt">Anne Koedt</a>’s 1970 pamphlet, “Myth of the Vaginal Orgasm”. There are three versions of the essay. </p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/560680/original/file-20231121-23-81w5vu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/560680/original/file-20231121-23-81w5vu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/560680/original/file-20231121-23-81w5vu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=776&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/560680/original/file-20231121-23-81w5vu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=776&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/560680/original/file-20231121-23-81w5vu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=776&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/560680/original/file-20231121-23-81w5vu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=975&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/560680/original/file-20231121-23-81w5vu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=975&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/560680/original/file-20231121-23-81w5vu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=975&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Moorhouse published three distinct versions of his essay responding to Anne Koedt’s The Myth of the Vaginal Orgasm.</span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The shortest version, containing the core of his argument, was published in The Bulletin. This had a large mainstream audience – and, importantly, it was read by Frank’s family. This version reveals nothing of a personal nature, but still argues for a renegotiation between the sexes, and for a social openness in talking about sexual pleasure and anxieties. </p>
<p>A longer version was published in Thor, an underground student newspaper, circulating among Sydney bohemia. Here Frank admitted – for the first time in a public forum – that he had homosexual relations. But Thor had a smaller, less mainstream, more sympathetic audience. Frank could risk revealing part of himself. </p>
<p>There is a final version, however, that touches more on the confusions of Frank’s gender identity – and this remained unpublished. This was something Frank was not yet ready to disclose socially, even within his own subculture. </p>
<p>In Days of Wine and Rage, Frank reprinted the Thor version, including his personal admissions. But by the mid-1980s he downplayed even this, telling interviewers he had “homosexual streams” in his life, but in the past – when, in reality, it was ever present. Around the same time, in an unpublished interview with a university student, Frank first disclosed his transvestism. </p>
<p>This chronological aspect is also where biography intersects with social history. These prevarications and feints are part of Frank’s negotiation of shifting social conventions and historical moments, from a period when homosexuality was legally prosecuted and socially persecuted, through to a period when homosexuality was decriminalised. </p>
<p>This began federally in 1973, and continued state by state, <a href="https://www.moadoph.gov.au/explore/stories/history/40th-anniversary-of-decriminalisation-of-homosexuality">from South Australia becoming the first state to decriminalise homosexuality</a> in 1975 until <a href="https://www.utas.edu.au/library/companion_to_tasmanian_history/G/Gay%20Law%20Reform.htm">Tasmania became the last in 1997</a>. The social opprobrium slowly shifted, but never entirely lifted. This becomes an active ground on which Frank’s biography unfolds. </p>
<p>In the late 1950s, for example, Frank was a court reporter in Sydney, during a period when the number of arrests and prosecutions in New South Wales was on the rise. His comments on his sexuality in the 1980s were made against the background of a developing HIV/AIDS crisis. In between, in 1964 – seven years before his first public admission regarding homosexuality – a 24-year-old Frank said in a lecture: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>There seems to be a large minority engaged in the exploration of sexual relationships outside of the conventions. But the interesting point is that this exploration and its results are being concealed by many of these people. Where this concealment occurs among people who are concerned with freedom of action, freedom of information, and the creation of an open society, then they can be criticised. But I want to be gentle in my criticism because I realise that there are immense personal problems in becoming a sexual radical. The obvious case of extreme difficulty is the homosexual. If he behaves openly he will be persecuted and gaoled.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Decades later, Frank gave his younger self greater sexual awareness, self-confidence, and agency. In his 2005 memoir, <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/martini-9781740513616">Martini</a>, Frank recalls how, around the time of his 18th birthday, he began a sexual relationship with an older man. “I had seduced him,” Frank wrote of their first encounter. </p>
<p>It was a point he kept repeating to me, in conversation and correspondence, whenever we discussed this situation: Frank seduced him. But the contemporaneous evidence suggests otherwise, and records Frank’s initial response as being freighted with guilt, disgust and repulsion; his internalising of what in the years to come he would refer to as “a sexually sick society”, one that imposed a narrow conventional morality over its citizens. </p>
<p>Accepting the legend would mean omitting the arduous process by which Frank dealt with his own “immense personal problems in becoming a sexual radical”. The personal denial, confusion and acceptance, and the public denials, obfuscations and tolerance, are necessary parts of the facts of his life. </p>
<p>As much as literary biography intersects with social history, it also intersects with political history. In the introduction to The Dismissal, for example, Jenny Hocking, Whitlam’s biographer, points out that the 1974 federal election has been “ignored and invisible in contemporary reference”, distorting our collective political memory. </p>
<p>She cites Whitlam referring to his second-term win as “the election that never was”. Frank’s misremembering of the Opera House rally that accompanied that election reinforces that broader political amnesia and misunderstanding. </p>
<p>Such seemingly trivial moments – when a particular political rally occurred, or where a meeting took place, or an incident occurred – can have broader ramifications. A biography is constituted by numerous moments such as these, intersecting various larger histories - and that is where its responsibilities lie. </p>
<h2>Putting the legend in its place</h2>
<p>The line from Frank’s 1975 Wollongong talk is a variation of a line from the 1962 Western film, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (directed by John Ford). The James Stewart character had built a political career on the legend that he shot the outlaw Liberty Valance (played by Lee Marvin), even though Valance was actually shot by the John Wayne character. When James Stewart comes clean to a newspaper editor about the story, it is the editor who finally burns the confession, stating: “When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.” </p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, 1962, “When the legend becomes fact…”</span></figcaption>
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<p>We cannot infer from Frank’s notes what interpretation he gave the line that day in 1975: whether he approved of it, disapproved of it, or whether he used it ironically. But this John Ford film is a dramatic example of what Frank had spent more than 15 years at that point arguing against in public culture. </p>
<p>When I first reconsidered these two moments – the legends of the Opera House rally, and the backyard copyright revelation – I realised I had fallen into the trap at the heart of Frank’s media and cultural criticism. </p>
<p>With my initial outline, pieced together from public sources, I was doing what Frank himself objected to in the methods and procedures of a journalist in making those public sources. I was making the “facts” fit some pre-determined narrative, papering over anything that would contradict the legend. Perhaps, too, I was leaning too heavily on my personal relationship with Frank – but knowing him as a friend is not the same as understanding him as a biographical subject. </p>
<p>These moments forced me to start the project over. I abandoned my initial outline and chapter breakdown, expanding the scope of the project and obliterating my initial writing schedule – with frequent apologies to my publisher. </p>
<p>I put public sources and statements by Frank himself at a critical remove, and went back to the archive, not as a retrospective response to various calls my preconceptions were asking of it, but to provide the set of questions I needed to slowly, gradually find provisional answers for, through a steady, chronological building up of material. </p>
<p>This time the project opened up in far broader and more interesting ways than I had previously considered. It led to the discovery of material previously missed or otherwise unavailable to either the archive or the public record. But this new method also meant making certain omissions, killing other darlings, putting the legend in its place. It required weighing the material according to the vagaries of fact and fiction, memory and deception (including self-deception), intentional or otherwise. </p>
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<p>Biography is about making an argument for a particular account of a person’s life and times, while acknowledging the limitations of doing so, and the doubts inherent in the attempt. </p>
<p>In the conflict between the facts and the legend, the question became not only how to establish the facts, or disentangling fact from legend, but a more interesting and important question: how did the legend of “Frank Moorhouse” develop? And how to incorporate this development into the facts of his life – particularly those facts the legend kept hidden? </p>
<p>Wrestling with this question, I would argue, brings us closer to understanding Frank than if I had focused on just the facts, or just the legend. It also brings us closer to understanding ourselves, and a culture Frank Moorhouse himself felt the need to alternately challenge and hide from, all while producing an extraordinary body of work. </p>
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<p><em>Matthew Lamb’s biography, <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/frank-moorhouse-strange-paths-9780143786122">Frank Moorhouse: Strange Paths</a> (Knopf Australia) will be published on November 28 2023.</em></p>
<hr><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/216619/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Matthew Lamb does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Establishing the facts – and disentangling fact from legend – is not always straightforward when it comes to biography. Frank Moorhouse’s biographer unpacks his process.Matthew Lamb, Honorary Research Fellow, School of Historical and Philosophical Inquiry, The University of Queensland., The University of QueenslandLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2142682023-11-01T19:24:05Z2023-11-01T19:24:05ZGrandiose visions and arrested development: a new biography considers the contradictory life of Elon Musk<p>Elon Musk, the world’s richest man, has his fingers in many pies, none of them your standard Four and Twenty – space exploration, electric cars, AI and social media, among others. </p>
<p>He became a global leader in space exploration when NASA had virtually vacated the field, and his electric vehicle company Tesla, headquartered in the gas-guzzling United States, has by far the <a href="https://money.usnews.com/investing/articles/the-10-most-valuable-auto-companies-in-the-world">biggest market capitalisation of any car manufacturer in the world</a>, yet he has few formal qualifications in either field.</p>
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<p><em>Review: Elon Musk: A Biography – Walter Isaacson (Simon & Schuster)</em></p>
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<p>Many see Musk as a 21st-century idiot savant. Others, watching him reduce an important social media platform – Twitter – to cyber-rubble, think of him simply as an idiot. Maybe both are true, or maybe other readings of his life are true. Aged 52, Musk certainly merits a good, searching biography. </p>
<p>Walter Isaacson seems well credentialed for the task. He has written biographies of Henry Kissinger, Benjamin Franklin, Albert Einstein, Steve Jobs and Leonardo da Vinci that have won awards or become bestsellers, or both. </p>
<p>Isaacson began his working life as a journalist. He spent more than two decades at Time during the magazine’s heyday, rising to become editor in 1996. Since then, he has been chief executive of the CNN cable television network, headed the <a href="https://www.aspeninstitute.org/">Aspen Institute</a> (a longstanding non-profit think tank), become a professor of history at Tulane University, and done various jobs for both Republican and Democrat governments. </p>
<p>This year he was awarded the National Humanities Medal by US President Joe Biden.</p>
<p>Isaacson’s virtue as a biographer is his reporter’s ability to gather enormous amounts of material and quickly render it as a (generally) smooth and readable account of a life bursting with dramatic events. His project only began in 2021 and covers events up to <a href="https://edition.cnn.com/2023/04/20/world/spacex-starship-launch-thursday-scn/index.html">Space X’s unsuccessful Starship rocket launch in April 2023</a>.</p>
<p>Musk made himself available for numerous interviews. He gave Isaacson access to places and people at key moments, such as the purchase of Twitter (now known as X), and regularly emailed Isaacson at 3am with his thoughts – and thought bubbles.</p>
<p>Isaacson also interviewed 130 other people, and his labours have uncovered newsworthy information that has been widely reported – and, in one case, <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/books/2023/09/10/elon-musk-walter-isaacson-biography-review/">corrected</a> – since the book’s publication.</p>
<p>For instance, Isaacson builds on earlier reporting by the Washington Post to reveal the extent to which Musk’s Starlink satellite network has been crucial to the Ukrainian military’s ability to fight Russia’s invasion, providing them with continued access to the internet on the battlefield after the Russians destroyed access to other internet services. He shows how Musk was persuaded by the Russians to temporarily <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2023/sep/07/elon-musk-ordered-starlink-turned-off-ukraine-offensive-biography">cut off the Starlink access</a> after he believed their entreaties that any further victories by Ukraine would provoke nuclear war.</p>
<p>The implications of these remarkable revelations have been examined by the ABC’s Matt Bevan in a recent episode of his <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/listen/programs/if-youre-listening/should-elon-musk-have-stopped-ukraine-attacking-russia-/102929348">If You’re Listening</a> podcast. But even though Isaacson revealed this information, he does not pause to discuss it in any detail. That’s one of the shortcomings of this book.</p>
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<a href="https://theconversation.com/starlink-satellites-are-leaking-signals-that-interfere-with-our-most-sensitive-radio-telescopes-215250">Starlink satellites are 'leaking' signals that interfere with our most sensitive radio telescopes</a>
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<h2>Lord of the Flies on steroids</h2>
<p>Perhaps seduced by Musk’s apparent candour or a publisher’s pressure to rush to print, Isaacson accepts his subject’s words without sufficient scepticism. For instance, Musk’s childhood experiences at a veldskool in 1970s South Africa read like Lord of the Flies on steroids. Bullying was the norm and children were encouraged to fight over meagre food rations. “Every few years, one of the kids would die,” writes Isaacson.</p>
<p>Really? Says who? Musk, apparently. No one from the school is listed in the source notes, to confirm or refute this account. Throughout the book, Musk comes off as a shameless self-dramatiser, but that doesn’t mean his biographer should succumb to it.</p>
<p>Isaacson is an adherent of the “grand man” school of history. He has written only one biography of a woman – the Nobel Prize-winning biochemist <a href="https://www.nobelprize.org/prizes/chemistry/2020/doudna/facts/">Jennifer Doudna</a>. He is far less interested in, or comfortable with, the role structures and systems play in shaping events.</p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/555695/original/file-20231024-19-l2isp1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/555695/original/file-20231024-19-l2isp1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/555695/original/file-20231024-19-l2isp1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=916&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/555695/original/file-20231024-19-l2isp1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=916&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/555695/original/file-20231024-19-l2isp1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=916&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/555695/original/file-20231024-19-l2isp1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1151&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/555695/original/file-20231024-19-l2isp1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1151&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/555695/original/file-20231024-19-l2isp1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1151&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<p>As <a href="https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2023/09/18/elon-musk-walter-isaacson-book-review">Jill Lepore pointed out in the New Yorker</a>, Isaacson also has “an executive’s affinity for the <a href="https://www.investopedia.com/terms/c/c-suite.asp">C-suite</a>”, meaning he pays little attention to the people who work for Musk or the impact of his actions on their lives.</p>
<p>The core question driving the biography is: has Elon Musk had to be such an “asshole” (Isaacson’s term) to achieve what he has? Isaacson acknowledges it is much the same question he asked about Steve Jobs in his earlier biography of the Apple cofounder.</p>
<p>I lost count of the times the question, or a variation of it, was posed during the book’s 670 pages, but in classic Time-style both-sidesing, Isaacson keeps toggling between admonishing Musk for behaving like an “asshole” and admiring his ability to get results. He rarely if ever lifts his gaze beyond this binary, which means he ignores lessons learned from all those people, past and present, who have achieved things without treating people appallingly.</p>
<p>It also means achievements are seen solely through the prism of one person’s actions. In a perceptive article in Vox, <a href="https://www.vox.com/culture/23872485/elon-musk-walter-isaacson-biography-review">Constance Grady</a> reminds us that Musk’s determination to override safety concerns in Tesla factories has led to worker injury rates equivalent to those in a slaughterhouse. </p>
<p>Grady allows that Isaacson reports the increased injury rates, but notes his vagueness about exactly what kind of injuries occurred. Citing 2018 <a href="https://revealnews.org/article/tesla-says-its-factory-is-safer-but-it-left-injuries-off-the-books/">work by the Center for Investigative Reporting</a>, she reveals Tesla workers were “sliced by machinery, crushed by forklifts, burned in electrical explosions, and sprayed with molten metal”.</p>
<p>She also notes Isaacson downplaying the company’s experience of COVID-19. Musk, a fervent libertarian allergic to any form of regulation, kept the factory running during the global pandemic. Isaacson says “the factory experienced no serious COVID outbreak”, but Grady reports there were 450 positive cases.</p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/elon-musks-hardcore-management-style-a-case-study-in-what-not-to-do-194999">Elon Musk's 'hardcore' management style: a case study in what not to do</a>
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<h2>From Twitter to X</h2>
<p>Musk has an immense work ethic and expects everyone working for him to share it. By relentlessly questioning all assumptions – “the laws of physics are unbreakable; everything else is a recommendation” – Musk and those working in his companies have indeed achieved a lot.</p>
<p>I am not really in any position to assess Musk’s contribution to space exploration, AI or car manufacturing. But I am willing to accept the evidence of Isaacson’s biography that they have been substantial – or, in the case of AI, promise to be. </p>
<p>I feel better able to assess Musk’s contribution to social media. Here, the evidence presented by Isaacson and many others is that Musk has damaged, perhaps irretrievably, Twitter – which he has renamed X, a letter of the alphabet to which he seems inordinately attached. Not only has he named one of his children X, he waves away the letter’s other connotations.</p>
<p>In 1999, Musk cofounded the online bank <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/X.com_(bank)">X.com</a>. He soon learned there was another company aimed at revolutionising online transactions, PayPal, founded at around the same time by Peter Thiel, Max Levchin and Luke Nosek. </p>
<p>The companies merged in 2000, amid a classic Silicon Valley phallus-waving struggle over who had the idea first and who should take over whom. Levchin derided X.com as a “seedy site you would not talk about in polite company”. “If you want to take over the world’s financial system,” Musk rebutted, “then X is the better name.”</p>
<p>Musk lost the nomenclature war then, but realised his dream more than two decades later when he bought Twitter for <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2022/10/27/technology/elon-musk-twitter-deal-complete.html">US$44 billion</a> and could call it whatever he liked.</p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/fallen-crypto-king-sam-bankman-fried-was-perfectly-positioned-to-make-a-religion-of-himself-213893">Fallen crypto king Sam Bankman-Fried was 'perfectly positioned to make a religion of himself'</a>
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<h2>Impulsive, determined, clueless</h2>
<p>The picture of Musk that emerges in Isaacson’s book is of an impulsive, utterly determined person who is genuinely talented as a physicist and businessperson, and genuinely clueless when it comes to human relationships. He either doesn’t get people or doesn’t care about them – or, more likely, both. </p>
<p>He dotes on his children, especially X (I guess you need to do something to compensate for naming a child after a letter), yet he is capable of breathtaking callousness and rank sexism. He whispered in his first wife’s ear on their wedding night that he was the alpha male in the relationship.</p>
<p>In 2021, Musk’s third wife, Shivon Zilis, was pregnant with twins conceived with Musk by in-vitro fertilisation, and was in a hospital in Texas experiencing complications. At the same time, and in the same hospital, a woman serving as a surrogate for Musk and his ex-wife, Claire Boucher – better known as the Canadian-born musician Grimes – was also experiencing pregnancy complications.</p>
<p>Zilis and Boucher, not to mention the surrogate, did not know about the other’s pregnancy. </p>
<p>As Isaacson drolly comments elsewhere in the book:</p>
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<p>Musk developed an aura that made him seem, at times, like an alien, as if his Mars mission were an aspiration to return home, and his desire to build humanoid robots were a quest for kinship.</p>
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<p>Musk is on record saying humanity is in danger of not having enough smart people and it is his duty to populate the planet with as many of them as possible. To date, he has 11 children. If that notion sounds disturbingly like eugenics, it is not something Isaacson reflects on as he studiously documents Musk’s chaotic love life.</p>
<p>Nor does he delay his rat-a-tat-tat narration of every twist and turn in Musk’s dramatic life to question his subject’s burning desire to make humanity a “multi-planet civilisation” by colonising Mars. Musk is obsessed with this goal because he is worried about the prospect of our planet being destroyed by the accelerating consequences of climate change. </p>
<p>A laudable ambition, no doubt. But neither he nor his biographer stops to ask: if humanity fails so badly that it destroys this world, why would you think it could make life better on another, already inhospitable planet?</p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/556981/original/file-20231031-25-buzfds.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/556981/original/file-20231031-25-buzfds.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/556981/original/file-20231031-25-buzfds.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=105&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/556981/original/file-20231031-25-buzfds.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=105&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/556981/original/file-20231031-25-buzfds.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=105&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/556981/original/file-20231031-25-buzfds.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=132&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/556981/original/file-20231031-25-buzfds.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=132&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/556981/original/file-20231031-25-buzfds.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=132&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<h2>Startling achievements and childish petulance</h2>
<p>It is easy and tempting to poke fun at Musk. Perhaps this is because his personality combines grandiose visions with arrested development, startling achievements with childish petulance. His idea of dieting is to get hold of the diabetes medication Ozempic – the dieter’s drug du jour – begin an intermittent fasting regime, then make his first meal of the day a bacon-and-cheese burger and sweet-potato fries topped with a cookie-dough ice-cream milkshake. </p>
<p>Or do you remember how Musk responded in 2018 to a mild rebuke of his frenetic desire to play the hero rescuing children trapped in a cave in Thailand with a purpose-built mini-craft? That’s right, by <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2018/jul/15/elon-musk-british-diver-thai-cave-rescue-pedo-twitter">labelling one of the actual rescuers a “pedo guy”</a>.</p>
<p>But it is dangerously easy. Social media plays an important role in modern society. Whatever its benefits, and they are many, the algorithms embedded in social media platforms – by their owners, let’s not forget – neatly sidestep nuance and reason in debate, turbo-charge conflict and emotion, and play a role in the spread of misinformation and disinformation.</p>
<p>Musk is now the owner of one such social media platform. But since buying Twitter last year, he has not been able to bend it to his will. His mistake – perhaps fatal, according to Isaacson – appears to be that he sees it as a technology company, something he understands, when it is really an “advertising medium based on human emotions and relationships”, something he does not understand.</p>
<p>Musk proclaims himself a free-speech advocate, but he has already displayed flagrant biases. He allowed Ye (formerly Kanye West) to <a href="https://www.cnbc.com/2022/11/21/kanye-west-returns-to-twitter-after-restrictions-for-antisemitic-posts.html">tweet anti-Semitic remarks</a>. He tweeted a florid conspiracy theory about the savage <a href="https://edition.cnn.com/2023/01/27/politics/paul-pelosi-attack-video-release/index.html">attack on Paul Pelosi</a>, husband of the then speaker of the US House of Representatives, Nancy Pelosi. And he has asserted China’s repression of the Uyghurs was an issue that “<a href="https://campaignforuyghurs.org/cfu-denounces-elon-musks-deeply-troubling-comments-on-uyghur-genocide/">had two sides</a>” – perhaps because China was <a href="https://www.bbc.com/news/business-59863859">important to his car company, Tesla</a>.</p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/wrong-elon-musk-the-big-problem-with-free-speech-on-platforms-isnt-censorship-its-the-algorithms-182433">Wrong, Elon Musk: the big problem with free speech on platforms isn't censorship. It's the algorithms</a>
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<p>Musk has become obsessed by what he calls the “woke-mind virus”, which he believes is infecting social discourse. Whatever the excesses and blind spots of those on the progressive side of politics, Musk sees this virus almost everywhere. </p>
<p>A longtime devotee of comics and science fiction, he has increasingly given rein to his conspiratorial tendencies, as if he really thinks The Matrix trilogy was a documentary series. In one of his 3am tweets, Musk wrote: “My pronouns are Prosecute/Fauci”. As Isaacson trenchantly comments: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>It made little sense, wasn’t funny, and managed, in just five words, to mock
transgender people, conjure up conspiracies about the 81-year-old public health
official Anthony Fauci, scare off more advertisers, and create a new handful of
enemies who would now never buy Tesla.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Nor does Musk’s belief in free speech extend to the social media postings of Twitter employees or their comments on internal Slack messaging. He trampled on the company’s internal culture of healthy dissent, peremptorily firing three dozen employees who had criticised the company.</p>
<p>His longstanding, largely successful mantra of getting things done cheaply and quickly, regardless of impediments, finally ran aground after he proposed <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2023/02/26/technology/twitter-layoffs.html">cutting the company’s workforce by 75%</a>. </p>
<p>Just before Christmas last year he decided it was imperative to move all the company’s servers from Sacramento to Oregon as a way of saving money. Remember how presidential aspirant <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2023/may/24/ron-desantis-2024-twitter-launch-tech-outage">Ron De Santis’ big live interview on X went horribly wrong</a> earlier this year? That was because of problems with the servers, writes Isaacson. </p>
<p>More recently, the drastic cutting of the site’s moderators led to <a href="https://www.cnbc.com/2023/10/09/x-formerly-twitter-amplifies-disinformation-amid-the-israel-hamas-conflict.html">floods of misinformation</a> following the attack on Israel by Hamas on October 7.</p>
<p>Musk has also begun to realise that advertising, which previously comprised 90% of Twitter’s revenue, is susceptible to public perceptions. It fell by more than half in the first six months of Musk’s ownership, according to Isaacson. </p>
<h2>Geopolitical implications</h2>
<p>As mentioned earlier, Musk has found himself playing a key role in a war with geopolitical implications. </p>
<p>Immediately before invading Ukraine in early 2022, <a href="https://www.reuters.com/world/europe/russia-behind-cyberattack-against-satellite-internet-modems-ukraine-eu-2022-05-10/">Russia launched a malware attack</a> that crippled the US satellite company providing internet service to Ukraine. Its deputy prime minister, Mykhailo Fedorov, reached out to Musk via Twitter, appealing for help.</p>
<p>Musk did, donating US$80 million worth of technology to Ukrainian forces, including Starlink’s <a href="https://www.space.com/ukraine-russia-war-spacex-starlink-satellite-internet">solar and battery kits</a>, which were able to defeat Russian efforts to jam them. </p>
<p>Musk’s intervention was widely praised, but in September 2022, when the Ukrainians planned to use Starlink to guide a drone attack on the Russian naval fleet at Sevastopol in Crimea, he refused to help. He had been listening to the Russian ambassador, who had reached out to him a few weeks before. </p>
<p>Russia had annexed Crimea in 2014 and the ambassador persuaded him not only of Russia’s inalienable right to Crimea, but of the prospect of nuclear war if the Ukrainians were allowed to try and retake it. He told Isaacson he had been studying foreign policy and military history: “Musk explained to me the details of Russian law and doctrine that decreed such a response.”</p>
<p>Has technology put an individual private citizen in such a position before? </p>
<p>Individual companies, such as the Krupp manufacturing company, notoriously played an important role in arming Nazi Germany. Individual media proprietors, such as Rupert Murdoch, have played a role in encouraging war, as when Murdoch’s media outlets overwhelmingly editorialised in favour of the United States invading Iraq in 2003.</p>
<p>The combination of new global communication technologies and decades of unwillingness by governments to find ways to regulate them adequately has now put one unelected citizen, as childishly impulsive as he is brilliant, in a rare position. </p>
<p>The question is not simply, is he equipped to make such decisions, but how and why has it come to this?</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/214268/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Matthew Ricketson does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Some see Elon Musk as an idiot savant; others think of him simply as an idiot. How did an unelected citizen come to wield such power?Matthew Ricketson, Professor of Communication, Deakin UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2108922023-10-29T19:11:18Z2023-10-29T19:11:18ZGabrielle Carey’s affectionate life of James Joyce is a story of contingency, vulnerability and sadness<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554471/original/file-20231018-27-9et1az.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C17%2C3964%2C2976&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Portrait of James Joyce – Jacques-Émile Blanche (1934).</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Portrait_of_James_Joyce_P529.jpg">National Gallery of Ireland, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Gabrielle Carey cast a distinctive shadow within Australian writing, one you miss acutely only when it is no <a href="https://theconversation.com/gabrielle-carey-was-best-known-for-puberty-blues-but-i-knew-her-as-a-formidable-intellectual-who-mastered-the-art-of-living-well-205123">longer bodily present</a>, even as elements of her essence remain as words on the page. </p>
<p>She was a writer who brought her own life into writing in ways that challenged ordinary assumptions about the nature of autobiography, since she was not only interested in events or things, but also in ideas – ideas that exist as a state of longing or emotion, as much as they exist as intellectual givens or facts. </p>
<hr>
<p><em>Review: James Joyce: A Life – Gabrielle Carey (Arden)</em></p>
<hr>
<p>Gabrielle’s way is to cut holes in the fabric of standard forms of literary scholarship that allow her to tunnel through to some otherwise inaccessible idea. Because of this, when one reads her last book, <a href="https://scholarly.info/book/james-joyce-a-life/">James Joyce: A Life</a>, one is conscious that the voice is telling itself as it tells the tale. In doing so, it forces a sharp light through the events and ideas that surround James Joyce like a beam through a thick fog. </p>
<p>The fog of words around Joyce is now so dense it can be difficult to penetrate. Because of this, many readers are too intimidated to approach his works directly. Carey’s response is to have done with justification, or at least the particular kind of circumlocution scholarship requires when it asks us to cite all the others who have trod this ground before. She does away with any and all footnotes, any and all works cited. </p>
<p>This is not to say Carey’s work is not justified by her own scholarship. On the contrary, she is a deeply knowledgeable scholar of Joyce and it is possible to trace all the references she makes by attending closely to the names mentioned throughout. The choice can be justified, as it allows her to trace lines through the material that are profoundly moving and acutely perceptive.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/556013/original/file-20231026-23-51ftvq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/556013/original/file-20231026-23-51ftvq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/556013/original/file-20231026-23-51ftvq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=375&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/556013/original/file-20231026-23-51ftvq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=375&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/556013/original/file-20231026-23-51ftvq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=375&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/556013/original/file-20231026-23-51ftvq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=471&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/556013/original/file-20231026-23-51ftvq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=471&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/556013/original/file-20231026-23-51ftvq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=471&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Gabrielle Carey’s last book forces a sharp light through the events and ideas that surround James Joyce.</span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>There are two such lines that help to us feel the person behind Ulysses,
Dubliners, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and Finnegans Wake – some of the great masterpieces of any age of world literature. </p>
<p>The first is the idea of a list that is more than just a list: a list that accumulates and opens out, like the mathematical exercise of long division the schoolboy Stephen Daedalus sees unfolding on a page in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. </p>
<p>The second is the idea of life itself, which is more than “a” life, but rather a collective existence that includes, in particular, those you love and that love
you, as well as the many selves you promote and hide, and those you have influenced and touched, including readers born after the “life” of the physical person has passed. </p>
<p>More than this, the idea of life also includes the life of Gabrielle Carey the reader, who makes us see things that hurt and delight her. She is a shadow that organises the whole, a shadow whose absence one feels everywhere.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/gabrielle-carey-was-best-known-for-puberty-blues-but-i-knew-her-as-a-formidable-intellectual-who-mastered-the-art-of-living-well-205123">Gabrielle Carey was best known for Puberty Blues – but I knew her as a formidable intellectual who mastered the art of living well</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>A life in lists</h2>
<p>The book announces itself as a list: </p>
<blockquote>
<ol>
<li><p>“James Augustine Aloysius Joyce was born on 2 February 1882 …”</p></li>
<li><p>“When Joyce was five …”</p></li>
<li><p>“At six, being near-sighted …”</p></li>
</ol>
</blockquote>
<p>We are told of Joyce’s love of lists and associations. </p>
<blockquote>
<p>As a mature writer, he continued to have a fondness for lists, some of which go on for pages. A list in Finnegans Wake provides a playful self-portrait:</p>
<p>“the wrong shoulder higher than the right, an artificial tongue with a natural
curl, not a foot to stand on, a handful of thumbs, a blind stomach, a deaf heart,
a loose liver, two fifths of two buttocks, a salmonkelt’s thinskin …” </p>
</blockquote>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554447/original/file-20231018-23-ehfvj6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554447/original/file-20231018-23-ehfvj6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554447/original/file-20231018-23-ehfvj6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=924&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554447/original/file-20231018-23-ehfvj6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=924&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554447/original/file-20231018-23-ehfvj6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=924&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554447/original/file-20231018-23-ehfvj6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1161&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554447/original/file-20231018-23-ehfvj6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1161&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554447/original/file-20231018-23-ehfvj6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1161&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The lists Carey makes, like those of Joyce, accumulate vertically as they proceed, but open out horizontally, with every listed item carrying associations of its own. </p>
<p>Using the list with stylistic canniness, Carey, rather than becoming lost in endless qualifications and explanations, instead works with deep simplicity. That is, most paragraphs lack a tissue that connects them immediately to that which proceeds or follows. They stand alone, each offering new insights and new bits of information, which we connect intuitively. The effect is clearly intended and powerful. It allows Carey to cover an enormous amount of material in a book that runs to just 130 pages.</p>
<p>There is, however, a shift in the lists as one proceeds. The early pages
emphasise the brightness of Joyce’s character as a young boy: “At home his nickname was Sunny Jim because of his happy, easy-going disposition.” In the later chapters, he is wracked by physical pain and emotional despondency. </p>
<p>Joyce’s most famous biographer Richard Ellmann, speaking of the relations between Joyce and Samuel Beckett, who idolised him, wrote that both men “were prone to long silences and their conversations were usually suffused with sadness, Beckett mostly for the world, Joyce mostly for himself”. But Carey shows us with utter clarity how Joyce moves from joy to sorrow not through self-pity, but an accumulation of troubles, many of which involved his relations to his family and his own declining health.</p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554472/original/file-20231018-19-vu8oea.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554472/original/file-20231018-19-vu8oea.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554472/original/file-20231018-19-vu8oea.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=954&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554472/original/file-20231018-19-vu8oea.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=954&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554472/original/file-20231018-19-vu8oea.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=954&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554472/original/file-20231018-19-vu8oea.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1199&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554472/original/file-20231018-19-vu8oea.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1199&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554472/original/file-20231018-19-vu8oea.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1199&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Perhaps because a great biography like Ellmann’s tends to emphasise the triumphal
arc that takes someone like Joyce, through his genius, from obscurity to astonishing achievement and influence, one loses sight, somehow, of the person who lived amid the shelter or ruins of that achievement. </p>
<p>Carey’s feat is to allow us to sense the man in all his contingency and awkward vulnerability. Based on a style and a feeling, her own, for the outlines of accumulating events, her story is not so much of a born genius, but someone who was only steps ahead of abject failure for much of his life.</p>
<p>Rather than seeing Joyce the man as cut off from or transcending the world in which he moved, Carey demonstrates how others held him up, carried him the few extra steps he needed to go again and again, to reach something that no one had thought it possible to reach. </p>
<p>She shows how those who held him up were often the women who surrounded him: his mother May, his life’s love Nora Barnacle, his beloved daughter Lucia. </p>
<p>His indefatigable supporter Harriet Shaw Weaver published him and paid him significant sums of money to allow him to write. Dora Marsden, editor of the magazine The Egoist, brought many of his works to the world. Margaret Anderson and Jane Heap, publishers of the Little Magazine in the United States, were charged with and convicted of obscenity for publishing the “Nausicaa” episode from Ulysses; it ruined them financially. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/friday-essay-the-wonder-of-joyces-ulysses-79417">Friday essay: the wonder of Joyce's Ulysses</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p>It was not only women. Joyce’s brother Stanislaus and his loyal friend Paul Léon, among others, are also there and helping. Carey does not let us forget that without them he could not have become James Joyce. At times, even often, these helping hands suffered for their service. </p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/555760/original/file-20231025-26-bda13v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/555760/original/file-20231025-26-bda13v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/555760/original/file-20231025-26-bda13v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/555760/original/file-20231025-26-bda13v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/555760/original/file-20231025-26-bda13v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/555760/original/file-20231025-26-bda13v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1006&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/555760/original/file-20231025-26-bda13v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1006&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/555760/original/file-20231025-26-bda13v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1006&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Nora Barnacle Joyce, c. 1926 in this photograph by Berenice Abbott.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nora_Barnacle#/media/File:Portrait_of_Nora_Joyce_(Mrs._James_Joyce)_1926%E2%80%931927_(cropped).jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>More than this, Carey allows us to glimpse what is perhaps true of everyone – that is, the person we think of as an individual, “James Joyce”, is in fact composed of people who loved him as much as the egoistic self we like to celebrate. One of the many names of the protagonist of Finnegans Wake is “Here Comes Everybody”.</p>
<p>Joyce is also composed not just of those others, but the places of which he wrote, and in which he lived as he wrote, and the worlds they contained. Glimpsing this in no way diminishes the achievement we habitually attach to a self; rather, it allows us to understand how a life accumulates and spreads in many directions.</p>
<h2>From joy to sorrow</h2>
<p>Joyce’s suffering was often self-inflicted. He saw the weaknesses of his father, an alcoholic spendthrift, who frittered away a comfortable life for himself his wife and children, to the point where the family was living in poverty, but he also loved and idolised him. From his father Joyce inherited alcoholism, a jaunty disposition, recklessness, and no practical sense of how to manage a household financially. </p>
<p>His alcoholism was driven by the “green fairy” of absinthe (closer to a hallucinogenic than mere hard liquor), until his common-law wife Nora at last made him swap it for mere wine. He would collapse on the streets of Triese and Rome, sleeping propped against lampposts or in doorways when he didn’t quite make it home to Nora, who was busy scrimping his meagre wages to support them and their two young children.</p>
<p>Carey at one point fails to understand why Joyce did not support his talented
but highly strung daughter Lucia in her desire to become a professional dancer. She shows that Nora also disapproved of this career choice. For Carey, this parental failure opens the way to Lucia’s future madness, which devastates the family and is one of the primary causes of Joyce’s move from joy to sorrow.</p>
<p>Joyce feared his own madness (diverted into creativity) was the source of Lucia’s. He took his daughter from head doctor to head doctor, some as renowned as Carl Jung, others hideous charlatans, like one Dr Vignes, who prescribed injections of seawater. Yet Lucia continued to deteriorate. She would end her life in an English asylum. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/lucia-joyce-on-bloomsday-consider-this-real-life-characters-enduring-and-mysterious-appeal-98020">Lucia Joyce: on Bloomsday, consider this real-life character's enduring and mysterious appeal</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p>Joyce lived a life with Nora that seemingly mixed profound love with utter disregard for her wellbeing, leaving her to carry the heavy burdens of raising children. And yet despite threatening to leave him (or baptise his children against his wishes) again and again, she never failed him. She fiercely defended him from the Ireland she believed had betrayed him through its neglect and contempt for his work.</p>
<p>Joyce’s life, rather than his works, is the main thread of this book, and that life is extraordinarily flawed. It is filled with poverty and the consequences of poverty. When poverty at last abates, due mostly to the generosity of Harriet Shaw Weaver (even more than the <em>succès de scandale</em> of Ulysses), Joyce’s teeth rot through lack of dental care and his eyesight deteriorates catastrophically. </p>
<p>He endures multiple eye operations, performed without anaesthetic, to the point where he can barely see. Like Milton’s daughters, Lucia reads aloud to her father and takes down his dictation. He suffers abdominal pain for years, which quackish doctors attributed to stress, leading to his death in 1941 at the age of 59 from an perforated ulcer, diagnosed too late. </p>
<p>Through all this, one senses the shadow of Gabrielle Carey, watching with affection, at times sadness, at times even disappointment, but also fiercely loyal to the intense feeling that Joyce has summoned within her through the power of his writing. </p>
<p>The book’s themes, almost unbearably, draw us back to her: the struggle with mental illness, the struggle with day to day life, the shadow of the father, the feeling of having failed others. Mostly though, Carey makes us feel that these human things, as painful as they may be, are part of life and touch all our lives, much as we might wish to turn away from them. She makes us see, as Joyce did, what is sacred in the seemingly profane.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/210892/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Anthony Uhlmann has in the past been funded for research on James Joyce and others by The Australian Research Council. </span></em></p>Gabrielle Carey’s last book, about her beloved James Joyce, also includes her own life as a reader, and makes us see things that hurt and delight her.Anthony Uhlmann, Professor of English, Writing and Society Research Centre, Western Sydney UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2118842023-09-06T20:11:58Z2023-09-06T20:11:58ZA new biography of Donald Horne examines a life of indefatigable energy and intellectual curiosity<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/546127/original/file-20230904-5597-37baqi.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=17%2C0%2C3976%2C2994&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Donald Horne (1921-2005).</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">National Library of Australia, A.T. Bolton/AP</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>In May 2004, little over a year before he died, Donald Horne took to the stage at the Sydney Writer’s Festival for an event to mark the launch of the fourth edition of Griffith Review: Making Perfect Bodies. Donald had written an essay called “<a href="https://www.griffithreview.com/articles/mind-body-and-age/">Mind, body, age</a>” that vigorously burst from the page with life, while addressing death. He was 82.</p>
<p>With a voice frayed by age and the breathlessness that would eventually claim his life, Donald talked about the medical emergencies that had shadowed him since the “complications” accompanying his birth on Boxing Day 1921. He was frail but determined, outshining the other panellists, enjoying the adulation that came from the packed audience, proving the National Trust right in appointing him, a few years earlier, as a Living National Treasure.</p>
<p>The applause lasted longer than usual, and afterwards dozens of people pressed forward. Readers and former students wanted to shake his hand, to say how much he meant to them, how his work had changed their lives and the nation. To say thank you. It was overwhelming and emotional. </p>
<hr>
<p><em>Review: Donald Horne: A Life in the Lucky Country – Ryan Cropp (La Trobe University Press)</em></p>
<hr>
<p>As we slowly made our way out of the warehouse on the Hickson Road wharf that was then home to the Writer’s Festival, Donald and his wife and soulmate Myfanwy and their great friend Frank Moorhouse discussed the response with a note of pride and satisfaction. “You know this is the first time I’ve been invited to the Sydney Writer’s Festival,” he said with just a tinge of past hurt. </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
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<p>Donald was pleased to be back where he felt he belonged. Being out of the loop, no longer an active participant in the cultural life of his beloved Sydney, hurt him. He was tired, but he still had things to say, ideas to test, improvements to recommend. His energy, like his curiosity, seemed indefatigable.</p>
<p>It wasn’t, of course. But as Myfanwy demonstrated when their jointly authored <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/dying-a-memoir-9781742285382">Dying: A Memoir</a> was published in 2006, he kept compulsively writing until the end, wrapped in her loving embrace and that of their children Julia and Nick.</p>
<p>In his accomplished and insightful biography <a href="https://www.blackincbooks.com.au/books/donald-horne-0">Donald Horne: A Life in the Lucky Country</a>, Ryan Cropp puts the man in his context and, without a heavy hand, helps us understand his motivating psychology. For all the vigour of Horne’s writing and his determination to make an impact, self-doubt invariably intruded – success was not a sufficient inoculation. He was a gifted salesman (of ideas), but without the salesman’s unreflective demeanour. </p>
<p>One of the many challenges Cropp faced in writing this book, and the doctoral thesis that preceded it, was how to use the archive the prolific Horne amassed. Which of the more than 30 books to focus on? Which of the countless essays, speeches, articles and chapters to skate over lightly or leave out? With more than 200 boxes of carefully curated and annotated records in the Mitchell Library, this was a task that could seem overwhelming. </p>
<p>But Cropp clearly has some of the determination, energy and resolve of his subject. He notes that it took six years to write this book. Good biographies can be like that – Robert Caro is still finishing the biographical series on Lyndon Johnson he started 50 years ago.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/donald-hornes-lucky-country-and-the-decline-of-the-public-intellectual-80743">Donald Horne's 'lucky country' and the decline of the public intellectual</a>
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</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>The Lucky Country</h2>
<p>Horne is best known as the author of <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/the-lucky-country-9781742531571">The Lucky Country</a> – a book that seemed to capture the zeitgeist when it was published, reluctantly, by Penguin in 1964. </p>
<p>The careful stewardship of the company’s new Australian branch, led by Geoffrey Dutton, Max Harris and Brian Stonier, ensured the book hit its mark, selling 20,000 copies in the first few months. It continued to resonate as updated editions were published throughout the decade. It is still in print. Hundreds of thousands of copies have been sold. </p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/546123/original/file-20230904-17-5co9by.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/546123/original/file-20230904-17-5co9by.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/546123/original/file-20230904-17-5co9by.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=910&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/546123/original/file-20230904-17-5co9by.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=910&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/546123/original/file-20230904-17-5co9by.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=910&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/546123/original/file-20230904-17-5co9by.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1144&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/546123/original/file-20230904-17-5co9by.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1144&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/546123/original/file-20230904-17-5co9by.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1144&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<p>The issues explored in The Lucky Country changed with new versions, but the critique remained: Australia got by on luck; it was held back by second-rate leaders who lacked vision, imagination and even a realistic assessment of its place in the world. </p>
<p>When Horne famously sat down in his backyard in December 1963 to begin writing the book that would make his name, he was changing. He was more settled, happy at home with Myfanwy and baby Julia, but dissatisfied with the work that had been his primary focus for decades. Many of the certainties that had shaped his public life since arriving at the University of Sydney in 1939 were also being found wanting. </p>
<p>A large part of Horne’s genius was his ability to capture on the page a personal intellectual journey that reflected one that much of the nation was also taking. The Lucky Country, which owes more to his journalism than the more ambitiously polished writing in <a href="https://www.newsouthbooks.com.au/books/the-education-of-young-donald-trilogy-117940/">The Education of Young Donald</a>, was a two-way mirror, revealing the nation to itself and him to it.</p>
<p>One of the lingering criticisms of Horne was that he was a gadfly, jumping from one issue to the next, a dedicated follower of intellectual fashions. The gift of Cropp’s biography is that it puts the changes into context. We learn how Horne responded to events as they occurred, and as more was revealed. For someone paying as much attention as he was, events and changing times demanded sometimes personally painful recalibrations. </p>
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<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/an-armchair-a-desk-and-4000-books-the-horne-family-study-gets-a-second-life-96269">An armchair, a desk and 4000 books: the Horne family study gets a second life</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Changing contexts</h2>
<p>To my mind, as someone who worked with Donald from the late 1980s, it is the biography’s animation of these early decades that is the most revealing. By putting the conclusions reached and decisions made into the context in which they were formed, Ryan Cropp helps the reader make sense of how someone could go from being persuaded by the writings of <a href="https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/friedrich-hayek/">Friedrich Hayek</a> in the 1940s to a firebrand critic of neoliberalism, which Donald called economic fundamentalism, four decades later. </p>
<p>From a distance, it is easy to forget the context, to foreground things that were not known at the time and read back into the record knowledge that emerged later. Cropp shows he has mastered the historian’s essential skill of avoiding this trap, while keeping the narrative moving with fresh and lively writing. </p>
<p>He provides the details of what happened when, so readers can speculate on the factors at play that lead some people down one path, while others exposed to the same events and a similar environment reached quite different conclusions. One striking contrast is between Horne’s confidence in Hayek’s wartime anti-bureaucratic, libertarian ethos, and Gough Whitlam’s rejection of it. </p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/546134/original/file-20230904-15-ow2x8v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/546134/original/file-20230904-15-ow2x8v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/546134/original/file-20230904-15-ow2x8v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=792&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/546134/original/file-20230904-15-ow2x8v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=792&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/546134/original/file-20230904-15-ow2x8v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=792&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/546134/original/file-20230904-15-ow2x8v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=995&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/546134/original/file-20230904-15-ow2x8v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=995&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/546134/original/file-20230904-15-ow2x8v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=995&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="caption">Gough Whitlam in 1959.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">National Archives of Australia</span></span>
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<p>Whitlam was five years older than Horne, and he had an interesting and consequential war. Horne didn’t do much. He was shipped around the country, from the Hunter Valley to Darwin and back again. He sustained a major injury as a result of an unfortunate accident. He was bored and wrote many letters to his mother (like so many others now preserved in archival boxes). He felt like he was in exile.</p>
<p>Whitlam, on the other hand, was an air navigator who got his first taste of politics when he actively campaigned for the 1944 postwar reconstruction referendum that would have increased Canberra’s powers. </p>
<p>Horne opposed it. He did not share Whitlam’s confidence in the capacity of Canberra to do more. But decades later he became one of Prime Minister Whitlam’s greatest advocates. Times change, contexts shift, and responses by thoughtful people are recalibrated.</p>
<h2>Intellectual tradition</h2>
<p>At the University of Sydney, the self-described <em>enfant terrible</em> Horne came under the influence of <a href="https://www.sydney.edu.au/archives/access-the-archives/personal-archives/john-anderson.html">John Anderson</a>, the Challis Professor of Philosophy, who for three decades until 1958 fostered a libertarian contrarianism in his students. His teachings and methods helped shape a Sydney intellectual tradition that still echoes today. </p>
<p>Even in old age, Anderson’s former students would gather at Glebe Library, down the road from the university, to discuss the events of the day and major issues raised by articles published in international magazines – it was oddly affirming to hear old men arguing as if they were still undergraduates. For those untouched by this tradition it was mystifying, but for those like Horne, Murray Sayle, Paddy McGuinness and many others, it provided an enduring framework that had the benefit of flexibility. </p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/546133/original/file-20230904-21-kma1kg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/546133/original/file-20230904-21-kma1kg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/546133/original/file-20230904-21-kma1kg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/546133/original/file-20230904-21-kma1kg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/546133/original/file-20230904-21-kma1kg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/546133/original/file-20230904-21-kma1kg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/546133/original/file-20230904-21-kma1kg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/546133/original/file-20230904-21-kma1kg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="caption">University of Sydney Campus.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Kanzcech/Wikimedia Commons</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span>
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<p>So Horne moved from being a Cold War warrior, a comfortable believer in the British empire, comfortable about racial superiority, and a contributor to CIA-funded intellectual journals, to an outsider who chafed in class-riven Britain, an increasingly vociferous advocate of national independence, a republican, and the editor who, after half a century, finally removed “Australia for the White Man” from the masthead of <a href="https://www.nma.gov.au/defining-moments/resources/the-bulletin">The Bulletin</a>. </p>
<p>The cynical, libertarian realist became, by the late 1960s, more optimistic and more open to what Cropp characterises as “opportunities for civic renewal”.</p>
<p>This all plays out against the backdrop of working for a living. Cropp details the highs and lows of Donald’s professional and public life with flair. His close attention to detail does not overwhelm. We learn a lot about Horne’s experiences and behaviour as a journalist, editor, academic and public advocate; about his ability to cultivate wealthy backers and his readiness to fall out with them; about the places he lived and the people he (endlessly) socialised with, in what was a much smaller and more homogeneous nation. </p>
<p>The discipline of a biography, even one as grounded in public events as this, is that it demands a singular focus. The times are brought to life from the subject’s point of view. The consequence is that if perspectives do not touch the life of the subject they do not feature as much as they might. For those surveying the period with a broader lens, enduring enmities might be more sharply defined. Cropp navigates this complicated terrain without losing his way in the morass of competing interests.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/how-the-parallel-lives-of-two-influential-editors-shaped-australias-literary-culture-191573">How the parallel lives of two influential editors shaped Australia's literary culture</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>The cultural conversation</h2>
<p>The coincidence of the publication of Horne’s Observer, funded by Frank Packer, and Tom Fitzgerald’s <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nation_(Australian_periodical)">Nation</a> in the late 1950s spoke to the need to aerate the national political and cultural conversation. </p>
<p>Add <a href="https://quadrant.org.au/">Quadrant</a>, with its European and US backers, and the smaller local journals – <a href="https://meanjin.com.au/">Meanjin</a>, <a href="https://overland.org.au/">Overland</a>, <a href="https://www.australianbookreview.com.au/">Australian Book Review</a> – and later <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nation_Review">Nation Review</a>, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_National_Times">The National Times</a>, and counterculture publications with a focus on feminism, music and surfing, and the debates became more vibrant. </p>
<p>Cropp conveys a sense of this through the slightly limited prism of Horne’s worldview, with its emphasis on business, religion, Asia and politics. It took a while before women, immigrants, the environment, Indigenous rights and culture intruded as seriously into the way Horne regarded the nation.</p>
<p>In his 2004 essay for Griffith Review, Horne approvingly quoted Cicero’s reflections on the satisfactions of old age: “he could admire the old man who had something of the young man in him, but also the young man who had within him, something of the old man.”</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/546542/original/file-20230906-21-s2mobg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/546542/original/file-20230906-21-s2mobg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/546542/original/file-20230906-21-s2mobg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/546542/original/file-20230906-21-s2mobg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/546542/original/file-20230906-21-s2mobg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/546542/original/file-20230906-21-s2mobg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1006&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/546542/original/file-20230906-21-s2mobg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1006&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/546542/original/file-20230906-21-s2mobg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1006&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="caption">Ryan Cropp.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Black Inc.</span></span>
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</figure>
<p>Reading this book, I suspect Horne would have found in Cropp just such a young man. He is one of several young men who are now seeking to make sense of Australia in much the same way Horne and his colleagues did several generations earlier. </p>
<p>There is a growing body of work by men with academic and journalistic backgrounds, who are excavating the past with considerable literary flair and scholarly discipline to better inform the present. It is a group that includes Sean Kelly, Billy Griffiths, Paddy Manning, Jeff Sparrow, Patrick Mullins, Carl Reinecke, Dominic Kelly, Tom Roberts and Sam Vincent, among others, but disappointingly few women.</p>
<p>Donald was a man who enjoyed the company of women – he provided many with career-defining opportunities – but feminism did not feature strongly in his worldview. He remained in many ways the man he was born to be: the precocious, much-loved, indulged only son of a teacher who returned damaged from the first world war. Cropp has captured a full life, well lived, that was a tribute to the importance of paying attention and making a difference.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/211884/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Julianne Schultz does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Donald Horne’s genius was his ability to capture on the page a personal intellectual journey that reflected one the nation was also taking.Julianne Schultz, Professor Emeritus of Media and Culture, Griffith University, Griffith UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2122422023-08-31T12:23:04Z2023-08-31T12:23:04ZMichael Oher, Mike Tyson and the question of whether you own your life story<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/545972/original/file-20230901-21-zovk4b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=17%2C26%2C2977%2C1985&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Michael Oher and his family celebrate his selection by the Baltimore Ravens at the 2009 NFL Draft. </span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/baltimore-ravens-draft-pick-michael-oher-poses-for-a-news-photo/86217296?adppopup=true">Jeff Zelevansky/Getty Images</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>What if you overcame a serious illness to go on to win an Olympic medal? Could a writer or filmmaker decide to tell your inspiring story without consulting you? Or do you “own” that story and control how it gets retold?</p>
<p>Michael Oher, the former NFL player portrayed in the 2009 blockbuster “<a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0878804/">The Blind Side</a>,” has sued Michael and Anne Leigh Tuohy, the suburban couple who took him into their home as a disadvantaged youth.</p>
<p>In his official complaint, Oher claims that through forgery, trickery or sheer incompetence, the Tuohys enabled 20th Century Fox to acquire the exclusive rights to his life story. </p>
<p>The Tuohys, Oher continues, received millions of dollars for a “story that would not have existed without him,” while he claims that he received nothing.</p>
<p>Just a year earlier, former heavyweight champion Mike Tyson was <a href="https://www.cnn.com/2022/08/08/media/mike-tyson-hulu-series/index.html">similarly incensed</a> when he learned that Hulu had created <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt14181914/">a miniseries dramatizing his career</a> without seeking his permission. </p>
<p>“They stole my life story and didn’t pay me,” Tyson charged <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/Cg7JRAeLY9B/?utm_source=ig_embed&ig_rid=8c5ce5bc-6faf-4c49-b355-4b25d72418b8">in an Instagram post</a>.</p>
<p>Oher and Tyson – not to mention countless influencers and wannabe celebs – share the conviction that they own, and can monetize, their life stories. And given regular <a href="https://www.ibtimes.com/kurt-warner-movie-20th-century-fox-acquires-rights-former-qbs-life-story-plans-film-adaptation">news stories about studios buying</a> “life story rights,” it’s not surprising to see why. </p>
<p>As law professors, we’ve studied this issue; <a href="https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=4480628">our research shows</a> that there is no recognized property right under U.S. law – or the laws of any other country of which we are aware – to the facts and events that occur during someone’s life.</p>
<p>So why are Oher, Tyson and others complaining? And why do publishers and studios routinely pay large sums to acquire rights that don’t exist?</p>
<h2>No monopoly on the truth</h2>
<p>In most states, the commercial use of an individual’s name, image and likeness is protected by the so-called “<a href="https://rightofpublicityroadmap.com/">right of publicity</a>.” But that right generally applies to merchandise, apparel and product endorsements, not facts and actual events. So you can’t sell a T-shirt with Mike Tyson’s face on it without his permission, but writing a book about his rise to fame is fair game.</p>
<p>In the U.S., the freedom to describe historical events is rooted in <a href="https://constitution.congress.gov/browse/essay/amdt1-7-1/ALDE_00013537/">the free speech clause</a> of the First Amendment, and it’s a fundamental principle that no one – whether it’s a news agency, political party or celebrity – holds a monopoly on the truth.</p>
<p><a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2016/03/19/business/media/gawker-hulk-hogan-verdict.html">The law doesn’t sanction the invasion of privacy</a>, so an investigative journalist who uncovers some unsavory detail of your past can’t publish it unless there is a legitimate public interest in doing so. Nor does it condone the dissemination of false information, <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/live/2023/04/18/business/fox-news-dominion-trial-settlement">which can lead to defamation lawsuits</a>. </p>
<p>The First Amendment, however, does allow authors and film producers to truthfully depict factual events that they have legitimately learned about. They are not required to receive authorization from or pay the people involved.</p>
<h2>The origin of life story ‘rights’</h2>
<p>Film producers, however, are accustomed to paying for the right to repackage or use existing content. </p>
<p>Copyright licenses are required to commission a script based on a book, to depict a comic book character in a film and to include a hit song on a movie soundtrack. Even showing an architecturally distinctive building often requires the consent of a copyright owner, which is why the video game “Spider-Man: Miles Morales” <a href="https://www.ign.com/articles/spider-man-miles-morales-doesnt-have-the-chrysler-building-due-to-copyright-issues">had to remove the Chrysler Building</a>.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="Manhattan skyline with art deco skyscraper in the foreground." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/545622/original/file-20230830-24-kgtp41.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/545622/original/file-20230830-24-kgtp41.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/545622/original/file-20230830-24-kgtp41.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/545622/original/file-20230830-24-kgtp41.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/545622/original/file-20230830-24-kgtp41.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/545622/original/file-20230830-24-kgtp41.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/545622/original/file-20230830-24-kgtp41.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Studios hoping to include a shot of the Chrysler Building in their films might have to pony up.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/the-chrysler-building-stands-in-midtown-manhattan-january-9-news-photo/1079651514?adppopup=true">Drew Angerer/Getty Images</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Along with these other rights and permissions, Hollywood studios have paid individuals for their life stories for at least a century. </p>
<p>Yet, unlike copyright clearances, life story deals do not involve the acquisition of known intellectual property rights. Life story “rights” are not rights at all. Instead, they bundle together a set of contractual commitments: the subject’s agreement to cooperate with the studio, not to work on a similar project, and to release the studio from claims of defamation and invasion of privacy. </p>
<p>By packaging these commitments under the umbrella of “life story rights,” studios can signal to the market that they have acquired a particularly juicy story. </p>
<p>For example, Netflix’s quick deal with convicted fraudster <a href="https://theconversation.com/how-scammers-like-anna-delvey-and-the-tinder-swindler-exploit-a-core-feature-of-human-nature-177289">Anna Sorokin</a>, the subject of the popular streaming series “<a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt8740976/">Inventing Anna</a>,” seems to have <a href="https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-56113478">deterred competing adaptations</a> of Sorokin’s story.</p>
<p>What’s more, the acquisition of life story rights has become so common that it is viewed, in many cases, as a de facto requirement for film financing and insurance coverage and thus part of the standard clearance procedure for many projects.</p>
<h2>Exceptions don’t make the rule</h2>
<p>As always with the law, though, there are exceptions. </p>
<p>Notably, the producers of the 2010 film “The Social Network” <a href="https://perma.cc/SN4H-UXAP">did not obtain the permission</a> of Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg before dramatizing the origin story of his company. In moving forward with the project, they risked a defamation or publicity suit by Zuckerberg and others depicted in the film. But their gamble paid off: Zuckerberg, while <a href="https://perma.cc/SN4H-UXAP">critical of his depiction</a>, didn’t sue.</p>
<p>Nevertheless, other subjects who have been depicted in dramatic features without their authorization have sued to recover a share of the profits. </p>
<p>Silver screen legend Olivia de Havilland, for example, <a href="https://casetext.com/case/de-havilland-v-fx-networks-llc-1">sued FX Studios</a> for briefly depicting her in a miniseries about Hollywood rivals Bette Davis and Joan Crawford. She won at trial, though an appeals court reversed her victory, citing the producers’ First Amendment rights. </p>
<p>Lawsuits can even be brought when the characters’ names and story details have been changed. U.S. Army Sgt. Jeffrey Sarver, the bomb-defusing expert who inspired the Oscar-winning film “<a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0887912/?ref_=nv_sr_srsg_0_tt_8_nm_0_q_the%2520hurt%2520locker">The Hurt Locker</a>,” <a href="https://casetext.com/case/sarver-v-chartier">sued the film’s producers</a> for violating his right of publicity. He lost.</p>
<p>Lawsuits like these are not the norm. But many producers hope to get ahead of a flimsy lawsuit and bad publicity by acquiring nonexistent rights.</p>
<h2>History is in the public domain</h2>
<p>Ultimately, there is nothing wrong – and much that is right – with paying individuals to cooperate with the production of features about themselves. Doing so can convey respect toward the subject and make the production go more smoothly. </p>
<p>But the fact that life story acquisitions have entered the popular consciousness has spurred the widespread belief that any portrayal of a factual series of events entitles those depicted to a lucrative payday. This expectation increases production costs and the risk of litigation, thereby deterring otherwise worthwhile projects and depriving the public of meaningful content that is based on true stories.</p>
<p>What could be done about this situation?</p>
<p>One idea <a href="https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=4480628">that we’ve written about</a> would prevent right of publicity laws – the basis for many life story lawsuits – from being used against works that convey ideas and tell a story, such as books, films and TV shows.</p>
<p>Perhaps the most important thing that can be done, though, is educating people that they don’t have a right to cash in on every description of the events of their lives. </p>
<p>Collective history, in our view, belongs in the public domain.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/212242/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Publishers and studios routinely pay large sums to acquire ‘life story rights.’ Two law scholars explain why the phrase is misleading.Jorge L. Contreras, James T. Jensen Endowed Professor for Transactional Law and Director, Program on Intellectual Property and Technology Law, University of UtahDave Fagundes, Baker Botts LLP Professor of Law and Research Dean, University of Houston Law CenterLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2078292023-08-16T20:05:18Z2023-08-16T20:05:18ZFrom the earliest years of his career, the young Rupert Murdoch ruthlessly pursued his interests<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/542931/original/file-20230816-28-j53l6y.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=311%2C23%2C3682%2C2970&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Cecil Stoughton/John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum/Wikimedia Commons</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Nearly every biographical commentary on Rupert Murdoch notes how he began with a modest inheritance in Adelaide, principally an afternoon newspaper, and built it into a global multimedia empire. Walter Marsh’s book <a href="https://scribepublications.com.au/books-authors/books/young-rupert-9781761380044">Young Rupert: The Making of the Murdoch Empire</a> has the distinctive strength of knowing Adelaide much better than any other Murdoch watcher, and studying Murdoch’s Adelaide period in more depth than anyone else.</p>
<hr>
<p><em>Review: Young Rupert: The Making of the Murdoch Empire – Walter Marsh (Scribe)</em></p>
<hr>
<p>Rupert’s father, Sir Keith Murdoch, was the most famous Australian newspaperman of his generation. As the dominant figure in the Herald & Weekly Times group for over two decades, he built the country’s first newspaper empire. </p>
<p>But he increasingly resented the chasm between being a shareholder and an employee, no matter how well rewarded. He was determined to leave his son Rupert a tangible inheritance. In the last years of his life, he sought to build his own independent newspaper empire in ways that were far from being in the best interests of the Herald & Weekly Times. </p>
<p>Sally Young’s recently published <a href="https://www.newsouthbooks.com.au/books/paper-emperors/">Paper Emperors: The Rise of Australia’s Newspaper Empires</a> gives a very good account of Keith’s machinations. Rupert would never have allowed any employee of his to behave in the way Keith did. </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/542505/original/file-20230814-246893-eadvxb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/542505/original/file-20230814-246893-eadvxb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/542505/original/file-20230814-246893-eadvxb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=793&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542505/original/file-20230814-246893-eadvxb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=793&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542505/original/file-20230814-246893-eadvxb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=793&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542505/original/file-20230814-246893-eadvxb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=996&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542505/original/file-20230814-246893-eadvxb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=996&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542505/original/file-20230814-246893-eadvxb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=996&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Rupert Murdoch’s father Sir Keith Murdoch (1885-1952).</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>A great fight</h2>
<p>After all Keith’s efforts, once the personal debts and death duties were paid, Rupert’s inheritance essentially came down to the Adelaide News. Editing the Adelaide News was Rohan Rivett, Keith’s trusted confidante and Rupert’s mentor and friend from his Oxford days.</p>
<p>Rivett was a distinguished journalist, who had recorded his experiences as a prisoner of war in <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/behind-bamboo-9780143001751">Behind Bamboo</a>, the bestselling Australian book on World War II. His political leanings were to the left. The Adelaide News was seen as bringing a refreshing degree of social and political liberalism to South Australia’s stuffy politics, although the paper rarely directly challenged the premier, Sir Thomas Playford, by far the longest reigning state premier in Australian history (1938-1965).</p>
<p>Almost immediately, the Herald & Weekly Times morning newspaper – the very establishment Advertiser – sought to drive News Limited out of business by starting a rival Sunday newspaper. Rivett and Rupert fought hard to survive. Not for the last time, Rupert relished the conflict. “It is going to be a great fight,” he told Rivett. </p>
<p>In a front page editorial, Murdoch and Rivett disclosed the behind the scenes actions of their rivals. After a couple of years, the two Sundays fought each other to a stalemate. In the subsequent agreement, in some ways News emerged the better. Rivett and Murdoch had won their first big challenge. </p>
<p>With this threat disposed of, Murdoch, now with the title “publisher”, began his expansion. He bought the Sunday Times in Perth, where free from Rivett’s presence he was more able to indulge his tabloid tastes. </p>
<p>He also successfully applied to get one of the first two commercial television licences in Adelaide, although his lobbying to make this a commercial monopoly service failed. </p>
<p>Marsh deftly documents how Murdoch’s views on the virtues of monopoly and competition varied to suit his immediate interests. Murdoch’s declaration, when he unsuccessfully applied for the first commercial television service in Perth, that he was not interested in building his empire, has not exactly stood the test of time.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/a-reciprocating-engine-of-money-power-and-influence-how-australias-media-monsters-used-journalism-to-cement-their-empires-206757">A reciprocating engine of money, power and influence: how Australia's 'media monsters' used journalism to cement their empires</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Two episodes</h2>
<p>The two episodes that later writers always mention about Murdoch’s Adelaide period are the News’ championing of the cause of Rupert Max Stuart, convicted for the rape and murder of a nine-year-old girl, and his firing of Rivett.</p>
<p>Stuart was an itinerant Aboriginal labourer, illiterate, with limited English and prone to alcoholic binges. In December 1958, he was arrested near Ceduna and charged with the murder. The case for conviction rested principally on his confession. </p>
<p>With the threat of imminent execution hanging over him, Stuart had his cause taken up by Father Tom Dixon. A pamphlet by the historian Ken Inglis and coverage in the Adelaide News, driven by Rivett and supported by Murdoch, forced a new trial and then a Royal Commission. </p>
<p>The newspaper’s coverage of the Stuart case became politically controversial and the Playford government brought nine charges against it, including seditious libel. After a prolonged period of suspense, these charges were dismissed. </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/542503/original/file-20230814-199051-6469wf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/542503/original/file-20230814-199051-6469wf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/542503/original/file-20230814-199051-6469wf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=918&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542503/original/file-20230814-199051-6469wf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=918&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542503/original/file-20230814-199051-6469wf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=918&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542503/original/file-20230814-199051-6469wf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1154&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542503/original/file-20230814-199051-6469wf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1154&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542503/original/file-20230814-199051-6469wf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1154&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="caption"></span>
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<p>Putting to one side the drama, uncertainty and high emotion of the case, there are, in retrospect, three groups of opinion on Stuart’s conviction.</p>
<p>First, there are those who think he was guilty and the police and officialdom were essentially correct in everything they did. The second group consists of those who continued to believe in Stuart’s innocence, including Father Dixon and, years later, the investigative journalist Evan Whitton. The third group believed that the police grossly mistreated Stuart and fabricated the case against him, but that he was probably guilty.</p>
<p>Ken Inglis’s book concluded that the weight of the evidence tilted toward guilt rather than innocence. Decades later, Murdoch said:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>There’s no doubt that Stuart didn’t get a totally fair trial, although it’s probable that he was guilty. I thought this at the time.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>I think Murdoch is overstating the constancy of his opinion here. My guess is that, initially, when Rivett and Inglis took up the cause and later recruited Murdoch to it, they thought Stuart was innocent. After a searching cross-examination of Stuart at the Royal Commission, several of his previous supporters had their beliefs shaken.</p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/542536/original/file-20230814-27-sx41sl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/542536/original/file-20230814-27-sx41sl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/542536/original/file-20230814-27-sx41sl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542536/original/file-20230814-27-sx41sl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542536/original/file-20230814-27-sx41sl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542536/original/file-20230814-27-sx41sl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542536/original/file-20230814-27-sx41sl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542536/original/file-20230814-27-sx41sl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Walter Marsh.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Sia Duff/Scribe</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The action that most showed Murdoch’s ruthlessness in these years was his sacking of Rivett in 1960. Rivett had been the editor of Adelaide News for eight and a half years. He had given the paper a much stronger financial basis, as well as higher standards of journalism. Before that, Rivett had helped Rupert through his years at Oxford. Relations were almost familial. They went on holiday together and Rupert often stayed with the Rivetts in London.</p>
<p>Despite the close and generally amicable relations between them, Murdoch fired Rivett without warning. Murdoch’s brief letter gave no reason for the dismissal and was never preceded or followed by any personal discussion between the two. </p>
<p>Murdoch later claimed that even after the trauma of the Royal Commission and libel trial, Rivett was being too provocative in his attitude to the Playford Government. Marsh notes that the last month of Rivett’s editorship gives no grounds for such a claim. </p>
<p>The timing, I think, was determined not by events in Adelaide, but by Murdoch’s bid for the Daily Mirror in Sydney. As Marsh points out, Rivett was a friend of the unions, and more inclined to be generous towards the journalists in his employ. Murdoch, with his eyes on Sydney and beyond, wanted his Adelaide assets to be a safe and regular cash cow to aid his ambitions for expansion elsewhere. A quiet, frugal editor was what he now required.</p>
<p>The unsentimental firing of Rivett showed that Murdoch was determined to be in sole charge and would pursue his interests ruthlessly. </p>
<p>Murdoch watchers will be also particularly interested in what other clues Young Rupert gives about its subject’s later behaviour. My suggestion comes in February 1956, when he was caught driving at at least double the speed limit on an Adelaide highway. After Murdoch made his excuses, the police allowed him to drive on, but almost immediately he started speeding again in a school zone, and the same police arrested him a second time.</p>
<p>Already, for this 24-year-old, rules were things that only applied to other people.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/207829/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Rodney Tiffen does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>The machinations of a young and ambitious media mogul are laid bare in a detailed new biography.Rodney Tiffen, Emeritus Professor, Department of Government and International Relations, University of SydneyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2098832023-07-18T14:32:55Z2023-07-18T14:32:55ZNelson Mandela’s legacy is taking a battering because of the dismal state of South Africa<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/538003/original/file-20230718-27-ey48jj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Nelson Mandela, the late first president of democratic South Africa, is credited with the relatively peaceful transition from apartheid rule.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Per-Anders Pettersson/Getty Images</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>The multiple concerns about the dismal state of South Africa – including a <a href="https://www.imf.org/en/News/Articles/2023/06/15/cf-south-africas-economy-loses-momentum-amid-record-power-cuts">stagnant and failing economy</a>, a seemingly incapable state, and <a href="https://theconversation.com/state-capture-report-chronicles-extent-of-corruption-in-south-africa-but-will-action-follow-174441">massive corruption</a> – have led to the <a href="https://theconversation.com/rule-of-law-in-south-africa-protects-even-those-who-scorn-it-175533">questioning</a> of the political and economic settlement made in 1994 to end apartheid. The settlement is <a href="https://www.britannica.com/biography/Nelson-Mandela">strongly associated with Nelson Mandela</a>, who oversaw its progress to a successful conclusion. He subsequently underpinned it by promoting reconciliation with white people, especially Afrikaners, the former rulers.</p>
<p>The questioning of the 1994 settlement, and therefore Mandela’s legacy, has different dimensions, running through diverse narratives. One, associated with a faction of the governing African National Congress (ANC) that claims to stand for “<a href="https://theconversation.com/what-is-ret-and-what-does-it-want-the-radical-economic-transformation-faction-in-south-africa-explained-195949">radical economic transformation</a>”, is that the settlement was a “sell-out” to “<a href="https://theconversation.com/white-monopoly-capital-an-excuse-to-avoid-south-africas-real-problems-75143">white monopoly capital</a>”. Another is the inclination to lay the blame for state failure <a href="https://theconversation.com/rule-of-law-in-south-africa-protects-even-those-who-scorn-it-175533">on the constitution</a>, thereby deflecting responsibility for massive governance failures away from the ANC.</p>
<p>Yet another stems from the frustrations of recent black graduates and the mass of black unemployed for whom there are <a href="https://www.statssa.gov.za/publications/P0211/Media%20release%20QLFS%20Q4%202022.pdf">no jobs</a>. There are also huge numbers of people without either <a href="https://apsdpr.org/index.php/apsdpr/article/view/372/739">adequate shelter</a> or <a href="https://www.statssa.gov.za/?p=16235#:%7E:text=More%20than%20half%20a%20million,high%20risk%20of%20acute%20malnutrition.">enough to eat</a>. South Africans want someone to blame. While their search regularly targets a wide range of usual suspects, it also leads to a questioning of what Mandela really left behind. </p>
<p>It does not help that Mandela continues to be lionised by many, if not most, white people, who despite much grumbling about the many inconveniences of life in South Africa have largely continued to prosper.</p>
<p>This means that those of us who are social scientists and long-term observers of South Africa’s politics and history need to think carefully about how we think critically about Mandela’s legacy.</p>
<h2>Questioning Mandela’s legacy</h2>
<p>From a historian’s view the questioning of Mandela’s legacy is normal. Historians are always asking new questions and reassessing the past to gain new insights about the role important political leaders play.</p>
<p>This has posed particular problems for Mandela’s biographers. Biography has always had a problematic relationship with history as a discipline. This partly stems from history’s reluctance to endorse “Great Men” versions of the past. Partly from the more generic problem of assessing individuals’ role in shaping wider developments. Thus it has been with Mandela. Nonetheless, the six or seven <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=Mandela+biopgraphies&rlz=1C1GCEA_enZA1007ZA1007&oq=Mandela+biopgraphies&gs_lcrp=EgZjaHJvbWUyBggAEEUYOTIJCAEQABgNGIAEMgkIAhAAGA0YgAQyCQgDEC4YDRiABDIJCAQQABgNGIAEMggIBRAAGA0YHjIICAYQABgNGB4yCAgHEAAYDRgeMggICBAAGA0YHjIKCAkQABgFGA0YHtIBCDQ5NjNqMWo3qAIAsAIA&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8">significant biographies of Mandela</a> may be said to revolve around the following arguments.</p>
<p>First, Mandela played a critical role in preventing a descent into total civil war. It was brutal enough as it was. Narratives at the time often suggested that the period 1990-94 was a “<a href="https://www.news.uct.ac.za/article/-2019-07-09-sas-transition-to-democracy-miracle-or-mediation">miracle</a>”, a difficult but “peaceful transition to democracy”. But this was misleading. <a href="https://omalley.nelsonmandela.org/index.php/site/q/03lv02167/04lv02264/05lv02335/06lv02357/07lv02372/08lv02379.htm">Thousands died</a> in political violence during this time.</p>
<p>Mandela’s biographers argue that his initiating negotiations with the regime from jail, independently of the ANC, was crucial. Without his actions, the apartheid state would not have come to the party. This, even though by the time FW de Klerk, its last president, came to power, it was seeking a route to a settlement. </p>
<p>Second, Mandela played his cards carefully in steadily asserting his authority over the ANC. Although the ANC in exile had carefully choreographed the imprisoned Mandela as an icon around which international opposition to apartheid could be mobilised, there remained much questioning within the organisation following his release about his motivations and wisdom. Also whether he should replace the ailing <a href="https://theconversation.com/south-africas-anc-is-celebrating-the-year-of-or-tambo-who-was-he-85838">Oliver Tambo</a> as its leader. That he proceeded to convince his doubters by constantly proclaiming his loyalty to the ANC, its militant “line” and his subjection to its discipline while simultaneously edging it towards negotiations is said to have been key to his establishing his claim to leadership. This was necessary to convince his doubters within the ANC that it could not defeat the regime on the field of battle. Hence there was a need for compromise with the regime.</p>
<p>Third, Mandela is credited with successfully steering the <a href="https://www.sahistory.org.za/article/convention-democratic-south-africa-codesa">negotiations which led to South Africa’s democracy</a>. That he played a limited part in negotiating much of the nitty-gritty of the new constitution is acknowledged. Yet, this is combined with recognition of his acute judgment of when to place pressure on the regime to secure concessions and when to adopt a more conciliatory line. Generally, it is agreed that the ANC outsmarted the apartheid government during the negotiations. Praise is correctly showered on Mandela for his role in bringing both the far right, under <a href="https://omalley.nelsonmandela.org/index.php/site/q/03lv02424/04lv02426/05lv02691.htm">Constand Viljoen</a>, and <a href="https://theconversation.com/buthelezis-retirement-wont-end-ethnic-traditionalism-in-south-africa-102213">Mangosuthu Buthelezi</a>’s quarrelsome Inkatha Freedom Movement <a href="https://successfulsocieties.princeton.edu/sites/g/files/toruqf5601/files/Policy_Note_ID137.pdf">into the 1994 election at the very last moment</a>, without which it would have lacked legitimacy.</p>
<p>Fourth, while today it is recognised that a narrative of the time – that South Africans had negotiated the finest constitution in the world – was overcooked, the negotiations resulted in the country becoming a constitutional democracy. </p>
<p>We now know, of course, that the ANC has subverted much of the intention of the constitution and undermined many of its safeguards. <a href="https://theconversation.com/south-africas-ruling-party-has-favoured-loyalty-over-competence-now-cadre-deployment-has-come-back-to-bite-it-199208">Its cadre deployment policy</a> of appointing loyalists to key state institutions has severely diminished the independence of the state machinery. Furthermore, the ANC has merged party with state. Above all, it has severely weakened the capacity of parliament to <a href="https://theconversation.com/south-africas-parliament-fails-to-hold-the-executive-to-account-history-shows-what-can-happen-192889">hold the president and ministers accountable</a>. </p>
<p>The <a href="https://www.statecapture.org.za/">State Capture Commission</a> has laid bare the mechanics of all this in great detail. It has placed huge responsibility for this upon the ANC. Nonetheless, it is widely recognised by civil society that the constitution and the law still provide the fundamental basis for exacting political accountability. This is confirmed by the many judgments the Constitutional Court has <a href="https://theconversation.com/is-south-africas-constitutional-court-protecting-democracy-107443">rendered against the government</a>.</p>
<p>Fifth, while his critics often argue that Mandela leant over too far to appease whites, the counter-argument is that this grounded democracy. At the beginning of his <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/318431.Long_Walk_to_Freedom">autobiography</a>, Mandela presents the struggle in South Africa as a clash between Afrikaner and African nationalisms. His role during negotiations can be viewed through the prism of his conviction of the need to reconcile these, as one could not defeat the other. Without reconciliation, however imperfect, there could be no making of a new nation. After all, what was the alternative? </p>
<h2>Capturing Mandela’s legacy</h2>
<p>There is never going to be a final assessment of Mandela’s legacy. How it is regarded will continue to change, depending on the destination South Africa travels to. If it really does become a “<a href="https://theconversation.com/south-africas-political-risk-profile-has-gone-up-a-few-notches-but-its-not-yet-a-failed-state-170653">failed state</a>”, as the doomsters predict, there will be much need for reexamination of whether this failure has its roots in the constitutional settlement which Mandela did so much to bring about. For the moment, however, Mandela continues to inspire South Africans who place their hopes in constitutional democracy. What other hopes do they have?</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/209883/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Roger Southall does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>There is never going to be a final assessment of Mandela’s legacy. How it is regarded will continue to change, depending on the destination South Africa travels to.Roger Southall, Professor of Sociology, University of the WitwatersrandLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2015722023-07-02T20:02:03Z2023-07-02T20:02:03ZAnna Funder rescues George Orwell’s wife Eileen from being ‘cancelled by the patriarchy’ – and reminds us he’s a sexual predator<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/534259/original/file-20230627-21-misl8z.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Untitled design</span> </figcaption></figure><p>In the summer of 2017, <a href="https://theconversation.com/powers-we-pretend-to-understand-anna-funders-all-that-i-am-7729">Anna Funder</a> found herself “at a moment of peak overload”. Juggling the competing demands of getting her children ready for the new school year, grocery shopping, home maintenance and caring for members of her extended family, Funder felt she had been spiritually drained by the monotonous demands of motherhood. </p>
<p>After stumbling across a copy of Orwell’s collected essays in a secondhand bookshop, she embarked on a project of re-reading his work, hoping his explorations of tyranny would help her liberate herself from the “motherload of wifedom I had taken on”. </p>
<hr>
<p><em>Review: Wifedom: Mrs Orwell’s invisible life – Anna Funder (Hamish Hamilton)</em></p>
<hr>
<p>A few months later, disappointment struck in the form of a derogatory diary entry about his first wife, Eileen O’Shaughnessy. In it, he complains of women’s “incorrigible dirtiness & untidiness” and of a “terrible, devouring sexuality” which causes every wife to “consciously [despise] her husband for his lack of virility”. </p>
<p>The accusations about women’s sexuality are somewhat confounding when they come from a man who, as Funder reveals, was himself a sexual predator. But as she observes, they reveal that he “sees women – as wives – in terms of what they do for him, or ‘demand’ of him. Not enough cleaning; too much sex.” </p>
<p>Curious about how Orwell’s <a href="https://theconversation.com/stopping-violence-against-women-starts-with-learning-what-misogyny-really-is-175411">misogyny</a> has been interpreted, Funder consulted a series of biographies written by men, only to find it is perennially excused</p>
<blockquote>
<p>by leaving it out, sympathising with the impulse, trivialising it as a “mood”, denying it as “fiction” or blaming the woman herself. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>In her anger, Funder births another project, moving “from the work to the life, and the man to the wife”. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/534260/original/file-20230627-19-hz4ajw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/534260/original/file-20230627-19-hz4ajw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/534260/original/file-20230627-19-hz4ajw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=315&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534260/original/file-20230627-19-hz4ajw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=315&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534260/original/file-20230627-19-hz4ajw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=315&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534260/original/file-20230627-19-hz4ajw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=396&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534260/original/file-20230627-19-hz4ajw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=396&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534260/original/file-20230627-19-hz4ajw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=396&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="caption">Anna Funder’s book on George Orwell’s first wife, Eileen, was driven by anger.</span>
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<h2>Motherhood and #MeToo</h2>
<p><a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/wifedom-9780143787112">Wifedom</a> examines Eileen’s life, interrogating the omissions and inaccuracies about her achievements and her partnership with Orwell that pepper the literary and historical records. </p>
<p>It is composed of two narrative strands: the first, set in the present, is in Funder’s voice as she investigates Eileen’s life while also navigating the pressures of motherhood and the revelations of the <a href="https://theconversation.com/is-the-metoo-era-a-reckoning-a-revolution-or-something-else-176565">#MeToo</a> movement. </p>
<p>The second is written in the third person and reconstructs scenes from Eileen’s life. Funder reads between the lines of Orwell’s work and the biographies of him to get the measure of Eileen’s contribution to his success. </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/533461/original/file-20230622-25-ewkww2.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/533461/original/file-20230622-25-ewkww2.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/533461/original/file-20230622-25-ewkww2.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=918&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/533461/original/file-20230622-25-ewkww2.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=918&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/533461/original/file-20230622-25-ewkww2.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=918&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/533461/original/file-20230622-25-ewkww2.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1153&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/533461/original/file-20230622-25-ewkww2.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1153&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/533461/original/file-20230622-25-ewkww2.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1153&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<p>She also draws on a <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/2005/dec/10/georgeorwell.classics">cache of letters</a> between Eileen and her best friend Norah Symes, discovered in 2005 after seven major biographies of Orwell had already been written. In her recreations, Funder quotes these letters in italics, foregrounding not only Eileen’s perspective, but also her intelligence, warmth and wit. </p>
<p>While it would be reductive to characterise this book solely as a product of the ongoing #MeToo reckoning, the movement influences Funder’s project in significant ways. As she alighted on the idea of studying Eileen, she found herself having conversations with her children about the media’s reporting of #MeToo stories and reflecting on her own experiences of sexual harassment with a new clarity – “a liberation, like the outing of ghouls”. </p>
<p>Funder also finds herself contemplating how she ended up bearing the lion’s share of work on the home front. </p>
<p>She does not blame her husband, whom she characterises as “emotionally astute” and “deeply engaged with our children”; rather, she acknowledges that while the “individual man can be the loveliest”, the “system will still benefit him without his having to lift a finger or a whip, or change the sheets”.</p>
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<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/sharing-the-parenting-duties-could-be-key-to-marital-bliss-study-84694">Sharing the parenting duties could be key to marital bliss: study</a>
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</em>
</p>
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<h2>Patriarchy: then and now</h2>
<p>Wifedom is a meditation on the insidious nature of patriarchy. Funder draws productive parallels between her own time and Eileen’s – without sacrificing the historical specificity of either. </p>
<p>Reflecting on her own life, Funder realises she </p>
<blockquote>
<p>can count on one hand with fingers to spare the number of heterosexual relationships I know in which the man creates the domestic and other conditions for the woman to enjoy her time in life to an equal extent as she does for him. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>This observation captures Eileen’s fate; a talented writer with a masters degree in psychology, she becomes a taken-for-granted helpmeet when she marries Orwell. She types his manuscripts in between looking after their chickens, unblocking the toilet and preparing all their meals. She also deals with their mice infestation, as he finds the rodents too repulsive. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/533467/original/file-20230622-21-i0j6uk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/533467/original/file-20230622-21-i0j6uk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/533467/original/file-20230622-21-i0j6uk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/533467/original/file-20230622-21-i0j6uk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/533467/original/file-20230622-21-i0j6uk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/533467/original/file-20230622-21-i0j6uk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/533467/original/file-20230622-21-i0j6uk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/533467/original/file-20230622-21-i0j6uk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Eileen, a talented writer, typed Orwell’s manuscripts between household chores.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Min An/Pexels</span></span>
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</figure>
<p>While Orwell heavily relied on Eileen for his literary output, her labour remains invisible. Funder emphasises this point by examining the silences in Orwell’s <a href="https://www.panmacmillan.com.au/9781529032710/">Homage to Catalonia</a>, which she has admired since she was a teenager. </p>
<p>Eileen was also in Spain. She types the observations Orwell sends her from the front and sends him back provisions. She works at the Communist Party’s headquarters, and the information she gleans informs Orwell’s account of the war. When Orwell is shot, she travels to the front to retrieve him, nurses him and organises his medical care.</p>
<p>Orwell, however, barely acknowledges her presence in his account. He refers only a few times to “my wife” – as though she were a tourist lounging in a hotel – and consequently, it is possible to read Homage without realising she was there at all. She is, Funder observes, a negative presence in the book, “like dark matter that can only be apprehended by its effect on the visible world”. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/friday-essay-the-problem-is-that-my-success-seems-to-get-in-his-way-the-fraught-terrain-of-literary-marriages-206190">Friday essay: 'the problem is that my success seems to get in his way' – the fraught terrain of literary marriages</a>
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</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Orwell as predator</h2>
<p>A more disturbing aspect of Funder’s interrogation of Orwell’s personal life is her revelation of his predatory behaviour. She documents his numerous attempted rapes of female acquaintances, as well as his manipulation of Eileen throughout his infidelities. </p>
<p>In 1940, as Eileen was grieving the death of her brother, Orwell penned a letter to an old crush, a teacher named Brenda who had refused his advances on multiple previous occasions. In it, he attempts to persuade her he has Eileen’s blessing to pursue an affair – a blatant lie. </p>
<p>Funder refutes the claims of several biographers who have argued this was a “clumsy attempt to establish a ménage à trois”. She draws on Eileen’s own letters to demonstrate Eileen despised Orwell’s pursuit of Brenda and wanted no part of it. </p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/533464/original/file-20230622-15-t3hnm9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/533464/original/file-20230622-15-t3hnm9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/533464/original/file-20230622-15-t3hnm9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=813&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/533464/original/file-20230622-15-t3hnm9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=813&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/533464/original/file-20230622-15-t3hnm9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=813&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/533464/original/file-20230622-15-t3hnm9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1022&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/533464/original/file-20230622-15-t3hnm9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1022&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/533464/original/file-20230622-15-t3hnm9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1022&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">George Orwell.</span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Funder’s reassessment of Orwell’s writing in relation to his biography reminded me of <a href="https://lithub.com/the-last-essay-i-need-to-write-about-david-foster-wallace/">a recent essay</a> by the academic Mary K. Holland, which reappraises scholarship on David Foster Wallace. Holland contends that prior to the #MeToo movement, the academy was unwilling to consider the obvious link between the misogyny and violence Wallace meted out in real life, and the “rape culture” that “so much of his fiction considers or reproduces”. </p>
<p>In Wifedom, Funder mounts a similar argument against Orwell, shedding new light on his work: though he is renowned for his examinations of power, his writing never considers power relations between the sexes. </p>
<p>Perhaps this is why, despite his commitment to documenting the lives of the impoverished and disempowered, he still felt entitled to purchase sex from a young girl in Morocco (as Funder documents), and remained ignorant of the demands he made on his wife’s time and abilities. </p>
<p>In all likelihood, Eileen recognised Orwell’s gendered blind spot, referring in one letter to his “extraordinary political simplicity”. </p>
<p>This leads to the book’s ironic denouement, in which Funder contends that patriarchy is the ultimate <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doublethink">doublethink</a>: “the whole world was set up to allow men to treat women badly, and still think of themselves as decent people”. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/friday-essay-george-orwell-is-everywhere-but-nineteen-eighty-four-is-not-a-reliable-guide-to-contemporary-politics-190909">Friday essay: George Orwell is everywhere, but Nineteen Eighty-Four is not a reliable guide to contemporary politics</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Interrogating Orwell’s legacy</h2>
<p>Funder is clear that she doesn’t want to “cancel” Orwell – though she notes that Eileen “has been cancelled already – by the patriarchy”. </p>
<p>Rather, the value of her project lies in considering their two lives, side by side: “looking for Eileen involved the pleasure of reading Orwell on how power works, and "finding her held the possibility of revealing how it works on women: how a woman can be buried first by domesticity and then by history.”</p>
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<p>This kind of reckoning is especially urgent at a time when the term “<a href="https://theconversation.com/what-does-orwellian-mean-anyway-87404">Orwellian</a>” is regularly invoked in discussions about politics. While this descriptor is often used in <a href="https://theconversation.com/what-does-orwellian-mean-anyway-87404">inaccurate</a> and <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2014/nov/11/reading-group-orwellian-1984">contradictory ways</a>, arguably Orwell’s stature as a political commentator has increased with the ascendancy of <a href="https://theconversation.com/yes-federal-charges-against-a-former-president-are-unprecedented-but-so-is-trumps-political-power-207408">Trump</a> and his imitators.</p>
<p>Funder is the perfect writer to integrate Orwell’s legacy. She, too, has devoted her writing life to the subject of surviving tyranny. First in <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/stasiland-9780143792529">Stasiland</a>, which documented surveillance and repression in East Germany. Then, in her Miles Franklin award-winning novel <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/all-that-i-am-9780143567516">All That I Am</a>, which centred on the strained loyalties of a group of Nazi dissidents. </p>
<p>But Orwell placed himself in extreme situations in order to report on poverty and war. Whereas Funder is searching for a way to understand the experiences she has garnered simply by virtue of existing – as a woman, in a world designed to benefit men.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/201572/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Amy Walters does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Anna Funder’s new book, Wifedom, is a meditation on the insidious nature of patriarchy. Funder draws parallels between our #metoo era and the time of George Orwell and his wife Eileen.Amy Walters, PhD candidate, English Literature, Australian National UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2061902023-06-22T20:07:05Z2023-06-22T20:07:05ZFriday essay: ‘the problem is that my success seems to get in his way’ – the fraught terrain of literary marriages<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/533324/original/file-20230622-17-5mqmny.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C0%2C1000%2C667&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Anna McGahan as Charmian Clift in the State Theatre Company's Hydra. </span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Jeff Busby/State Theatre Company</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>“It’s true to say that writers are selfish people,” the novelist Elizabeth Jane Howard once said. “But it’s not quite enough of an excuse.” </p>
<p>Howard was married to British author <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/1995/oct/23/fiction.kingsleyamis">Kingsley Amis</a>. Novelist <a href="https://theconversation.com/the-pre-eminent-novelist-critic-of-his-generation-martin-amiss-pyrotechnic-prose-captured-lifes-destructive-energies-206069">Martin Amis</a>, Kingsley’s son, credited his stepmother for encouraging his own writing career – not his father. But exhausted by the biggest child in the house – Kingsley – Howard often felt “too worn down by insecurity and fatigue to write”.
“He got up and wrote,” Howard recalled. “Then he ate lunch, had a walk or sleep, and then he wrote again.” </p>
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<p>Writes Carmela Ciuraru, in her book <a href="https://www.harpercollins.com.au/9780062356918/lives-of-the-wives/">Lives of the Wives: Five Literary Marriages</a>: “It was an idyllic existence – for him.” Howard, she notes, published three novels in the 18-year marriage; Amis published nearly 20.</p>
<p><a href="https://pushkinpress.com/our-authors/elsa-morante/">Elsa Morante</a>, the Italian author who inspired <a href="https://overland.org.au/2016/10/her-real-name-on-the-unmasking-of-elena-ferrante/">Elena Ferrante</a>, once wrote, “literary couples are a plague”. Married to novelist <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/1990/09/27/obituaries/alberto-moravia-novelist-is-dead-at-82.html">Alberto Moravia</a>, her partnership (like that of Howard and Amis) is chronicled in Ciuraru’s book – along with <a href="https://theconversation.com/the-man-behind-matilda-what-roald-dahl-was-really-like-62810">Roald Dahl</a> and actor <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/film/2016/jan/06/patricia-neal-interview-roald-dahl-1971">Patricia Neal</a>, sculptor and translator <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Una_Vincenzo,_Lady_Troubridge">Una Troubridge</a> and author <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Radclyffe_Hall">Radclyffe Hall</a>, and author <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/10/books/10dundy.html">Elaine Dundy</a>, married to British theatre critic <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/arts/critic/feature/0,,567652,00.html">Kenneth Tynan</a>. </p>
<p>When both people in a relationship are writers, creative space is a faultline. So are matters such as who looks after the kids, inspiration turf wars, and yes, jealousy about success. As Ciaruru shows, it’s often the wives who ultimately choose writing over wedded bliss.</p>
<h2>Rooms – or tables – of their own</h2>
<p>The tension starts with writing space. Virginia Woolf famously observed that money and time is required for <a href="https://theconversation.com/guide-to-the-classics-a-room-of-ones-own-virginia-woolfs-feminist-call-to-arms-145398">a room of one’s own</a>. At Monk House, Woolf built a new writing lodge after she was irritated by her publisher husband Leonard and their dog. “The little noise upsets me; I can’t think what I was going to say.” </p>
<p>Most writing couples don’t have Monk House and its grounds to divide, especially in the early years. Instead they scrap over who gets the dining room table, or share it – as <a href="https://theconversation.com/a-woman-ahead-of-her-time-remembering-the-australian-writer-charmian-clift-50-years-on-117322">Charmian Clift</a> and <a href="https://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/johnston-george-2277">George Johnston</a> did while writing <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2760144-the-sponge-divers?from_search=true&from_srp=true&qid=NCm9r8O0XL&rank=1">The Sponge Divers</a> together on the Greek island of Kalymnos in the early 1950s. They later upgraded to a shared home studio on the island of Hydra. </p>
<p>Clift’s biographer, <a href="http://nadiawheatley.com/the-life-and-myth-of-charmian-clift">Nadia Wheatley</a>, writes:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>The image of Charmian and George writing together is a potent one: two people bashing away at two typewriters on the one table. Stacks of typescript – his spilling over into hers; hers ending up in the middle of his – the air wreathed in cigarette smoke […]</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Novelist <a href="https://kristinwilliamson.com.au/">Kristin Williamson</a> and her playwright husband David also started out table sharing, less harmoniously. In her biography of David, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/21949734-david-williamson">Behind the Scenes</a>, she remembers that compared to David’s typing, she felt like a “slug on tranquilisers”. They since always ensured each has a room of their own in later houses. But as Kristin <a href="https://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/books/under-the-covers-20040724-gdjen8.html">quips</a>, “David’s is larger. His rooms always have been.”</p>
<p>When Australian authors <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/2019/mar/04/ruth-park-brings-sydneys-past-to-life-more-than-any-other-writer">Ruth Park</a> (originally a New Zealander) and <a href="https://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/niland-darcy-francis-11242">D’Arcy Niland</a> lived in a rented inner-city room in Sydney’s Surry Hills, the suburb that inspired her novel, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1855153.The_Harp_in_the_South?from_search=true&from_srp=true&qid=mnZ7pblm10&rank=1">The Harp in the South</a> (1948), they wrote story ideas on each other’s palms in bed. Park recalls that when they finally moved into a flat that had more room, Niland:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>made a beeline for the dining room table, excitedly opened the typewriter, and spread out his dictionaries, papers, and reference books. “Look!” he cried. “I’ve a proper place to work at last”. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>Park tried to share the table. But “gradually his papers encroached, files ostentatiously fell to the floor; the carriage of my typewriter constantly hit things […]” She gave up. Park reflects in her second memoir, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2859274-fishing-in-the-styx">Fishing in the Styx</a>, that she should have fought harder for space to write, but “the ironing board was a minuscule price to pay for all the good things in his character and our relationship”. They eventually moved into a large but decaying house.</p>
<p>Kenneth Tynan, by contrast, made his wife plain uncomfortable when she turned from acting to writing after they married in 1951. Observes Ciuraru, </p>
<blockquote>
<p>Whereas he had his study as a refuge […] Elaine (Dundy) wrote each day “slowly but steadily” on the living room sofa with a typewriter propped up on her knees. Her back hurt.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Space causes friction between established writers too. Murray Bail demanded total solitude while writing <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/319480.Eucalyptus?from_search=true&from_srp=true&qid=DQpHGaub4s&rank=1">Eucalyptus</a> (1998). Garner diarised her exile from their apartment that was his workspace in the third volume of her published diaries, <a href="https://www.textpublishing.com.au/books/how-to-end-a-story-diaries-1995-1998">How to End a Story</a>. </p>
<p>Garner felt forced to rent a bland office. Even on weekends, or with the flu, she felt unwelcome at home:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>With a friend who is married to a painter, I compared notes about our respective husbands and their demands […] Like me she is expected to run the house, do the shopping and cooking, and keep the home fires burning, all this without being permitted on the premises during work hours. I saw in her face my unhappiness. We did not know whether, or how, we could go tolerating their regimes.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>She fears she will “wither away with loneliness”. After the office lease ends, Garner moves out to a new apartment of her own, and separation.</p>
<p>Separate spaces, however, kept the Morante-Moravia union together. Morante, who died in 1985, published four Italian novels, including the acclaimed <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/House_of_Liars">House of Liars</a> and <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/L%27isola_di_Arturo">Arturo’s Island</a>, and volumes of essays, short stories and poetry. </p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/532642/original/file-20230619-15-lh6e2j.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/532642/original/file-20230619-15-lh6e2j.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/532642/original/file-20230619-15-lh6e2j.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=688&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/532642/original/file-20230619-15-lh6e2j.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=688&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/532642/original/file-20230619-15-lh6e2j.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=688&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/532642/original/file-20230619-15-lh6e2j.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=864&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/532642/original/file-20230619-15-lh6e2j.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=864&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/532642/original/file-20230619-15-lh6e2j.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=864&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Elsa Morante.</span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Her husband said: “Writing was her life”; she called her characters “my people”. Morante preferred cats, who did not criticise her work or interrupt her. </p>
<p>Moravia was an Italian literary lion after his 1929 debut, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/sk/book/show/67145">The Time of Indifference</a>. She and Morante hid in a one-room hut in the mountains for nine months during World War II (which later inspired Moravia’s 1957 novel, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/67143.Two_Women">Two Women</a>.) </p>
<p>Ciaruru quotes Moravia as recalling this time together as “their greatest intimacy”. After the war, Moravia bought Morante a small apartment to use as a writing studio, largely funded by his bestselling novel, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/12250543-the-woman-of-rome">The Woman of Rome</a> (1947).</p>
<p>“She says I am too noisy, too nervous, that she needs privacy,” he said. “I can write in a hotel lobby or with someone playing (the bass) in the chair near me.”</p>
<p>Morante admitted she was a “a little ashamed” about insisting on solitude. But, “if I had to write near Alberto I probably would not write at all. And I would be unhappy.” Moravia understood, and was happy and prolific amid his noise in their villa, publishing classics including <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/67146.The_Conformist">The Conformist</a> (1951), <a href="https://www.vulture.com/article/movie-review-bernardo-bertoluccis-the-conformist-returns.html">adapted into a film by Bernardo Bertolucci</a> in 1970.</p>
<hr>
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<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/friday-essay-sex-swimming-and-smudgy-louvres-watching-monkey-grip-40-years-on-187625">Friday essay: sex, swimming and smudgy louvres – watching Monkey Grip 40 years on</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Domestic tensions</h2>
<p>If kids come along, things get more fraught. Pregnant again in 1948, with her first child only seven months old, Clift was frustrated. She and Johnston had just won a Sydney Morning Herald novel prize for their collaboration, <a href="https://www.charmianclift.com.au/high-valley">High Valley</a>. Clift recalled: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>At this point I should have taken wings and started to fly but […] I was involved in having children […] I think those are terribly difficult years for any young woman and for a young woman who wants to write or paint or anything else, even more so. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>After they moved to Kalymnos in 1954, she gratefully paid a local woman to help. She did the same on Hydra, when their third child was born on the island. Later, back in Australia, Clift applied for a literary grant for “domestic help”. </p>
<p>Something has to give – and it’s the housework or childcare, not writing, if they can afford it.</p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/532644/original/file-20230619-25-8r9ua9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/532644/original/file-20230619-25-8r9ua9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/532644/original/file-20230619-25-8r9ua9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=1001&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/532644/original/file-20230619-25-8r9ua9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=1001&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/532644/original/file-20230619-25-8r9ua9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=1001&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/532644/original/file-20230619-25-8r9ua9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1258&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/532644/original/file-20230619-25-8r9ua9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1258&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/532644/original/file-20230619-25-8r9ua9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1258&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">D'Arcy Niland and Ruth Park.</span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Others muddle through. A single mother, Garner grabbed precious school hours at a library to write her debut novel, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/634141.Monkey_Grip">Monkey Grip</a>. </p>
<p>It is telling that Ruth Park wrote Harp in the South while visiting her parents in New Zealand, so had family help. Soon after its release, back in Sydney, her husband left for a research trip for his novel, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/625198.The_Shiralee?from_search=true&from_srp=true&qid=9CeitNq8gc&rank=1">The Shiralee</a>, and she was left with the three children and no mother to help – Park couldn’t afford childcare, despite her success.</p>
<p>She then devised the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Muddle-Headed_Wombat">Muddle-Headed Wombat</a> series while her now five children had chicken pox and D’Arcy was on another research trip. Park recalls, </p>
<blockquote>
<p>I again pondered bitterly the question of which one of us it was who carried the Shiralee, which I now understood meant burden. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>Domestic tensions are not restricted to childcare. Elaine Dundy’s daughter, Tracy, had a nanny but Elaine still declined invitations to attend opening nights with her critic husband. Instead, she would stay home to write her novels. In response, Tynan was “embarrassed and angered” that his wife put her writing before appearances to support his work. </p>
<p>Garner writes that she was upset Bail did not welcome her now-adult daughter and fiancee at their home, seeing their presence as another imposition on his writing life. Nor did she feel free to “be messing around at home”.</p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/532633/original/file-20230619-23-57piop.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/532633/original/file-20230619-23-57piop.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/532633/original/file-20230619-23-57piop.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=729&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/532633/original/file-20230619-23-57piop.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=729&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/532633/original/file-20230619-23-57piop.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=729&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/532633/original/file-20230619-23-57piop.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=916&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/532633/original/file-20230619-23-57piop.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=916&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/532633/original/file-20230619-23-57piop.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=916&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Elizabeth Jane Howard.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Wikipedia</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Prior to meeting Kingsley Amis, Howard, an established novelist, had left her first husband and daughter, Nicola, as she was “selfishly determined to be a writer”. Nicola called her mother “a very beautiful stranger” in her childhood. </p>
<p>Ironically, Amis’s own selfishness overwhelmed Howard’s. She managed his moods and meals. She was his secretary and chauffeur and regularly catered dinner parties for up to 12 people where Amis could hold court, as well being a stepmother to her two stepsons, who lived with them.</p>
<p>Her complaints were met with Amis’s decree, “I’m older, heavier and earn more money”.</p>
<p>Morante did not have children, though Ciuraru suggests this was not by choice. While she adored children, Ciararu wonders if the reality would have been challenging given “daily life made her lose patience and become difficult”.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/a-woman-ahead-of-her-time-remembering-the-australian-writer-charmian-clift-50-years-on-117322">'A woman ahead of her time': remembering the Australian writer Charmian Clift, 50 years on</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Literary ambition</h2>
<p>Fights over space and the kids set the scene for the most ferocious faultline: literary ambition. Ciaruru sums up the creative competition when describing Amis and Howard: “both were ambitious writers, only one could achieve success”. </p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/532647/original/file-20230619-23-siyemc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/532647/original/file-20230619-23-siyemc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/532647/original/file-20230619-23-siyemc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=961&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/532647/original/file-20230619-23-siyemc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=961&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/532647/original/file-20230619-23-siyemc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=961&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/532647/original/file-20230619-23-siyemc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1208&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/532647/original/file-20230619-23-siyemc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1208&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/532647/original/file-20230619-23-siyemc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1208&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<p>Tynan’s toxic jealousy fully emerged after the successful release of Dundy’s debut novel, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1059856.The_Dud_Avocado">The Dud Avocado</a>, in 1958. “He confronted Elaine, warning if she ever dared to write another book, he would divorce her.” She began writing a new novel the next morning. They divorced four years later in 1964. </p>
<p>Some literary couples share success – to a point. Though possessive of the table, Niland encouraged Park to write Harp in the South. Wheatley notes of Clift-Johnston: “one of the common misconceptions about the relationship was that Charmian was perennially jealous of George’s output and success.” </p>
<p>Similarly, Wheatley recounts that Johnston “recognised [his wife] as a fellow writer, and indeed for many years he even publicly acknowledged that by literary standards she was a better writer than he was.”</p>
<p>According to Ciuraru, Moravia “spoke often and admiringly of Elsa’s genius, no matter the state of their marriage”, which he described as “a man and a woman in a very difficult, very personal relationship”. </p>
<p>But sharing in success has its limits. After the Sponge Divers collaboration, Clift carved creative space of her own:</p>
<p>“Actually of course, [The Sponge Divers] was a phoney [sic] collaboration because I was beyond the stage where I could collaborate any longer. I wanted to work in my own way. This was probably very egotistical, but most writers have this.”</p>
<p>As well as her Island memoirs and essays, Clift later published a novel, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/4600900-honours-mimic">Honour’s Mimic</a>, under her own name.</p>
<p>Williamson, the author of <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6936173-tanglewood">Tanglewood</a> and other novels, quotes David’s reaction to her turning to creative writing from journalism: “Hey, this is my patch. But after I saw the work she was doing I was very impressed.” She qualifies, “I was writing novels rather than plays – imagine If I had dared to write a play!”</p>
<p>But Kristin declares that she first thought of the idea for David’s play, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/9789009-siren">Siren</a>, borne out of his affair: she planned to write it as a novel. The couple fought over the idea, arguing it was both their “lived experience”. Kristin capitulated, but “felt somewhat bitter about it for a while”. David later publicly gave her credit, and their marriage survived the literary explosion.</p>
<h2>Vacating the field</h2>
<p>Not so Garner and Bail. Her fifth work of fiction <a href="https://www.textpublishing.com.au/books/cosmo-cosmolino">Cosmo Cosmolino</a>, was published the year she and Bail married (1992). But during the marriage she published her first book-length work of non-fiction, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2738022-the-first-stone">The First Stone</a>, and the anthology, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35576146">True Stories</a>. </p>
<p>As Bail wrote his novel, in her diary, Garner realises:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>All this jabber I carry on with lately, about how I’m heading for non-fiction, leaving fiction behind […] suddenly it strikes me that what I’m doing is vacating the field. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>Garner adds:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>He is generous as he can possibly be about my book and its success, but if I had success like that with a novel there’d be serious trouble […] Maybe it is true then. A woman artist who wants to develop as far as she can needs to live alone […] The problem is that my success seems to get in his way. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>The marriage ended in 1998, after <a href="https://www.textpublishing.com.au/books/eucalyptus">Eucalyptus</a> was published. Garner returned to fiction in 2008 with <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20895311.The_Spare_Room">The Spare Room.</a>.</p>
<p>After divorcing Tynan, Dundy wrote two novels, as well as biographies of <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/63328055-elvis-and-gladys">Elvis Presley’s mother</a> and <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/272578.Finch_Bloody_Finch">Peter Finch</a>. Howard’s literary output also rocketed after divorcing Amis in 1983. She was encouraged by her stepson, Martin Amis, to write <a href="https://www.panmacmillan.com/blogs/fiction/cazalet-chronicles-books-in-order">The Cazalet Chronicles</a>, a series of novels that drew on her family story,that were later adapted for television as The Cazalets.</p>
<p>With all these faultlines, it’s no wonder married authors keep their own names for continuous identity within and beyond a marriage. Morante “could not stand being called by her married name”, and could not fathom how other women “could tolerate this elision of their identity”.</p>
<p>Asked once in an interview if Moravia had influenced her work, Morante stiffened. “No,” she said. “He has an identity and I have an identity. <em>Basta</em>.” </p>
<p>She stopped the interview.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/206190/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Kerrie Davies does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>‘Literary couples are a plague,’ wrote Elsa Morante, married to Alberto Moravia. They’re one of the couples in this lively exploration of what happens when two writers share loves and lives.Kerrie Davies, Lecturer, School of the Arts & Media, UNSW SydneyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1974272023-03-15T19:03:44Z2023-03-15T19:03:44Z‘A policy aesthete’: a new biography of Tanya Plibersek shows how governments work – and affect people’s lives<p>Days before the publication of a new biography of federal Labor cabinet minister Tanya Plibersek, the Nine newspapers carried an exclusive extract in the Good Weekend magazine, accompanied by a news article leading with Plibersek’s assertion that if she had stood for the party’s leadership after the 2019 election she would have won.</p>
<p>Cue instant <a href="https://www.skynews.com.au/australia-news/politics/labor-leadership-back-in-the-spotlight-as-anthony-albanese-responds-to-tanya-pliberseks-comments-about-2019-vote/news-story/3d2c1fec7fe9e03926813b8dacd2cda7">leadership threat</a> stories, followed by Prime Minister Anthony Albanese <a href="https://www.afr.com/politics/federal/i-was-elected-unopposed-pm-responds-to-plibersek-leadership-claims-20230304-p5cpet">hosing down speculation</a> about the simmering tension between him and his fellow left faction member, and the obligatory <a href="https://www.news.com.au/finance/work/leaders/tanya-plibersek-coy-on-leadership-claim-after-book-bombshell/news-story/f2f8a3182c915bd1e07979f6e834109c">guarded comment</a> from Plibersek.</p>
<hr>
<p><em>Review: Tanya Plibersek: On Her Own Terms – Margaret Simons (Black Inc.)</em></p>
<hr>
<p>These stories are the journalistic equivalent of instant noodles – just add water and stir. And like instant noodles, the taste is soon forgotten, leaving only doubts about the impact of an instant-noodle diet on your long-term health.</p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/515053/original/file-20230314-166-86dnlk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/515053/original/file-20230314-166-86dnlk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/515053/original/file-20230314-166-86dnlk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=917&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/515053/original/file-20230314-166-86dnlk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=917&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/515053/original/file-20230314-166-86dnlk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=917&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/515053/original/file-20230314-166-86dnlk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1153&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/515053/original/file-20230314-166-86dnlk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1153&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/515053/original/file-20230314-166-86dnlk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1153&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<p>What was forgotten or slid over in the rush to leadership speculation was the reason why Plibersek did not put herself forward in 2019. Her daughter Anna was being physically and sexually abused by her boyfriend. Plibersek put the need to support her daughter during a gruelling court case ahead of her political ambition.</p>
<p>It is easy to be cynical about the cliché of politicians stepping aside to spend more time with their families. Indeed, between them, politicians and journalists have fed this cynicism. Maybe, though, as Sigmund Freud famously remarked, “sometimes a cigar is just a cigar”.</p>
<p>Certainly, readers of The Age thought so. Among six published letters to the editor, five supported Plibersek’s decision and one of these, from Fiona White, asked:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>How did Tanya Plibersek’s comment out of a sensitive interview about her daughter suddenly become a headline that she and Anthony Albanese have to defend as though there is about to be a leadership spill? Kudos to Plibersek for putting her children first, as one hopes any male politician would do.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It would be naïve to think the news media would ignore a leadership threat story, but how much else is missed in taking such a narrowly framed approach to politics? Equally important, what do we need to know from journalists to make informed decisions about the politicians we vote for?</p>
<p>On this score, Margaret Simons’ biography of Tanya Plibersek offers abundant information and insights. Yes, it covers the twists and turns of Plibersek and Albanese’s fortunes in the Labor Party. But for me, at least, the most illuminating parts of the book were the detailed discussions of Plibersek’s approach to public policy across several portfolios and the real, if unappreciated, impact of her work on the lives of ordinary Australians. This focus resembles American journalist Michael Lewis’s book <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/the-fifth-risk-9780141991429">The Fifth Risk</a> (2018), which showed the path-finding work done by government departments and the risk posed to them by the Trump administration. </p>
<h2>Background</h2>
<p>Before diving into that, a sketch is needed of what Simons’ biography tells us about Plibersek’s background. </p>
<p>Plibersek is the daughter of Slovenian migrants who exemplify the received picture of Australia’s post-war immigration program: hard-working, happy to adapt to Australian life, loving, and keen to inculcate in their three children, of whom Tanya was the youngest, the value of education. “You don’t need a reason to learn something new,” Josef Plibersek told his daughter as a child, advice she recalled when deciding whether to enrol in a Masters of Politics and Public Policy. </p>
<p>First, Plibersek studied journalism at the University of Technology in Sydney. She completed her honours year, but was unsuccessful in gaining a cadetship at her preferred media outlet, the ABC, so she turned toward politics. She connected with a number of Labor women, such as Meredith Burgmann, and worked on senator Bruce Childs’ staff, before winning the federal seat of Sydney in 1998. She has held the seat ever since and is now the longest serving female member of federal parliament.</p>
<p>At university, alongside later journalistic luminaries like Tim Palmer, Plibersek met her future husband Michael Coutts-Trotter who, as Simons remarks, merits a book of his own. The capsule summary – teenage drug user, jailed for trafficking drugs at 19, reformed, longtime senior public servant in New South Wales – does not do justice to Coutts-Trotter’s remarkable life. I have heard him speak, when he gave the annual Jesuit Social Services Frank Costigan lecture in 2016. His candid, unsparing reflections on his youth were moving and inspiring.</p>
<p>It is clear from the book that he and Plibersek are soulmates, fiercely committed to ideas about how to make the country a better place. Early in their relationship, while out driving, they argued so passionately about electricity privatisation (he was for it, she against) that Plibersek tried pulling the handbrake so she could get out of the car.</p>
<p>Coutts-Trotter says their views have gradually grown closer to each other. She is more centrist; he is less “provocatively doctrinaire”. She is less hard on others, but he believes she is still too hard on herself.</p>
<p>Throughout her life, many people, including many in the Labor party, have assumed that Plibersek – photogenically good-looking and possessed of a mellifluous speaking voice – must come from a well-to-do background, especially when they hear that she travelled overseas from a young age. But her parents were working class. They were only able to afford flights after Josef began working as a plumber for Qantas and was able to avail himself of cheap standby fares for staff. </p>
<p>The family used the opportunity to regularly travel back to Slovenia. Coutts-Trotter accompanied Plibersek on later trips there, recalling: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>She’s got the constitution of a Slovenian farmer […] In another time and another place, that would be Tanya, keeping going. Keeping everything together.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>He calls her his “beautiful, kind unstoppable wife”. You would expect that from a loving husband, but for years there has been a Tanya Plibersek fan club whose unabashed admiration Simons interrogates at length. Running through the book is a curious tension between the scepticism of the experienced journalist who can’t quite believe all the stories of Plibersek’s kindness, and the scrupulously honest reporter who records them for her readers to decide. </p>
<p>Here’s one of numerous examples Simons provides. In 2013, in the final months of the Labor government, when Plibersek was Minister for Health, a longstanding friend of Coutts-Trotter, who had endured similar difficulties with drugs, phoned one night ahead of entering another period of rehabilitation. Plibersek took the call as Coutts-Trotter was out. The friend recalled: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>There was a lot happening in Health, but she got up and came over to my place, driving right across town, and she sat down with her arm around me, telling me how she and Michael loved me, and she stayed with me for hours through that night before I had to go back in. I’ll never forget it. That generosity, that kindness, is how you measure people.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Plibersek has few if any real enemies in politics, according to Simons. At worst, those in politics, whether coalition or Labor, find it hard to concede she can be as good as her fans believe, but none can point to any major scandals, let alone a hint of corruption. One anonymous interviewee tells Simons that Plibersek approaches government more like a public servant than a minister, but lest this be seen as too critical adds: “She understands better than most ministers what a well-functioning public service should look like.”</p>
<h2>Politics and programs</h2>
<p>Tempting as it is to comment at length on the aptness of this remark in light of the appalling revelations from the robodebt Royal Commission, it is more illuminating to return to Plibersek’s record in government, which occupies the bulk of four meaty chapters in the middle of the biography.</p>
<p>Plibersek’s first ministry came after Labor was elected in 2007. It was Housing, a portfolio for which there had been no dedicated minister in the previous coalition government. John Howard had taken the view that housing should be left to the market. </p>
<p>With little background in the area and having been shadow minister for only a year before the election, Plibersek consulted widely with experts such as Julian Disney, who directed her to a policy idea to deal with what was already becoming an issue – the struggle for people on low to middle incomes who did not need public housing, but did need affordable rental accommodation while they saved to buy a home.</p>
<p>Simons writes:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>The idea was to offer a subsidy to commercial or non-profit organisations to build housing for rent, on condition that rents were set at least 20 percent below market level for at least ten years […] It was a way of using a comparatively modest amount of taxpayer money to make providing affordable housing attractive to the property industry and financiers – a market-led solution to what had traditionally been seen as a welfare problem.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The National Rental Affordability Scheme, as it became known, was designed to begin modestly and then grow, but it suffered from election promise inflation. Disney tells Simons that the planned 28,000 houses was pumped up to 50,000 “purely because [Labor prime minister] Rudd said 28,000 is not big enough for a major policy announcement”.</p>
<p>This PR-driven method of policy announcement, satirised in the television show Utopia, coupled with a lack of capacity in the Housing department conspired to stymie the scheme’s implementation. From the experience, Plibersek learned lessons. </p>
<p>In late 2008, when the global financial crisis erupted, the Rudd government injected enormous fiscal stimulus into the economy to stave off a recession. In a second tranche of spending, it focussed on infrastructure. Two of these programs became mired in controversy: inexperienced tradespeople died installing pink batts insulation and there were allegations of waste in spending on school buildings. </p>
<p>The third program was run by Plibersek. It centred on a huge $6.4 billion spend on new social housing, as well as revitalising 2,500 run-down public housing houses. It was the largest single investment in social housing in 25 years. </p>
<p>Despite the difficulties governments inevitably face when they roll out large programs quickly amid a crisis, it ran smoothly, created no controversy, and was later praised in a report by management consultants KPMG for its economic efficiency. Very few people outside the housing sector remember this initiative today. “That’s how we value competence,” comments Simons.</p>
<p>Simons fills the gap by recounting several stories of people who told Plibersek they were deeply grateful for the program, including a man in Adelaide who took her to the balcony in his newly provided unit that overlooked the abandoned service station where he had slept every night for the previous seven years. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/albanese-government-tackles-housing-crisis-on-3-fronts-but-theres-still-more-to-do-198509">Albanese government tackles housing crisis on 3 fronts, but there's still more to do</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Making good things happen</h2>
<p>The other main policy Plibersek focussed on as minister for Human Services and Social Inclusion was the creation, in 2011, of the National Plan to Reduce Violence Against Women and their Children. Labor was ousted in 2013 and in opposition for the next nine years, but Plibersek’s achievement was to “move violence against women from the sidelines of public policy to the centre”.</p>
<p>Plibersek is keen to emphasise the importance of people she has worked with, such as the state housing authorities and her Labor colleague Jenny Macklin, who has long been a policy powerhouse on social issues.</p>
<p>She is also, as one of her staff, Paul Nicolarakis, observes, a policy aesthete. “She sees beauty in her policy role when she can kill two birds with one stone and have an elegant solution that saves money and allows spending, that makes good things happen”. </p>
<p>By the time Plibersek became Minister for Health in 2011, the government had a serious budget deficit to rein in. Treasurer Wayne Swan had decreed that any new spending proposals needed to be offset by cuts. Plibersek had seen how a vaccination program for Gardisal that combats cervical cancer had been rolled out for girls. She wanted to extend the program to boys; they could not get cervical cancer, but there was evidence they could transmit the virus that caused it.</p>
<p>Making the vaccine freely available required an offset in the Health budget. Plibersek looked at the Pharmaceutical Benefits Scheme, under which the federal government subsidises many drugs to ensure they remain affordable for the general public. Put simply, there is a delay between when new medicines are approved under the scheme and when the cheaper generic brand becomes available. </p>
<p>In that gap, usually around 18 months, drug companies and chemists game the system. This was costing the budget more than a billion dollars a year. Plibersek worked hard to reduce the gap from 18 to 12 months, which created the offset she needed to fund the Gardasil vaccination program and an expansion in the National Bowel Cancer Screening Program. </p>
<p>Unlike many, both programs survived cuts by the subsequent coalition government. Simons notes they are now “keystones in preventative health”. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/515093/original/file-20230314-24-b46qa2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/515093/original/file-20230314-24-b46qa2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/515093/original/file-20230314-24-b46qa2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/515093/original/file-20230314-24-b46qa2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/515093/original/file-20230314-24-b46qa2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/515093/original/file-20230314-24-b46qa2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/515093/original/file-20230314-24-b46qa2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/515093/original/file-20230314-24-b46qa2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Margaret Simons.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Dave Tacon/Black Inc.</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/politics-with-michelle-grattan-tanya-plibersek-on-parents-role-in-reducing-violence-against-women-175907">Politics with Michelle Grattan: Tanya Plibersek on parents' role in reducing violence against women</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>A flourishing garden</h2>
<p>All these carefully gathered details are invaluable in showing us how exactly governments work and the impact of their policies. The examples from the Rudd-Gillard-Rudd government of 2007-2013 also show how complicated and intractable some policy problems are. </p>
<p>Plibersek has learnt the need to fight for visionary policies rather than simply espouse them. At the same time, she has learnt when and how to compromise to achieve an outcome. As Plibersek tells Simons: “Medicare didn’t spring fully formed from the sea like Botticelli’s Venus.” </p>
<p>If this approach sounds crazy – tackling economic issues fiscally as well as through monetary policy, focussing on policy development before the “announceables”, valuing the role of government in helping improve people’s lives – it underscores the extent to which the former coalition government hollowed out the processes of good government and rendered the media and the population profoundly cynical about what governments can and should do for the people who elect them.</p>
<p>A key theme of this book is that strong public policy is not only possible but necessary. Taking a metaphor from one of Simons’ other roles as a gardening columnist, sound policies need to be seeded, planted in good soil, tended to, and where necessary pruned to encourage new growth. It is unspectacular, never-ending work that can be undone by forces outside the gardener’s control. But all this and more is needed for any good garden to flourish and, better still, endure.</p>
<p>Writing a biography of a living person is a tricky enterprise at the best of times; writing a biography of a living politician is trickier still. Any politician as experienced as Tanya Plibersek is expert at managing what to disclose and when. A journalist and author as experienced as Simons is expert in asking hard questions and digging into the gaps and silences in what she has been told.</p>
<p>The engagement between the two is kept largely in the background, surfacing in odd, largely uncontextualised accounts of interviews. This is uncharacteristic of much of Simons’ earlier works, such as Fit to Print (1999) and The Meeting of the Waters (2003), where her personality and reflections on the task at hand are foregrounded to great effect. </p>
<p>Simons and Plibersek don’t appear to have gelled in the way biographers and their subjects sometimes do. Whether that stems from their personalities or from the thickets surrounding the journalist-biographer and politician-subject relationship is hard to discern. That said, this well-researched, finely judged biography makes for richly informative reading.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/197427/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Margaret Simons and I were cadets together at The Age in 1982.</span></em></p>Across her long political career, Tanya Plibersek has learnt to fight for visionary policies, not merely espouse them.Matthew Ricketson, Professor of Communication, Deakin UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1969352023-02-20T00:38:51Z2023-02-20T00:38:51ZLocked down with D.H. Lawrence? Yeah, nah<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/510235/original/file-20230215-24-efdcz4.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=158%2C0%2C2105%2C1140&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption"></span> </figcaption></figure><p>Are we, finally, post-COVID? </p>
<p>Reading Lara Feigel’s <a href="https://www.bloomsbury.com/au/look-we-have-come-through-9781408877531/">Look! We Have Come Through!</a>, it feels like we are. </p>
<p>The emotional consequences and aesthetic ramifications of the pandemic will continue to ripple through culture, changing our way of seeing the world, even as we begin to weary of the change. Writers who seemed outmoded or alien to a pre-pandemic worldview will suddenly have new relevance, helping us to understand the emotional landscape of a world riven by disease and crisis. </p>
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<p><em>Review: Look! We Have Come Through!: Living with D.H. Lawrence – Lara Feigel (Bloomsbury)</em></p>
<hr>
<p>Look! We Have Come Through! offers this idea as a take on literary criticism. Feigel is the author of four books of non-fiction and one novel, all of which combine cultural history, biography and literary criticism. Her latest book is an account of isolating in Oxfordshire with D.H. Lawrence (or rather, with his books) during the locked-down months of 2020. Subtitled Living with D.H. Lawrence, it is a bibliomemoir that places Feigel’s immediate experiences inside the frame of criticism. </p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507752/original/file-20230202-1441-2p00ot.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507752/original/file-20230202-1441-2p00ot.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507752/original/file-20230202-1441-2p00ot.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=923&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507752/original/file-20230202-1441-2p00ot.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=923&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507752/original/file-20230202-1441-2p00ot.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=923&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507752/original/file-20230202-1441-2p00ot.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1160&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507752/original/file-20230202-1441-2p00ot.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1160&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507752/original/file-20230202-1441-2p00ot.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1160&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<p>Lawrence is a writer whose books and biography provoke either adoration or loathing, depending on one’s taste, politics and patience. He is an ideal companion for lockdown, Feigel says, because he was so expert in the polarities of isolation and proximity. </p>
<p>The approach to critique is engaging, especially if we take seriously Feigel’s thesis that literature gives us “resources for survival”. She contends this is true not simply because of literature’s capacity to open us to otherness, but perhaps more crucially because it allows us to live with negativity and crisis: “to integrate the madness and destruction into a liveable life”.</p>
<p>“One hope from locking down with Lawrence,” Feigel writes, “is to use this time to think through what I see as the purpose of literary criticism – and whether, in the midst of today’s crises, it remains a worthwhile pursuit.”</p>
<p>Each chapter approaches Lawrence’s life and work from a thematic perspective – “Unconscious”, “Sex”, “Parenthood”, “Apocalypse”, etcetera. Interwoven with her critical analysis, Feigel makes a case for Lawrence as a kind of guide to life, or at least a guide to her life: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>I have turned to Lawrence for urgent literary companionship, hoping that he will help me make sense of the new world we have found ourselves in. </p>
</blockquote>
<h2>No name, no body</h2>
<p>Look! We Have Come Through! does not have the sense of enclosure and claustrophobia that Rachel Cusk achieved in her recent Lawrentian novel Second Place (2021). Feigel is locking down with her two children and her partner in a cottage in Oxfordshire. She and her family are able to ramble around the UK countryside, observing lambs and cows and snowdrops. They get mired in mud on Cornish beaches and visit Eastwood, the tiny Nottinghamshire town where Lawrence was born and grew up, and from which he eagerly escaped for the wider world of London, Germany, Italy and Mexico.</p>
<p>The polarities of intimacy and isolation, crisis and stasis, are as familiar for us as they were for Lawrence, who lived through a period of social, economic and political upheavals on a global scale, including a world war and a pandemic. He moved around restlessly, searching for community, yet unable to settle. He was a self-made sexual guru who was an obdurate hater; an outsider who sought to excavate human interiority. </p>
<p>As Feigel points out, Lawrence had many names, yet none of them seemed appropriate. Christened David Herbert, in childhood he was Bert. His cosmopolitan wife Frieda called him Lorenzo – “a name well-suited to his image as a Priest of Love”, Feigel comments, but ill-fitting his identity as the puritan “man of the Midlands”. He signed his letters – even to his mother – DHL. </p>
<p>“For me,” Feigel admits, “he has no name, and neither does he really have a body.” He is a “ghost”, a presence that haunts her but remains tantalisingly intangible.</p>
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<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/ninety-years-on-what-can-we-learn-from-reading-evelyn-waughs-troubling-satire-black-mischief-190441">Ninety years on, what can we learn from reading Evelyn Waugh's troubling satire Black Mischief?</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
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<h2>Grotesque and immediate</h2>
<p>It is at this juncture that I should probably confess that I am not a Lawrence expert, nor even a Lawrence enthusiast. In fact, a month ago, if you were to ask me to name the writer I least admired, it would have been Lawrence. </p>
<p>As an undergraduate, I read three or four of his novels with mounting irritation at the hectic, repetitive loops of his sentences – never mind his sexual and racial politics. One of my favourite books is Stella Gibbons’s Cold Comfort Farm, which skewers Lawrence and his ilk with merciless glee. So my sympathy with turning to Lawrence for self-help was, at the outset, limited. </p>
<p>It is a testament to Feigel, whose prose is commendably clear, that her book is a compelling reading of Lawrence. It caused me to reconsider him and his work. I called up a stack of his novels and a book of his paintings from my university library. </p>
<p>Like his most famous novels, Lady Chatterley’s Lover and The Rainbow, the paintings provoked censorship and police prosecution – there are a lot of body parts. Lawrence’s human figures are either dwarfed in huge, desolate landscapes, or enclosed into the frame in a press of nude bodies. Though the paintings are not that good, technically speaking, they are strangely absorbing, especially in their rendering of the body, so delicate and grotesque and immediate. </p>
<p>It’s that aspect of Lawrence which might be the most compelling for us, now: his awareness of the simultaneous vulnerability and power of the flesh.</p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/508223/original/file-20230205-25-gfbt67.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/508223/original/file-20230205-25-gfbt67.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/508223/original/file-20230205-25-gfbt67.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=486&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/508223/original/file-20230205-25-gfbt67.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=486&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/508223/original/file-20230205-25-gfbt67.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=486&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/508223/original/file-20230205-25-gfbt67.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=611&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/508223/original/file-20230205-25-gfbt67.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=611&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/508223/original/file-20230205-25-gfbt67.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=611&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="caption">Close Up Kiss – D.H. Lawrence (1928).</span>
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<p>Feigel’s project to invigorate literary criticism with the personal is admirable, but I was not fully gripped by her memoir. I can understand her wish to preserve privacy for herself and her children, but her accounts of love affairs, divorce, custody disputes, even friendship, lack the meaty, overpowering sense of revelation Lawrence worked so hard to achieve. </p>
<p>Less convincing also is Lawrence as a guide to contemporary living. Lawrence on sex? Maybe, though really only if you’re heterosexual. Lawrence on community? He definitely had theories about how to live with others in ways that counteracted the alienating effects of modernity, but he seems to have been kind of a jerk to the people he actually lived with. </p>
<p>But Lawrence, the anti-democrat, on politics? Lawrence on climate change? Technophobia and nature worship can’t fix fossil fuel dependence, and refusing to participate in political action won’t save us from 21st century despotism. </p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/510236/original/file-20230215-23-enznsu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/510236/original/file-20230215-23-enznsu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/510236/original/file-20230215-23-enznsu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=764&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/510236/original/file-20230215-23-enznsu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=764&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/510236/original/file-20230215-23-enznsu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=764&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/510236/original/file-20230215-23-enznsu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=960&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/510236/original/file-20230215-23-enznsu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=960&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/510236/original/file-20230215-23-enznsu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=960&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<p>Lawrence’s dread of mechanical civilisation might be relatable and nostalgic on those days when we worry our kids are having too much screen-time. But we need to remember that advanced scientific knowledge and technological infrastructure have also enabled the rapid development of life-saving COVID vaccines. Lawrence is, as Feigel often admits, an unreliable prophet.</p>
<p>The two exclamation points in its title, borrowed from Lawrence’s 1917 book of poems, suggest urgency, even vanguardism. The book has appeared later than other recent attempts to revive Lawrence: Cusk’s Second Place and Frances Wilson’s biography Burning Man (2021). Though the genre-bending between memoir and literary criticism is an interesting experiment, Look! We Have Come Through! is ultimately not as satisfying as these earlier books. Its publication feels belated for a book that is, in part, about how to live through the extremity of COVID. </p>
<p>Feigel is a sensitive critic, sympathetic to Lawrence’s style and the substance of his novels. She makes a generous case for what his prose makes possible. I’m not sure I would ever want to live with Lorenzo, but I might let him stay for a very short visit.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/196935/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Naomi Milthorpe does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>D.H. Lawrence is a writer who provokes adoration or loathing, depending on one’s taste, politics and patience. How reliable is he as a guide to life?Naomi Milthorpe, Senior Lecturer in English, University of TasmaniaLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1979112023-02-02T19:15:03Z2023-02-02T19:15:03ZFriday essay: how Blanche d'Alpuget’s ‘warts and all’ biography of her lover Bob Hawke helped make him prime minister<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/506986/original/file-20230130-18-7k736.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=2%2C2%2C1595%2C1010&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Verity Chambers/Newspix</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Blanche D’Alpuget was born in 1944, the daughter of Lou d’Alpuget and Josie Stephenson, and grew up in Sydney’s eastern suburbs. She attended Sydney Church of England Girls’ Grammar School and, briefly, the University of Sydney before becoming a journalist with the Daily Mirror, rival newspaper of the Sun where her father worked. </p>
<p>A hyper-masculine yachtsman, champion boxer, wrestler, water polo player and, in youth, Bondi lifesaver, Lou d’Alpuget in the newsroom <a href="https://www.smh.com.au/national/a-journalist-who-knew-his-onions-20060609-gdnpsh.html">once shouted</a> at cadet journalist John Pilger so ferociously for getting his facts wrong that Pilger fainted. He taught Blanche to box, surf, sail, fish, fire a rifle and execute basic unarmed combat moves, the last because he thought girls should be able to defend themselves against assault.</p>
<p>The journalistic gene was not fully transmitted though. “I was always aware of the fact that I was not a good journalist,” d’Alpuget says. “I had no news sense. It is a sense, and I haven’t got it. I still haven’t got it.”</p>
<p>Unusually, Lou recommended the works of Cambridge English literature don <a href="https://www.arthurquillercouch.com/">Arthur Quiller-Couch</a> to Sun cadets, not an obvious choice as an influence on Australian journalistic prose. While Lou’s news sense was not transmitted to Blanche, the literary bent this suggests in him was.</p>
<p>D’Alpuget was on the Mirror’s full-time payroll in Sydney for just three years: life as a novelist lay ahead. First, though, there was a spell in London followed by nine years living in South-East Asia, including two periods living in Indonesia with her husband, journalist turned diplomat Tony Pratt. </p>
<h2>‘A good guy’: meeting Hawke</h2>
<p>In 1970, the year d’Alpuget first met Hawke, Pratt was second secretary at the Australian Embassy in Jakarta. “I showed visiting ‘firemen’ around Jakarta,” she recalls. “I was very good at that. It was one of the things expected of the wives.” </p>
<p>Hawke, recently anointed <a href="https://www.actu.org.au/">ACTU</a> president, remembered seeing “this vision” for the first time, en route to the annual meeting of the International Labour Organisation in Switzerland. </p>
<p>“I met her first in Jakarta on my way through to Geneva when Rawdon Dalrymple was the counsellor in the embassy there,” he recalled. “I was sitting on the verandah of his house having a beer and this vision in white appeared from around the corner and I thought, my god!” For her part, d’Alpuget formed an immediately positive impression of Hawke.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>I thought he was a good person for a particular reason. It goes back to Jakarta, and to showing around visiting firemen. All of them, without exception, would want to visit the Jakarta slums. And I used to take people there and […] they’d get this warm inner glow of the superiority of our culture while looking at the poor slum dwellers as if they were animals in a zoo, which I really hated.</p>
<p>Bob was the only person, when I asked, “Do you want to see the kampongs?” who said, “No, I don’t want to see poverty”. And I thought, ah, a good guy. And really my respect for him was based just on that.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>She would see Hawke once more in Indonesia – the following year, in 1971, when he was again en route for the International Labour Organisation. As well as squiring visitors around Jakarta, d’Alpuget worked variously at the Australian Embassy, including the press office, during her time in Indonesia. </p>
<p>She <a href="https://catalogue.nla.gov.au/Record/487319">wrote</a> human interest pieces “with the blessing of the Australian embassy” and tacit approval of the Indonesian intelligence service, to be placed in the Australian media, smoothing the way for the first visit to Australia by an Indonesian head of state: President Suharto in 1972, in the still sensitive post-<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Indonesia%E2%80%93Malaysia_confrontation">Konfrontasi</a> period. </p>
<p>It was <a href="https://www.hachette.com.au/blanche-dalpuget/on-lust-and-longing">a life of</a> “pleasure and ease … friends and parties, horse riding in the early mornings, swimming in the afternoons”, married to Tony: “We […] were boon companions.”</p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507321/original/file-20230131-6351-n9up99.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507321/original/file-20230131-6351-n9up99.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507321/original/file-20230131-6351-n9up99.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=758&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507321/original/file-20230131-6351-n9up99.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=758&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507321/original/file-20230131-6351-n9up99.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=758&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507321/original/file-20230131-6351-n9up99.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=953&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507321/original/file-20230131-6351-n9up99.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=953&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507321/original/file-20230131-6351-n9up99.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=953&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Bob and Blanche were both married when they first met, in 1970. He thought, ‘my god!’ when he saw her; she thought he was ‘a good guy’. 25 years later, they would marry, and stay together until his death.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Good Weekend</span></span>
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<h2>A ‘vivacious, unconventional’ writer</h2>
<p>D’Alpuget returned to Australia in 1973 and lived in Canberra <a href="https://www.hachette.com.au/blanche-dalpuget/on-lust-and-longing">where</a> Pratt worked for the Department of Defence “with consequences he had not foreseen, and he was miserable”. She felt socially restricted and stood out in a national capital then only 200,000 strong, the vast majority of whom were in the paid workforce as public servants. “I don’t much like bureaucrats and they don’t much like me,” she <a href="https://catalogue.nla.gov.au/Record/487319">adds</a>. </p>
<p>Her friend, feminist activist <a href="https://theconversation.com/vale-susan-ryan-pioneer-labor-feminist-who-showed-big-difficult-policy-changes-can-and-should-be-made-146996">Susan Ryan</a>, who became a Labor senator for the ACT in 1975, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/710142.Catching_the_Waves">recalled</a> d’Alpuget then as a “vivacious, unconventional woman in her thirties”.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Dazzlingly pretty and petite, she looked like a Thai beauty with blond curls […] Blanche was full of fun. She liked to make loud, outrageous observations about people, particularly about their sexual demeanour […] In an era of dull and careless feminist dress codes she was a welcome sight at [Women’s Electoral Lobby] meetings, a little bird of paradise in gold high-heeled sandals, tight black slacks and a mink jacket to keep out the Canberra cold, topped by perfectly ordered blond curls, her face luminous with detailed make-up.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Pratt, in turn, was an “Adonis” in Ryan’s recollection. “I loved my husband, whom I’d met when I was seventeen, and felt fiercely loyal to him,” d’Alpuget <a href="https://www.hachette.com.au/blanche-dalpuget/on-lust-and-longing">has written</a>. “In the decade we had journeyed together we had both taken side trips, but we were mindful of each other’s feelings, and discreet.” They divorced in 1986.</p>
<p>It was during this period that d’Alpuget established herself as a writer. </p>
<p>“I was not keen on taking a job, because of our young son”; instead she wrote a novel set in Jakarta. Twenty rejection slips later, including one from publisher Richard Walsh who <a href="https://www.hachette.com.au/blanche-dalpuget/on-lust-and-longing">described it</a> as “just a straggle of events” – he “was right, but I felt like pulling out his tongue and feeding it to the cat” – she set the novel aside. “But I had discovered the pleasures of writing and wanted to do it again.” </p>
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<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/i-studied-31-australian-political-biographies-published-in-the-past-decade-only-4-were-about-women-167448">I studied 31 Australian political biographies published in the past decade — only 4 were about women</a>
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<h2>d'Alpuget’s first biography: Sir Richard Kirby</h2>
<p>D’Alpuget did, winning Fellowship of Australian Writers’ prizes for two short stories in 1975. Then came an unexpected, perhaps fated, opportunity to write a biography of Sir Richard Kirby, a long-serving judge and former Conciliation and Arbitration Commission president. </p>
<p>D’Alpuget knew Kirby’s daughter Sue from school. At the time Sue lived in Canberra and her parents occasionally visited. When Kirby and d’Alpuget met in Canberra through Sue, they found a common interest in Indonesia, especially the late Indonesian president <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sukarno">Sukarno</a>. “Kirby had known him personally when he was at the height of his power,” d’Alpuget <a href="https://catalogue.nla.gov.au/Record/993725">later wrote</a>, “I as an observer in the last days of his shattered dream.”</p>
<p>During a conversation about Sukarno’s Indonesia of the 1940s, d’Alpuget asked to see Kirby’s photographs of the period; Kirby instead sent the transcript of his National Library of Australia oral history interview. Shortly afterwards, at her father’s request, Sue sounded out d’Alpuget about whether she would be willing to help him with his memoirs. </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507295/original/file-20230131-24-fhws2c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507295/original/file-20230131-24-fhws2c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507295/original/file-20230131-24-fhws2c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=909&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507295/original/file-20230131-24-fhws2c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=909&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507295/original/file-20230131-24-fhws2c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=909&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507295/original/file-20230131-24-fhws2c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1142&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507295/original/file-20230131-24-fhws2c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1142&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507295/original/file-20230131-24-fhws2c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1142&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Amazon</span></span>
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<p>D’Alpuget was interested but the logistics were unworkable: she had a young son and the Kirbys divided their time between Melbourne and the NSW South Coast. D’Alpuget <a href="https://catalogue.nla.gov.au/Record/993725">suggested</a> she write his biography instead. Kirby agreed. It would be published in 1977 as <a href="https://catalogue.nla.gov.au/Record/993725">Mediator: A Biography of Sir Richard Kirby</a>. During the process they became friends; Kirby nicknamed d’Alpuget “Blanco”.</p>
<p>D’Alpuget began work on the book without a publishing contract in hand. Getting a publisher for a serious biography was easier than for a first-time novel, however, and at Max Suich’s suggestion, d’Alpuget proposed it to Melbourne University Press publisher, Peter Ryan.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>It’s very fashionable to say, oh, he’s a terrible old right-wing tyrant and so forth. And indeed, he was a martinet. But he was marvellous. He took it on on what he’d seen – the couple of chapters I wrote plus an outline.</p>
<p>And he really taught me how to be an author. He hand wrote me a letter every single week. First of all he gave me the style manual for the house […] When I’d do something wrong, I remember once he sent me a drawing of me having my head chopped off with a guillotine. He drew it falling into a basket with a ZUT! three times after it. But he was very, very good for a young author. They don’t do that these days.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Before d’Alpuget sent a chapter to Ryan she would send it first to her stepmother, journalist and editor Tess van Sommers. It was a production line that forged her as an author. </p>
<p>D’Alpuget <a href="https://catalogue.nla.gov.au/Record/1664726">credited</a> both Ryan and van Sommers for turning her “into a writer”. Applying the lessons learned from writing the Kirby book, d’Alpuget did a six-week rewrite of the rejected novel and immediately found a publisher; it became the prize-winning <a href="https://www.allenandunwin.com/browse/book/Blanche-d'Alpuget-Monkeys-in-the-Dark-9781743312254">Monkeys in the Dark</a>.</p>
<p>Research on the Kirby biography included long walks along Berrara Beach, near Jervis Bay, during which Kirby gave d’Alpuget a crash course in Australian industrial law – unique in the world at that time in consisting of court-based arbitrated rulings on cases triggered by disputes between unions and employers, and the creation of court-sanctioned “awards” that embodied agreements on wages and conditions between them. </p>
<p>To that point, d’Alpuget’s only experience with the law <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/28169868-the-eleven-deadly-sins">had been</a> as a teenage runaway when at her parents’ instigation police nabbed her and her much older boyfriend interstate. D’Alpuget had also done some court reporting at the Mirror. D’Alpuget was no student of biography either. “At that stage, I’m ashamed to admit, I had never read a biography,” she recalls. “I was much too busy … going to parties!”</p>
<h2>‘Galvanised’ by 28-year-old Hawke</h2>
<p>As the long-standing Arbitration Commission president, Kirby knew Hawke and had come to like him very much. When he first observed him, Hawke was an impatient ANU research student assisting ACTU advocate Richard Eggleston QC in the 1958 national wage case hearings. </p>
<p>“He couldn’t sit still,” Kirby told d’Alpuget. “You could see he was practically going mad with frustration at not being able to have a say […] From the bench we used to watch him with some curiosity and amusement.” Hawke, 28 years old at the time but looking to the bench “only twenty-two or three”, asked for an interview with Kirby in his chambers.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>He came in and explained he was a research student at the ANU. He began asking me a series of questions which I found quite objectionable in tone; how did we judges make our decisions? Did we believe we had the economic training necessary for the job we were trying to do? He <a href="https://catalogue.nla.gov.au/Record/993725">more or less suggested</a> we were a lot of economic ignoramuses, and things would be better off without us. I got pretty annoyed and indicated I thought him offensive.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In the next few pages of the Kirby biography, d’Alpuget recounts the unexpectedly riveting story of Hawke’s arrival on the public stage and his role in transforming the conceptual basis of Australian wage-fixing at that time from “capacity” to “productivity”. Hawke dropped out of his ANU doctoral studies, became the ACTU’s first university-educated employee and, not yet 30 years old, was appointed ACTU advocate for the 1959 basic wage case. </p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/YzFmM71HOvw?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">Bob Hawke was the ACTU’s first university-educated employee.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The presiding judge, Alf Foster, sent word via back channels to ACTU president Albert Monk “that he thought senior counsel and not some unknown student” should present the union case. Monk stuck with Hawke whose “assault on the concepts of wage fixation was immediate, savage and effective,” d’Alpuget <a href="https://catalogue.nla.gov.au/Record/993725">records</a>.</p>
<p>Kirby was galvanised by Hawke’s arguments. “In the off-season I later sought discussions with economists like Nugget Coombs, Joe Isaac and Dick Downing to help me understand in some depth what Hawke was talking about,” <a href="https://catalogue.nla.gov.au/Record/993725">he told</a> d’Alpuget. </p>
<p>D’Alpuget herself was galvanised by Hawke the man. In March 1976 she went to Melbourne <a href="https://www.hachette.com.au/blanche-dalpuget/on-lust-and-longing">to interview him</a> for the Kirby book.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>I did not initially recognise him as the man-passing-through-town with whom, six years earlier, I’d spent an hour tete-a-tete at a party (to which I’d worn, I remembered, a new white dress my mother had made). Nor did I realise what he would do in my life: I did not know when I encountered him again that the Muse had arrived. I did not know that, old, young, black, white, as himself or masked, I would draw him or some characteristic or saying of his, in book after book.</p>
<p>With mutual, wordless consent it was agreed we would become lovers as soon as possible – which happened to be in a different city, the following night.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/what-i-learned-from-bob-hawke-economics-isnt-an-end-itself-there-has-to-be-a-social-benefit-117314">What I learned from Bob Hawke: economics isn't an end itself. There has to be a social benefit</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Lovers ‘as soon as possible’</h2>
<p>The city was Canberra. Hawke was late and wearing pancake make-up. They would meet every few weeks; in between <a href="https://www.hachette.com.au/blanche-dalpuget/on-lust-and-longing">there were</a> “no phone conversations, no notes, messages, nothing”. Hawke was rarely out of d’Alpuget’s mind. She tried never to mention his name but everything seemed to evoke his image, and all of it “shimmered with life”. </p>
<p>D’Alpuget’s interior world <a href="https://www.hachette.com.au/blanche-dalpuget/on-lust-and-longing">was alight</a>: “Researching was a joy; writing was a joy; everything was a joy.” She carefully diarised their meetings. <a href="https://www.hachette.com.au/blanche-dalpuget/on-lust-and-longing">But</a> </p>
<blockquote>
<p>slowly, dreadfully, I came to realise he was having affairs with women all over the country, that his love life was a kind of freewheeling, decentralised harem, with four or five favourites and a shoe-sale queue of one-night stands.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The relationship continued nevertheless and in November 1978 Hawke told d’Alpuget about a dream in which she and “Paradiso”, his long-standing lover in Geneva, were standing on a roulette wheel. “The wheel spun, and came to rest at me,” d’Alpuget writes in <a href="https://www.hachette.com.au/blanche-dalpuget/on-lust-and-longing">On Longing</a>. “It meant, [he] said, he must choose me: to marry.” She was, she writes, “slain with delight” but told him she would think about it and respond in the New Year. </p>
<p>Practical considerations arose in her mind but did not seem decisive. Some were especially telling, including the fact that he mispronounced her surname, did not know whether she had siblings and, essentially, “knew little about who I was”. She asked a psychiatrist friend <a href="https://www.hachette.com.au/blanche-dalpuget/on-lust-and-longing">to interpret</a> Hawke’s dream: “He laughed aloud at my obtuseness. ‘It means throwing in his lot with you is a gamble’.”</p>
<p>More than the roulette wheel was turning, however, by the time 1979 arrived. Hawke rang daily: “I felt safe,” she says. But d’Alpuget <a href="https://www.hachette.com.au/blanche-dalpuget/on-lust-and-longing">had</a> an emerging realisation that she knew him as little as he knew her: “We were enigmas, peeping at each other through keyholes.” </p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507318/original/file-20230131-26-as4on3.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507318/original/file-20230131-26-as4on3.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507318/original/file-20230131-26-as4on3.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=938&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507318/original/file-20230131-26-as4on3.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=938&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507318/original/file-20230131-26-as4on3.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=938&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507318/original/file-20230131-26-as4on3.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1178&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507318/original/file-20230131-26-as4on3.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1178&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507318/original/file-20230131-26-as4on3.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1178&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<p>D’Alpuget began to research her second novel, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/3409302">Turtle Beach</a>. It became an exercise in “unconscious autobiography”, d’Alpuget <a href="https://www.hachette.com.au/blanche-dalpuget/on-lust-and-longing">wrote later</a>, as had the rewrite of her first novel after the Kirby biography was finished; the writing of both stories reduced the pressure of her clandestine relationship with Hawke to bearable levels, partly by channelling her and Hawke’s personae into those novels’ fictional characters.</p>
<p>Hawke’s attention, meanwhile, had turned to the increasingly tense question of whether he should enter parliament – this against the backdrop of disasters at the 1979 ALP conference and ACTU Congress, the death of his mother Ellie, and trouble at home in Royal Avenue, Sandringham. </p>
<p>His life was now awash with “out-of-control drinking”. At the back of his mind, too, was a calculation that divorce could cost Labor a few percentage points at the ballot box should he become leader. Hawke stopped calling d’Alpuget. After some weeks, in a phone conversation lasting half a minute, Hawke <a href="https://www.hachette.com.au/blanche-dalpuget/on-lust-and-longing">told her</a> he was not getting divorced. “Each of us asked the other to leave,” Hazel Hawke <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6030107-my-own-life">wrote later</a> in her memoirs. “We both stayed.”</p>
<p>From being “slain with delight” at the marriage proposal nearly a year before, d’Alpuget <a href="https://www.hachette.com.au/blanche-dalpuget/on-lust-and-longing">now</a> first thought of killing herself, and then of killing Hawke. Each proposition was considered in practical detail over a number of days before a “shard of vanity” and the realisation that “giving my son a murderess for a mother was hardly better than a suicide, and that if I were in jail I would not see him often” terminated that line of thought. </p>
<blockquote>
<p>Without revealing too many details, and certainly none of my murder plans, I told (Kirby) the story. He listened, and after a silence said, “Thank God, Blanco, that it’s over. You would have ended up sticking a knife in him.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Is it possible that d’Alpuget really did know Hawke as little as she claims in <a href="https://www.hachette.com.au/blanche-dalpuget/on-lust-and-longing">On Longing</a>?</p>
<blockquote>
<p>No, I didn’t get to know him well at all. I really didn’t, because it was a completely sexual relationship. Brief encounters that had to be fitted in between him doing a thousand other things […] I only ever saw him behind a closed door.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>D’Alpuget disavows even an appreciation of Hawke’s powerful public projection at the time “because I never saw him in public”, and in any case, “I’d been writing novels … I wasn’t all that interested.” Rather, rivals were on d’Alpuget’s mind.</p>
<p>In <a href="https://www.hachette.com.au/blanche-dalpuget/on-lust-and-longing">On Longing</a> she recounts looking at a “luscious minx” on page three of the Mirror, for example, and wondering if she was another of Hawke’s “petites amies” – this while rewriting <a href="https://www.allenandunwin.com/browse/book/Blanche-d'Alpuget-Monkeys-in-the-Dark-9781743312254">Monkeys in the Dark</a>, whose heroine’s fascination with her lover “was mixed and corrupted with anger and tension”. She continued: “We write out our sicknesses in books, Hemingway said. Well, yes and no: Hemingway shot himself.”</p>
<h2>A symbiotic project</h2>
<p>At this point, in 1979, d’Alpuget was author of the critically well-received Kirby biography, had two novels in the pipeline that would be published in the next two years to acclaim, several literary prizes and foreign translations of her works but little in the way of financial reward. </p>
<p>She wanted to write another biography and initially chose Hawke’s mentor and predecessor <a href="https://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/monk-albert-ernest-11148">Albert Monk</a>, the ACTU’s first full-time president whose tenure overlapped substantially with Kirby’s at the Arbitration Commission. This idea fell victim to the resistance of Monk’s widow, who was disinclined to give d’Alpuget access to his papers.</p>
<p>D’Alpuget has said that “the Hawke book came about because of the Kirby book”, and there is a symbiotic feel to the projects, even down to their respective book launches. Nearly five years to the day after Hawke launched d’Alpuget’s Kirby biography at Canberra’s Lakeside Hotel, Kirby launched d’Alpuget’s Hawke biography at the same venue. </p>
<p>Melbourne Psychosocial Group members Graham Little and Angus McIntyre, and psychiatrist Michael Epstein, all attended the latter. The Kirby book required mastering the intricacies of Australia’s unique industrial relations system and d’Alpuget did so convincingly. </p>
<p>The language and concepts she acquired enabled her to understand Hawke’s long engagement with labour market theory and practice which dated from his research at Oxford in the mid-1950s on wage fixing under the Australian arbitration system. Interviewing Hawke for the Kirby biography brought about the fateful re-meeting of biographer and subject.</p>
<h2>Conscious motives</h2>
<p>What were d’Alpuget’s conscious motives for the Hawke biography? In 2014 she presented it as a simple instrumental decision after she unsuccessfully “tried and tried” to get Monk’s widow to give her access to his papers: “She turned me down … So I thought, okay, I’ll try the second president.”</p>
<p>Earlier, in <a href="https://www.hachette.com.au/blanche-dalpuget/on-lust-and-longing">On Longing</a> in 2008, d’Alpuget “noted that the news media presentation of [Hawke] was mostly so simplified as to be not much more than a cartoon”. D’Alpuget </p>
<blockquote>
<p>was offended that public debate relied on such spindly legs, and wanted to do something about it; I wanted to make my own presentation of [Hawke] in a biography.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Earlier again, in 1986, d’Alpuget <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/3538950-rooms-of-their-own">told Jennifer Ellison</a> that </p>
<blockquote>
<p>with the Hawke biography – I just had to make some money. I mean, that wasn’t the only reason, but I had that practical reason. Nobody can expect to make money out of writing fiction, so I wanted to write a book which I thought would finance me for a couple of novels, which it has.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The interrelated fiction and financial factors behind the book were related earlier still, in 1985, <a href="https://catalogue.nla.gov.au/Record/487319">to Candida Baker</a>, “because I knew it would help make me so well-known in Australia that all future fiction writing would be easy to sell”.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507327/original/file-20230131-18-jkczh4.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507327/original/file-20230131-18-jkczh4.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507327/original/file-20230131-18-jkczh4.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=904&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507327/original/file-20230131-18-jkczh4.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=904&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507327/original/file-20230131-18-jkczh4.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=904&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507327/original/file-20230131-18-jkczh4.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1136&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507327/original/file-20230131-18-jkczh4.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1136&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507327/original/file-20230131-18-jkczh4.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1136&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<p>D’Alpuget <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/3538950-rooms-of-their-own">told Ellison</a> another factor was that Hawke “wasn’t entirely happy” about another biography being written at the time, though she does not specify whether that concern related to the <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/6939252">John Hurst</a> or <a href="https://www.australianbookreview.com.au/abr-online/archive/1980/642-october-1980-no-25/9261-major-don-grant-reviews-bob-hawke-a-portrait-by-robert-pullan-and-hawke-the-definitive-biography-by-john-hurst">Robert Pullan</a> book. </p>
<p>D’Alpuget also <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/3538950-rooms-of-their-own">evinced</a> genuine interest in Australia’s arbitration system; Hawke had wanted to do a doctoral thesis on it, and had spent half a lifetime working in it, while she had written a “part-history of that system” in the Kirby biography.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>And there was a genuinely shared curiosity: you know, if you’ve once dreamed of going to Krakatoa and then you meet someone who has travelled there, you want to talk to him or her.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>D’Alpuget told Baker that Hawke had rung her in 1978 to say that Hurst was thinking of doing a biography of him, wanting to know how much demand on his time a biographer was likely to make: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>So we had a talk about it, and I said as a joke, “Well if somebody’s going to do a biography of you, why don’t you let me do it?”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This has been d’Alpuget’s most frequent response to questions about the book’s genesis. A more expansive account was given at a Canberra Times Literary Luncheon in 1982, shortly after its launch.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>[I]n 1978 he got in touch with me and he said that somebody wanted to do his biography and I was the only biographer he knew and how much time was he going to have to devote to it.</p>
<p>So we had this conversation, you see, and it was going on and I didn’t know at that stage really but I perceived it intuitively that he’s a man who leaves a great deal unspoken and that you have to understand what he’s saying intuitively. And I thought while he was talking, that he was thinking that if you were going to be the subject of a life, he would quite like me to do it. That’s what I thought in any case.</p>
<p>So I said jokingly – as any shrink will tell you, there are no jokes, especially in these circumstances – I said jokingly, ‘Well if you’re going to have a biography done, why don’t you let me do it?’. And he laughed and so I laughed and that was the end of it. It was officially a joke.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In the same speech, d’Alpuget says that as early as February 1976 she had a sense of how interesting Hawke could be as a subject when a woman sitting next to her at a Canberra dinner party one Saturday night, who knew Hazel Hawke, raised Bob’s intriguing mother. The woman told d’Alpuget:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>“I’ve already complained to Hazel about how aggressive Bob is,” because Hawke in those days was extraordinarily aggressive, he was like a blast of a furnace fire.</p>
<p>I said, “Oh yes”.</p>
<p>And she said, “And Hazel said, "if you think Bob is aggressive, you ought to meet his mother”.</p>
<p>Anyway when I heard that, I thought, there’s a story in that man, because it seemed to me that there was in that remark – that Hazel has repeated to me – an effect or, if you like, the tension between free will and determinism which I think is the tension or the dynamic of all narrative.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>D’Alpuget refers to this 1976 dinner party conversation as the “seed” of the Hawke book, and the 1978 conversation with Hawke, triggered by their discussion of Hurst’s planned biography, as its “germination”. In between, in 1977, growth was driven by “that marvellous human need – that is, the need to eat”. </p>
<h2>A 'warts and all’ biography</h2>
<p>Little income had accrued from the Kirby book despite its critical success; <a href="https://www.allenandunwin.com/browse/book/Blanche-d'Alpuget-Monkeys-in-the-Dark-9781743312254">Monkeys in the Dark</a> had been rewritten and found a publisher but had not yet come out; and d’Alpuget wanted to apply for a Literature Board grant to enable her to continue writing. When her original plan to write a biography of Monk fell over, “I started thinking again about Hawke”.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>So I approached him […] in late 1978, because by then it was obvious that he would have to make his move to parliament either soon or not at all. I was very conscious [of] my effrontery […] and I expected, I think, that he’d either laugh about it again or just turn me down flat, as Mrs Monk had done.</p>
<p>Anyway I was surprised by his reaction, which was positive and interested and, I think, despite my work with Kirby, I hadn’t realised at that stage just how flattering it is to be made the subject of a book, nor I think had Hawke realised just how traumatic it can be. We made this agreement in principle [that]
assuming I could get a grant, I would start work on him in 1980.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In the interim d’Alpuget completed her second novel, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/3409302">Turtle Beach</a>, which would be another critical success upon publication in 1981. </p>
<p>From the vantage point of late 1979, however, when after four years’ full-time writing d’Alpuget still did not have “even enough to pay the telephone bill”, she decided she would either have to make some money or return to journalism, “a fate worse than death”. She hoped and expected that a Hawke biography would be financially rewarding. It was one of the things that kept her going.</p>
<p>D’Alpuget got the Literature Board grant. On 3 January 1980 – her 36th birthday and just a few months after Hawke’s reneged marriage proposal drove her to suicidal, then homicidal, thoughts – the first interview for <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6077969-robert-j-hawke">Robert J. Hawke: A Biography</a> was conducted. </p>
<p>“We set up a meeting […] in Sandringham just around the corner from his house, in the house of a friend of mine,” d’Alpuget recalls. Says Hawke: “It developed rather intimately … but it didn’t affect what I had to say.”</p>
<p>Hawke’s agreement was conditional on it being a “warts and all” portrait, a judgment based on his belief that voters understood he was human like them. “I just reckon I know the Australian people,” he said, conflating them with Australian men. “A hell of a lot of them could recognise themselves in both my drinking and my womanising. I think they make a judgment on the full person.”</p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/mG6Le84x8TY?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">Bob Hawke wanted a ‘warts and all’ biography, believing Australians would recognise themselves in his drinking and womanising.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Unlike the Kirby biography, the book did not immediately find a publisher. Peter Ryan at Melbourne University Press “knocked it back straight off – said, ‘Oh no, he’s alive!’” In a letter to d’Alpuget later, Ryan reiterated his “old-hat preference for "Life” which is dead, career complete, personality finished and the surrounding events reduced to proportion by the perspective of the years". Penguin Books also rejected the proposal.</p>
<h2>A ‘cowboy’ publisher: Morry Schwartz</h2>
<p>D’Alpuget’s literary agent, Rose Creswell, suggested Morry Schwartz, whose innovative Melbourne publishing house Outback Press had recently folded: but not before releasing contemporary Australian classics like Kate Jennings’ <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/69664">Come to Me, My Melancholy Baby</a> and <a href="https://www.ideanow.online/a-book-about-australian-women">A Book about Australian Women</a> by Carol Jerrems and Virginia Fraser. </p>
<p>Outback Press also had some unlikely commercial successes, including the Kate Jennings-edited <a href="https://readingaustralia.com.au/books/mother-im-rooted/">Mother, I’m Rooted: An anthology of Australian women poets</a>, which sold 10,000 copies in an Australia, whose then population was less than 14 million people.</p>
<p>Schwartz had a colourful reputation – “the kindest thing said about him was that he was ‘a cowboy’,” says d’Alpuget – and was a long shot as a publishing bet. But the book was a long shot for Schwartz, too. There were two biographies in the marketplace already. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507304/original/file-20230131-24-gz5oia.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507304/original/file-20230131-24-gz5oia.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507304/original/file-20230131-24-gz5oia.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=744&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507304/original/file-20230131-24-gz5oia.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=744&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507304/original/file-20230131-24-gz5oia.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=744&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507304/original/file-20230131-24-gz5oia.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=935&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507304/original/file-20230131-24-gz5oia.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=935&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507304/original/file-20230131-24-gz5oia.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=935&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">‘Cowboy publisher’ Morry Schwartz (right), pictured at an Outback Press launch, with launcher Gough Whitlam (left) and author Deane Wells (centre).</span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>More serious still was Hawke’s extreme behaviour when drunk, and political embarrassments which made some conclude his ascent was over. “It was thought that he’d absolutely shot himself in the foot,” d’Alpuget recalls. Max Suich told her, for example, upon hearing about the planned biography, “Well you’d better be quick, dear, because he’ll be ‘Bob Who?’ in six months.”</p>
<p>She and Creswell flew to Melbourne to talk to Schwartz. The meeting took place in the street. “Morry, who was around thirty and drop-dead good-looking, conducted the interview leaning against a low, fast, navy blue–coloured car that he owned, or hired, or had borrowed,” says d’Alpuget. </p>
<blockquote>
<p>One was never quite sure. He rested an elbow on the car roof and from time to time turned his Hollywood profile to snatch another black grape from the bunch he held by its stem between thumb and first finger.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Schwartz backed the book with zest, offering an advance big enough to research the book properly. </p>
<p>In d’Alpuget’s view he did this for two reasons: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>[F]irst, he was a businessman, and sensed the book could become a best-seller if Hawke’s career flourished. Second, as a Jew, he deeply appreciated Hawke’s support for Israel at a time when doing so was literally dangerous and potentially disastrous for Hawke’s career. Of these two, I think the second reason was paramount.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In d’Alpuget’s estimation, Schwartz was also capable of publishing the book with unusual speed. “I have attacks of being politically canny,” she <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/3538950-rooms-of-their-own">said later</a> of her conviction that Malcolm Fraser would call the federal election early and that the book therefore must, to avoid irrelevancy, be out before the end of 1982.</p>
<p>D’Alpuget had the Literature Board grant, the agreement of her subject, a publishing contract, a healthy advance on royalties, had begun conducting interviews and was on her way to producing the book. Hawke’s memory of the process was “a hell of a lot of interviews”.</p>
<p>In a letter written late in the manuscript’s preparation, d’Alpuget <a href="https://nla.gov.au/nla.obj-344188450/findingaid">told</a> Peter Ryan that, “To say … working with him is a nightmare is the blandest understatement: once, in a 2-hour taping session, there were 27 telephone calls.” </p>
<h2>On the road to the Labor leadership</h2>
<p>Four things were happening simultaneously, in fact, in the nearly three years between the first interview in January 1980 and the book’s publication in October 1982. </p>
<p>Firstly, Hawke was on the road to seizing the Labor leadership, the necessary prelude to becoming prime minister. Secondly, d’Alpuget was making a political intervention to help Hawke achieve his goal. Thirdly, d’Alpuget was symbolically reclaiming Hawke as a man before, after publication, putting him aside. And fourthly, through the biographical process conducted by d’Alpuget, Hawke was settling and projecting an identity which formed the personal plank of the platform from which he pursued and conducted his prime ministership.</p>
<p>The first of these elements, that Hawke was bent on seizing the Labor leadership, was widely known and understood at the time, though <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/500808">the story</a> behind-the-scenes – that Hawke “had more blood on him than the entire stage at the end of Hamlet” – still remains largely submerged. Hawke had been vaunted as a potential prime minister for years. </p>
<p>His leadership credentials were the focus even at the press conference when he announced his candidature for the seat of Wills, as Hurst and Pullan both pointed out in their biographies. “Newspaper files had grown fat on reports of his deeds and on speculation about where he was headed,” <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/8213926-the-hawke-years">Mills notes</a>, “[and] he was in demand by TV interviewers.”</p>
<p>D’Alpuget argued in her biography of Hawke that his success in using the media, at least that outside Canberra, “was so great largely because publicity – being the centre of attention – corresponded perfectly with a major element in his personality, laid in infancy and childhood”. </p>
<p>Beginning with his parents, Hawke “relished and had the knack of mesmerizing” his audience. D’Alpuget <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6077969-robert-j-hawke">quotes</a> Hawke’s personal assistant, Jean Sinclair, on the extrapolation of this to his later career. “It was cruel to watch Bob with journalists,” Sinclair told her. “They were lambs to be slaughtered.”</p>
<p>Canberra Press Gallery journalists proved a tougher audience than those outside the national capital, however, and parliament itself was the prism through which gallery journalists rated politicians. </p>
<p>As a parliamentarian and as shadow minister for industrial relations, Hawke failed to enchant gallery journalists, impress Labor colleagues, or cow conservative prime minister Malcolm Fraser. In <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6701134-the-hawke-ascendancy">The Hawke Ascendancy</a>, Paul Kelly quotes from a 1981 report by Laurie Oakes, then Canberra bureau chief for the Ten Network, after Hawke guest-compered a popular daytime television program, The Mike Walsh Show.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Since Mr Hawke entered Parliament he has not done himself justice. He does not perform nearly as well in Parliament – or in Caucus by all accounts – as he did yesterday as a television compere. His media skills are unquestioned. But a politician requires other skills as well […]</p>
<p>Mr Fraser so far has not found Mr Hawke much more difficult to deal with than a number of other Opposition frontbenchers … There is more to politics, especially in the big league at the national level, than making like a television star.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In private, including among members of the Labor caucus, comments were frequently much the same. Labor frontbencher Senator Susan Ryan <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/710142.Catching_the_Waves">shared</a> Oakes’ assessment of Hawke, rather than that of her friend d’Alpuget.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Blanche, characteristically, had formed an instant and immovable view: her subject should become prime minister of Australia as soon as possible. I was very far from that view. Often on a Canberra Sunday evening, a regular night off for us both, we would debate and argue Bob’s leadership potential. </p>
<p>She made some memorable observations about him; memorable because they turned out later to be true. When I pointed out that his contribution in the parliament and shadow Cabinet was, although perfectly workmanlike, not spectacular, she said that Bob would only flourish fully in the number one position: only leadership could provide the optimal psychological environment for him.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Some other Labor frontbenchers like Tom Uren <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7764293-straight-left">thought</a> Hawke “brought a charisma, a folksy, friendly, ‘good bloke’ relationship with the Australian people he had built up over the years” as ACTU president – the same point Labor frontbencher Mick Young made at greater length to biographer John Hurst, quoted by him on the opening page of <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6939252-hawke">Hawke, the Definitive Biography</a>.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507454/original/file-20230131-25-tln02j.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507454/original/file-20230131-25-tln02j.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507454/original/file-20230131-25-tln02j.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=415&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507454/original/file-20230131-25-tln02j.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=415&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507454/original/file-20230131-25-tln02j.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=415&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507454/original/file-20230131-25-tln02j.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=522&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507454/original/file-20230131-25-tln02j.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=522&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507454/original/file-20230131-25-tln02j.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=522&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Susan Ryan said Blanche believed ‘her subject should become prime minister of Australia as soon as possible’; she was ‘very far from that view’.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">National Museum of Australia</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>But at the time d’Alpuget was writing her book, that sentiment was still a minority one and did not deliver Hawke the numbers to displace Bill Hayden. Was d’Alpuget’s biography part of some Hawke master plan to seize The Lodge? Not according to d’Alpuget <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/3538950-rooms-of-their-own">in March 1985</a>, two and a half years after the book’s publication.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>People ever afterwards said, “Oh isn’t Hawke clever!” It’s faintly irritating. I had to consider all these bloody things, all the time. Bob had no idea of the timing, in fact for ages it was unreal to him, and it was only right towards the end of the process, when I started showing him the manuscript to read, that it started to become real. Up until then he’d been interviewed by at least five million people, and it was just something that he did. Part of the day’s work.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Hawke himself said he had not considered writing an autobiography or organising for someone else to write his biography. “No, I hadn’t thought about it at all,” he said. “I was extraordinarily busy, couldn’t do it myself. I was just doing my job. This came along. I knew she could write.” Hawke didn’t want a hagiography.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>I wasn’t regarded as a lilywhite kind of person (and) I was more than happy to stand on my record of achievement … I don’t think it did me any damage. I think on balance it probably helped. I think people made a judgment about me. On the whole they knew the foibles but they knew the pretty substantial record of achievement I had under my belt.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/vale-susan-ryan-pioneer-labor-feminist-who-showed-big-difficult-policy-changes-can-and-should-be-made-146996">Vale Susan Ryan, pioneer Labor feminist who showed big, difficult policy changes can, and should, be made</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>A biography to ‘help Hawke achieve his goal’</h2>
<p>The second thing happening in this period was a political intervention by d’Alpuget to help Hawke achieve his goal. D’Alpuget did not declare this as her intention. Nevertheless, the Hawke biography was authorised and d’Alpuget had her subject’s cooperation. </p>
<p>D’Alpuget was not going to write a book that would hurt Hawke’s chance of winning the Labor leadership and thereafter the prime ministership, though upon first reading some did not grasp the sophistication of her approach. </p>
<p>It was a sign of Hawke’s self-confidence as well as, he would say, his confidence in the Australian people, that it had to be a “warts and all” portrayal, and d’Alpuget largely provided it. “I’d become convinced that despite all evidence to the contrary, he would somehow make it to prime minister,” d’Alpuget says.</p>
<p>Another aspect of her role in this was not publicly known. Hawke asked d’Alpuget to try and turn a Hayden vote for him. “Bob had told me how he was going to unseat Hayden,” d’Alpuget says. “And he’d asked my help with a particular Hayden supporter in the caucus. He’d asked my help in trying to turn this person, to vote for him.”</p>
<p>There was a “unique angle” according to d’Alpuget: “I was good friends with this person.” It was Susan Ryan. In the second edition of her Hawke biography, d’Alpuget would describe herself openly as a “Hawke camp insider” in the notes at the front; but not in the first edition. It was concealed even from her publisher, Morry Schwartz, at the time.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>It was incredibly frustrating. Because the book came out in October, and all of this was going on October, November, December, January, February – all of this plotting and so forth.</p>
<p>So maybe it was sort of November, December, January. And I knew what was happening. [A]nd and I couldn’t say a word – I couldn’t say to Morry, “Morry, print some more copies!” I didn’t tell anybody.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This underlines the dual nature of the author as both biographer and political player. While those roles were congruent, d’Alpuget’s verve and high estimation of her subject underpinned artistic risks from which a lesser, more instrumentally focused, biographer in this situation would shrink.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507280/original/file-20230131-22-kpf32l.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507280/original/file-20230131-22-kpf32l.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507280/original/file-20230131-22-kpf32l.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=905&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507280/original/file-20230131-22-kpf32l.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=905&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507280/original/file-20230131-22-kpf32l.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=905&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507280/original/file-20230131-22-kpf32l.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1137&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507280/original/file-20230131-22-kpf32l.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1137&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507280/original/file-20230131-22-kpf32l.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1137&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The choice of cover photograph for <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6077969-robert-j-hawke">Robert J. Hawke</a> is an example. “Morry Schwartz and I sat on the floor in his office in Melbourne and we went through gazillions of photographs,” d’Alpuget recalls. “And we picked that one. If you know Bob, you know he’s drunk.”</p>
<p>The picture, by American photographer Rick Smolan, shows Hawke, eyes heavy-lidded, head leaning sideways on a hand with a cigar clenched between two fingers, his expression poised between bored bemusement and impending explosion. Hawke’s crisp, stylish business attire is juxtaposed against his intense, glowering gaze. The cover’s drama is heightened by its stark black and white palette and the containment of Hawke’s face in a tight square at its centre.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/summits-old-and-new-what-was-bob-hawkes-1983-national-economic-summit-about-187763">Summits old and new: what was Bob Hawke's 1983 National Economic Summit about?</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Reclaiming Hawke – and putting him aside</h2>
<p>The third thing happening during this period was d’Alpuget symbolically reclaiming Hawke as a man and then putting him aside. </p>
<p>The background was Hawke’s years of hard drinking, philandering and fighting with wife Hazel, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15843718-hazel">from whom</a> he had only a few months earlier tried to separate in order to marry d’Alpuget, but failing since neither would agree to be the one to walk out of the marriage. </p>
<p>“It was a very difficult situation for him because Hazel hated me,” d’Alpuget says, and Hazel knew about their previous relationship and assumed, correctly, that it had resumed. Moreover, Hazel Hawke was not the only hostile rival d’Alpuget had to contend with in the writing of the book. There was also Jean Sinclair and others.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>[Hazel] said to me a marvellous thing once, much later. She said, ‘Blanche, you know what Bob’s like. When he’s drunk he’d fuck a goat’. […] But she talked to me, while hating me. So he had the difficulty of Hazel being against me, and also of course he was in a very long term relationship with Jean Sinclair, his private secretary. And Jean was aware of our relationship. </p>
<p>So he had this great difficulty – trapped – three women. Jean and I managed to get on well, well enough – we were professional about it. But it was difficult for him. So he took minimal interest in the book for those personal reasons.</p>
</blockquote>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/wJR-HuXYy8Q?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">Bob Hawke, a known philanderer, was in a long-term relationship with his private secretary, Jean Sinclair, as well as having an affair with Blanche.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>D’Alpuget thanks Sinclair in the foreword to <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6077969-robert-j-hawke">Robert J Hawke: A Biography</a> for “spending so much time in passing messages to him from me, and in finding research material”. She describes Sinclair in the body of the book as “Hawke’s right arm” and spends a few pages sketching out her story as, like Hawke, an “exotic” ACTU employee. </p>
<p>Sinclair was schooled at Melbourne Girls’ Grammar School, had an economics degree from the University of Melbourne, had worked for the management consulting firm McKinsey and was a director of her family company.</p>
<p>Sinclair’s <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6077969-robert-j-hawke">description</a> to d’Alpuget of the state of the ACTU administration upon taking up her job in 1973 is vivid, and familiar to anyone familiar with the labour movement at that time: variations of this kind of administrative chaos were replicated at busy union head offices around the country.</p>
<p>D’Alpuget describes how Sinclair bore the workplace brunt of Hawke’s belief that “every day contained forty-eight hours and that he should be awake and occupied for all of them”, and remarks that “a good week for her was one in which she dissuaded him from committing himself to a major scheme: agreeing to write a book, for example”. </p>
<p>Sinclair was Hawke’s personal assistant and companion for more than twenty years, and <a href="https://www.hachette.com.au/blanche-dalpuget/on-lust-and-longing">she and d’Alpuget</a> “disliked each other”. The extra demands on Hawke’s time would have been only one of the reasons Sinclair opposed the book given her own ongoing relationship with him.</p>
<h2>Fighting Hazel</h2>
<p>Hazel Hawke’s cooperation did not come without a fight. Hazel <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6030107-my-own-life">wrote a letter</a> to the editor of The Age in November 1979 registering her “utter revulsion” at press coverage of a court case involving a prominent politician’s son. “My main argument is that any politician or public figure must be assessed on his job performance, and that whether his wife and family are glamorous and interesting or have two heads and are naughty should be irrelevant,” she wrote. </p>
<p>She continued that “no public figure who is good enough” needs the ego-boosting or public image softening that “nice little stories” involving their families entail, and further, that, “The electorate which makes this demand avoids its responsibility of properly assessing the worth and performance of that figure on the contribution he makes, or does not adequately make, in his particular area of public affairs.”</p>
<p>In the foreword to <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6077969-robert-j-hawke">Robert J. Hawke</a>, d’Alpuget says the only area she avoided, at Hazel’s request, was the Hawke children “whose privacy has already been invaded over many years”. It was, she wrote, “a price worth paying for her help and unflinching frankness, both in giving information and in reading the manuscript for accuracy of detail”. D’Alpuget wrote that she had been “guided by her perceptions a great deal, while exercising the responsibility to reach my own conclusions”. </p>
<p>Hazel in turn, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6030107-my-own-life">in her own memoirs</a> published after Hawke’s prime ministership was over, characterised herself as an opponent of the biography, then a reluctant starter and, ultimately, a supporter. She felt Hawke’s flaws being brought into the open ahead of his run for the prime ministership had a kind of inoculation effect, as well as relieving the pressure she personally felt over public perceptions of
their marriage.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>[I]n May 1980, Blanche d’Alpuget, who was writing a biography of Bob, came to our house to talk with me about the book. This was not easy for me […] I was not in favour of the biography.</p>
<p>Although Bob had authorised the book, it had been embarked upon without my approval even though it would clearly need to refer to myself, the children and Bob’s personal life. But now it was happening and I would cooperate. </p>
<p>I must say that I have since been glad the book was written. It broached areas of Bob’s life, drunkenness and marital problems, which could have been used against him later by the sensationalist press. When he entered parliamentary politics, voters had an understanding of the man they were considering for election. The biography also released me from feeling I needed to protect the marriage totally from public scrutiny.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Sue Pieters-Hawke has written that her mother was “distressed and angry” about her father’s relationship with d’Alpuget, and that wider knowledge of their relationship affected the interviews Blanche obtained from Hazel loyalists amongst the Hawke family’s closest friends. </p>
<p>“Intimates who knew of Blanche’s relationship with Bob closed ranks in support of Hazel,” Pieters-Hawke <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15843718-hazel">says</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>As Marj White put it, “I said, ‘Well, my mouth’s closed. Anything that appears in that book will be absolutely mundane. I will not relate anything personal’.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>D’Alpuget had, in fact, pulled off a coup in terms of her power vis-à-vis the two other women closest to Hawke at that time. Within only a few months of Hawke ceasing contact and then breaking his offer to leave Hazel and marry d’Alpuget, she was spending hours interviewing him at a house a couple of minutes from his own in Royal Avenue, Sandringham, had his intimate amanuensis Sinclair passing messages and doing minor research for her, and had Hawke’s wife corralled into an interview against her will. </p>
<p>This was an act of triumphant repossession, all in the name of a greater good the other two women were hard pressed to obstruct: Hawke’s advancement.</p>
<p>Hawke would foreswear alcohol in the interests of his political career, while Hazel fell more deeply into its clutches. “The monster drink had gone from Bob’s life but infidelity had not,” Hazel <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6030107-my-own-life">wrote later</a> in her memoir. “I felt extremely unsure about our future and was lonely. Now I would often drink alone, at home, with my solitary dinner, a very unwise practice.”</p>
<p>Sue Pieters-Hawke <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15843718-hazel">says</a> her mother was “distressed and angry” about Bob and Blanche’s ongoing relationship, and “was by now capable of striking back when she, too, had been drinking”. Hazel made a number of phone calls to Morry Schwartz’s office demanding information about the book, making it clear that Hawke and d’Alpuget were lovers. </p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/RfGuv6V7nO0?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">Sue Pieters-Hawke says her mother, Hazel, was ‘distressed and angry’ about Bob and Blanche’s ongoing relationship.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Once, after newspapers in Sydney, Melbourne and Canberra published a photograph of subject and biographer on the steps of Parliament House, Hazel phoned the Schwartz office and told the person who answered the phone, “Get that fucking bitch off the front page or I’ll blow the whistle. I’ll blow the whistle and he’ll never be prime minister.”</p>
<p>The intensity of Hazel Hawke’s battle against the biography is revealed in letters at the time from d’Alpuget to Peter Ryan, her old publisher and mentor at Melbourne University Press, to whom she sent “the Bird Tome” for critique prior to finalising the manuscript.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Hazel Hawke, who is a hill-billy termagant, is doing hand-springs in her efforts to prevent publication of the book. I have left out […] that she is a lush and a bully and have presented her as quite the Cecil Brunner rose. For that I get an hour & a half of telephone abuse. </p>
<p>At this very moment she is, no doubt, giving the Bird the rounds of the kitchen about it all. What she wants, I think, is a hagiography of herself, and pillorying of him. She hates him, & her greatest pleasure in life is to make him suffer. Were her portrait ever to be painted it would be with a log, a banjo and a vat of moonshine.</p>
</blockquote>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507336/original/file-20230131-4114-zdodrw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507336/original/file-20230131-4114-zdodrw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507336/original/file-20230131-4114-zdodrw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=404&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507336/original/file-20230131-4114-zdodrw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=404&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507336/original/file-20230131-4114-zdodrw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=404&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507336/original/file-20230131-4114-zdodrw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=507&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507336/original/file-20230131-4114-zdodrw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=507&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507336/original/file-20230131-4114-zdodrw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=507&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Blanche wrote in private correspndence: ‘Hazel hates him, & her greatest pleasure in life is to make him suffer.’</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Russel McPhedran/AP</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In the acknowledgements of <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6077969-robert-j-hawke">Robert J. Hawke</a>, d’Alpuget thanks Ryan for reading the manuscript when she had reached “exhaustion and despondency” under pressure of meeting the tight publication deadline. This perhaps explains the closing paragraph of the letter from d’Alpuget to Ryan containing her unvarnished comment on Hazel that, “She would make great copy in the Lodge. But I don’t think we can look forward to that.” </p>
<p>It was a brief down beat in d’Alpuget’s usually unrelenting belief that Hawke would indeed make The Lodge. She subsequently revised her view of Hazel’s capacity to perform as a prime ministerial spouse, based on actual performance. </p>
<p>“I was wrong,” d’Alpuget says now. “I had seen only her worst self. Once in The Lodge she rose to the challenge.” Hazel had hypnotherapy to stop smoking, moderated her drinking and conquered her shyness to become a good public speaker. Says d’Alpuget, “Hazel changed into the model prime ministerial wife.”</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/the-larrikin-as-leader-how-bob-hawke-came-to-be-one-of-the-best-and-luckiest-prime-ministers-91152">The larrikin as leader: how Bob Hawke came to be one of the best (and luckiest) prime ministers</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Hawke was ‘a fighter by nature’</h2>
<p>In her speech at the book’s launch at Canberra’s Lakeside Hotel in October 1982, d’Alpuget describes Hawke as a “fighter” by nature who had fought with many, including her, and had fought for the book.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>We had an argument at our first interview for this book and almost three years later, when he was reading the final manuscript before it went for typesetting, we were still arguing. We were arguing over adjectives and nouns and verbs and my interpretations. While the book was being written and particularly in the last few weeks, Bob has had to argue with those who thought that a mid-term career biography should not be published.</p>
<p>Indeed, he has fought for this book and he’s done so because he shares, I believe, my view that people should be able to make judgments not guesses about their political leaders, and that therefore the more we know about them the better. He has maintained this principle despite the fact that from the outset of my work on his biography, he knew it would be treated as a curiosity, misused, trivialised and distorted. And I must say that events have borne out that weary foreknowledge grossly.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>D’Alpuget told the audience she had tried to write a frank account and that the biography was intended as “an early step in a movement for more penetrating analyses of people in Australian public life”.</p>
<p>It was a significant break from the usual mould of contemporary political biography, and initial reactions and calculations about it were wider of the mark the closer one got to Parliament House, Canberra. Many Canberra Press Gallery journalists assumed it would seriously damage Hawke’s standing. </p>
<p>So did some of Hawke’s rivals on the opposition frontbench, like fellow leadership aspirant Paul Keating. Hawke recalled a member of Labor’s NSW Right faction telling him at the time, in relation to the book, “Keating’s very, very happy, reckons that’s the end of you. With all that stuff in it, all your drinking and womanizing – that that’ll be the end of you.” Hawke replied, “Well, I think that shows how little Paul understands the electorate.”</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507281/original/file-20230131-168-kpf32l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="people looking at portraits of Bob Hawke and Paul Keating" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507281/original/file-20230131-168-kpf32l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507281/original/file-20230131-168-kpf32l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507281/original/file-20230131-168-kpf32l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507281/original/file-20230131-168-kpf32l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507281/original/file-20230131-168-kpf32l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507281/original/file-20230131-168-kpf32l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507281/original/file-20230131-168-kpf32l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Paul Keating was apparently ‘very, very happy’ about Hawke’s warts and all biography. ‘He reckons that’s the end of you.’</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.flickr.com/people/melodyayresgriffiths/">Melody Ayres Griffiths/Flickr</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>It did prove the end of the d’Alpuget relationship, though. “I’d been burnt, when we’d broken up,” she says, recalling the breach over Hawke’s failure to honour his promise to leave Hazel and marry d’Alpuget in 1979.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Although we resumed sexual relations while I was doing the book I wasn’t going to fall in love with him. And also when you study somebody to that degree, it’s like having too much chocolate. You never want to see another chocolate again! So by the end of the research, and certainly by the end of the book, I really didn’t want to see him again. I was so sick of him. You can’t give so much energy to another human being, unless it’s your own baby.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This repossession and then relinquishing of Hawke had a satisfying symmetry.
They next met three years into Hawke’s prime ministership for a newspaper profile d’Alpuget undertook for the Sydney Morning Herald. “The room was quiet and felt empty,” d’Alpuget reported, and Hawke was distant. “Hawke has defined his Prime Ministership as super-respectable,” she <a href="https://www.allenandunwin.com/browse/book/Paul-Kelly-End-of-Certainty-9781741754988">wrote</a>. </p>
<blockquote>
<p>He said repeatedly that physically he was on top of the world. Indeed, his skin tone and colour looked excellent. But […] my overwhelming impression was of a lack of vitality, that he was vanishing.</p>
</blockquote>
<p><a href="https://www.hachette.com.au/blanche-dalpuget/on-lust-and-longing">Two years after that</a> Hawke rang d’Alpuget and their relationship resumed; covert meetings were organised during the latter years of his prime ministership. In December 1991 he was ousted as prime minister by Paul Keating and he resigned from parliament shortly afterwards. </p>
<p>The Hawke marriage ended in 1994 and Bob married d’Alpuget in 1995. They spent 24 years together until his death in 2019.</p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/jW-thSZX0VU?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">Bob and Blanche spent 24 years married, until his death in 2019.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Settling and projecting an identity</h2>
<p>Three of the four things happening simultaneously between January 1980 when d’Alpuget conducted her first interview for <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6077969-robert-j-hawke">Robert J. Hawke</a>, and October 1982 when it was published, have so far been canvassed. </p>
<p>Hawke was on the road to seizing the Labor leadership, the necessary prelude to him becoming prime minister. D’Alpuget was making a political intervention to help Hawke achieve that goal. D’Alpuget was symbolically reclaiming Hawke as a man before relinquishing him post-publication.</p>
<p>The fourth thing happening was that, through the biographical process conducted by d’Alpuget, Hawke settled and projected an identity which formed the personal plank of the platform from which he pursued and conducted his prime ministership. </p>
<p>D’Alpuget describes Robert J. Hawke as “a well-built book” with a good structure. “It’s internally strong,” <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/3538950-rooms-of-their-own">she said later</a>. “I was actually thinking of the architecture of a Congregationalist church I’d seen in South Australia when I was writing it: well-proportioned stone, four-square.” </p>
<p>In the process of construction, it could be argued that d’Alpuget did some rewiring of her subject, or at least enabled him to do some rewiring of himself through the biographical process, that helped stabilise his behaviour and settle his life generally, junking the self-destructive behaviour which jeopardised the achievement of his political goals.</p>
<p>It is not a claim that should be overstated; Hawke’s personality is highly distinctive and of robust continuity. Nor is it a proposition that can be dismissed. </p>
<p>Some of d’Alpuget’s impact on Hawke was straightforward and attitudinal – for example, concerning the position of women. In <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6077969-robert-j-hawke">Robert J. Hawke</a>, d’Alpuget describes his unreconstructedly sexist attitudes about, and behaviour towards, women, noting it did not change until Hawke in his fifties read Simone de Beauvoir’s <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/the-second-sex-9780099595731">The Second Sex</a>.</p>
<p>D’Alpuget <a href="https://catalogue.nla.gov.au/Record/487319">omits to mention</a> that she was the one who lent Beauvoir’s book to him. The Hawke Government went on to pass landmark sex discrimination and affirmative action legislation for women through the auspices of the Minister for the Status of Women, Senator Susan Ryan. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/anne-summers-new-memoir-and-the-bitter-struggle-over-memory-narratives-of-feminism-105845">Anne Summers' new memoir and the bitter struggle over memory narratives of feminism</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Earliest memories and uncomfortable truths</h2>
<p>In other respects, though, the change in Hawke’s behaviour between 1979 when he was largely written off by political insiders because of his reckless, drunken and abusive behaviour, and the early 1980s when he gave up alcohol and (at least publicly) curtailed his obvious philandering, was dramatic. </p>
<p>Even if one ascribes the change entirely to his May 1980 decision to give up alcohol, the question remains, how was he able to give up drinking this time when he had failed on all previous attempts?</p>
<p>Upon the book’s publication, d’Alpuget <a href="https://catalogue.nla.gov.au/Record/2504064">described it as</a> “an attempt on my part to wrap a narrative around an analysis of personality”.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>I spend the first 76 pages of the Hawke biography on his infancy, childhood and youth. That’s really an unusually long time to devote to that sort of early conditioning but I thought it was essential to give it so much time to adequately be able to explain what comes later, and that is Hawke, the folk hero of the 1970s. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>D’Alpuget went on to describe the unusual family dynamic before concluding that for Hawke, “In psychological terms, which I don’t use at all in the book, I think it was a <a href="https://www.encyclopedia.com/psychology/dictionaries-thesauruses-pictures-and-press-releases/hypercathexis">hypercathexis</a> of his intellect”. This was a rare intrusion of psychological jargon, which d’Alpuget kept from the biography itself. While jargon free, however, there is no mistaking the bent with which she approached the project.</p>
<p>In <a href="https://www.freud.org.uk/education/resources/the-interpretation-of-dreams/">The Interpretation of Dreams</a> Freud wrote of “the royal road to the unconscious”. In the therapeutic setting, patients undergoing psychoanalysis lie on a couch and are questioned about their earliest memories and their dreams, and encouraged to reflect and expand upon them. </p>
<p>For Hawke it was a trip from his home on Royal Avenue, Sandringham, to the nearby home of d’Alpuget’s psychiatrist friend Michael Epstein, where she would question him about his earliest memories and encourage him to reflect and expand upon them.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507340/original/file-20230131-16-rcpdqe.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Ferdinand Schmutzer" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507340/original/file-20230131-16-rcpdqe.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/507340/original/file-20230131-16-rcpdqe.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=430&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507340/original/file-20230131-16-rcpdqe.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=430&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507340/original/file-20230131-16-rcpdqe.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=430&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507340/original/file-20230131-16-rcpdqe.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=540&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507340/original/file-20230131-16-rcpdqe.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=540&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/507340/original/file-20230131-16-rcpdqe.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=540&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">d'Alpuget’s questioning and encouraged reflection on Hawke’s memories is likened to Sigmund Freud’s ‘royal road to the unconscious’.</span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In these interviews d’Alpuget stirred up memories, unconscious and otherwise, and foreclosed resistance to them on his part when he could not or would not remember, by bringing to the biographical couch stories told to her by surviving family members. The most important was d’Alpuget’s revelation that the all-powerful Ellie Hawke had committed Bob, when he was a small child, to the teetotal path ascribed to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nazirite">Nazarites</a> in the Hebrew bible, the word “nazir” having the spiritually highly charged meaning “consecrated”.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>My research turned up all of this stuff that he would never have told me about, [like] his mother enrolling him as a little Nazarite. They were sworn never to drink in their lives. She was a … teetotaller. Obviously in her background there’d been drunks. At the age of 8 he was sworn that alcohol would never touch his lips.</p>
<p>And when I started research I went straight to the family in South Australia and turned all of this up, and I came to him and asked him about it. I started in January. He gave up grog four months after I told him [in] February […]</p>
<p>I tell you it was a high moment when the family in South Australia told me all this background about the drinking, because no way was Bob going to tell me that, let alone Hazel. And really they were the only two people whom I’d met up until that point who knew.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Hawke was “tremendously uncomfortable” when d’Alpuget raised it with him. Whether causal or coincidental, the fact that he successfully swore off alcohol within proximate range of d’Alpuget drawing key scenes like this from his childhood inescapably into his view is highly suggestive. Nor was it the only uncomfortable truth d’Alpuget brought to the surface.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>We shared this other strange thing. My mother had wanted me to be a boy, and his mother had wanted him to be a girl. And unless you’ve had that experience of actual maternal rejection, which is completely denied – completely denied – at a very young age, you don’t really know what it’s like. But it gives a certain sympathy.
There’s a certain symmetry to your lives.</p>
<p>He didn’t know that about me, but I knew that about him. And I’d discovered that in South Australia too – that his mother wanted him to be a girl. So, all the tension around masculinity. What do you get? Hypermasculinity. All the tension about, well, the disappointment about, not being a girl – well, therefore you’ve got to be prime minister. Over-compensation. And he must be a teetotaller. So for someone who wrote fiction, this was just all magic material, if you had any psychological insight. The rejection, the disappointment. It’s there, imprinted forever, like a dagger.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Empathy over shared problems like this, the novelist’s expert handling of rich source material, and a classic narrative arc emerging during research – the hero nailing himself to the cross of alcohol and then getting himself off in time to pursue the prize – all contributed to the satisfactions of the book from the readers’ standpoint. </p>
<p>“I did believe his virtues far outweighed his vices, and that he had succeeded in this enormously difficult task which was overcoming his drinking”, d’Alpuget says. “So to that extent I thought it was a book about a personal triumph. But I didn’t set out to do that. He did that. I just described what happened.”</p>
<hr>
<p><em>This is an edited extract from Chris Wallace’s book <a href="https://unsw.press/books/political-lives/">Political Lives: Australian prime ministers and their biographers</a> (UNSW Press/New South).</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/197911/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Chris Wallace has previously received funding from the Australian Research Council but not in relation to this book. </span></em></p>Bob Hawke spent 24 years married to his second wife, Blanche d'Alpuget, whose canny 1981 biography helped make him ALP leader – and one of our most beloved PMs. Chris Wallace tells their story.Chris Wallace, Professor, School of Politics Economics & Society, Faculty of Business Government & Law, University of CanberraLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1871712023-01-15T19:01:12Z2023-01-15T19:01:12ZWoman, modernist, West Indian: the haunted life of Jean Rhys<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/502248/original/file-20221220-18-vtywvs.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=29%2C0%2C3958%2C1994&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption"></span> </figcaption></figure><p>The life of Dominican-born writer Jean Rhys is at once well-known and mysterious. Her career dipped and soared across both halves of the last century, across changes of name (Ella Gwendoline “Gwen” Rees Williams, Ella Lenglet, Jean Rhys) and changes of location (West Indies, England, Europe). </p>
<hr>
<p><em>Review: I Used to Live Here Once: The Haunted Life of Jean Rhys – Miranda Seymour (Harper Collins).</em></p>
<hr>
<p>Her early adult years were full. There had been a career on the stage as a chorus dancer, liaisons with wealthy men, and marriage to a charming Dutch bigamist and fraudster, which took her to The Hague, Paris, Vienna and Budapest. She experienced a flurry of literary fame in the late 1920s and early 1930s, when she was shepherded into print by Ford Madox Ford – their vexed relationship was used by both in their later writing. </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/500948/original/file-20221214-27-rh5bnm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/500948/original/file-20221214-27-rh5bnm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/500948/original/file-20221214-27-rh5bnm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=977&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500948/original/file-20221214-27-rh5bnm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=977&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500948/original/file-20221214-27-rh5bnm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=977&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500948/original/file-20221214-27-rh5bnm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1228&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500948/original/file-20221214-27-rh5bnm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1228&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500948/original/file-20221214-27-rh5bnm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1228&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<p>Then came oblivion, when her bleak urban tales seemed to chime too cruelly with pre-war and wartime darkness, years when publishers rejected her work and readers thought she must have died. </p>
<p>A brilliant reversal of fortune came with the publication of her best-known work, Wide Sargasso Sea (1966): a reimagining – re-dreaming, even – of Jane Eyre as the life of the first Mrs Rochester, a white creole. A raging old age followed. Rhys drank (but also charmed) her way through years of privation, surviving on the tenacious, courageous bounty of friends.</p>
<p>Each reappearance seemed to be as a different writer: a woman, a modernist, and finally a West Indian.</p>
<h2>Crossing the water</h2>
<p>The details of Rhys’s life were known through two biographies: Carole Angier’s massive and acclaimed Jean Rhys: Life and Work (1985), and Lilian Pizzichini’s breezier portrait in The Blue Hour: A Life of Jean Rhys (2009). But its outlines were also familiar through its echoing of the false or late starts, or forced haltings, in the literary careers of so many women writers of the century, cases where literary renown became a casualty of the vagaries of literary taste and domestic obligation. </p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/500947/original/file-20221214-415-19j3u9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/500947/original/file-20221214-415-19j3u9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/500947/original/file-20221214-415-19j3u9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=923&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500947/original/file-20221214-415-19j3u9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=923&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500947/original/file-20221214-415-19j3u9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=923&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500947/original/file-20221214-415-19j3u9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1160&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500947/original/file-20221214-415-19j3u9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1160&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500947/original/file-20221214-415-19j3u9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1160&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
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</figure>
<p>In 2018, the St Kitts-born writer Caryl Phillips published a novel based on the first 46 years of Rhys’ life. <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/a-view-of-the-empire-at-sunset-9781784709013">A View of the Empire at Sunset</a> follows Gwen Williams’ return to Dominica in 1936 with her spiritless English husband. It then leaps back to her childhood, her passage from the island to grey England, skips over her Paris years, and ends as she departs a second time. On the boat, she turns away from her husband: “Her island had both arranged and rearranged her, and she had no words.” </p>
<p>The novel turns Rhys’ journey inward, turns it into a chronicle of loss, decline and return. As she drifts through the creaking remnants of her family’s colonial past, the young Gwen is figured by those around her as a far from English child: “It look to me like Miss Gwendolen catch somewhere between coloured and white.”</p>
<p>In a 2018 interview, given as his novel was being published, Phillips spoke at some length about the motivation of his book, the pull Rhys’ West Indian story held for him. He had described this in 2011 as the “umbilical cord [that] often connects the pain of exile to the pleasure of literature”: the shared experience of “crossing the water”. </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/500961/original/file-20221214-16-mmm3ty.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/500961/original/file-20221214-16-mmm3ty.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/500961/original/file-20221214-16-mmm3ty.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=920&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500961/original/file-20221214-16-mmm3ty.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=920&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500961/original/file-20221214-16-mmm3ty.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=920&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500961/original/file-20221214-16-mmm3ty.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1156&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500961/original/file-20221214-16-mmm3ty.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1156&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500961/original/file-20221214-16-mmm3ty.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1156&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
</figcaption>
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<p>Phillips had read Rhys’ work decades before. He had admired, though not unduly, Wide Sargasso Sea. But he was compelled by <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/voyage-in-the-dark-9780141183954">Voyage in the Dark</a> (1934), which revealed “how England can launch a stealth attack on your identity”. The novel had been passed to him by the West Indian critic Kenneth Ramchand – “I think you should read this” – and with it began a “more intimate” relationship with Rhys’ work.</p>
<p>That intimacy is important. It ties Phillips’ novel into a legacy of Caribbean writing about and in response to Rhys. This includes work by writers such as Derek Walcott, Lorna Goodison and Jamaica Kincaid, who valued Rhys’ engagement with the particularities of loss and language and imagination, because they stood “on the periphery of the English-language tradition”. </p>
<p>They could not “presume that those in the middle [could] understand their work, so they [had] to batten down their sentences”. Rhys’ choices of, for instance, “verbs, adjectives and adverbs had to be very clear because publishers in Britain are outside their experience. She saw different sunsets, for example.” </p>
<p>Phillips believed that those different sunsets had not figured in the Rhys biographies. He felt that Angier’s had been written with no sense of “the first 16 years of [Rhys’] life”; she had failed to grasp that Rhys was “a person you have to understand through the Caribbean”. </p>
<p>For all her meticulous research, Angier had never travelled to Rhys’ homeland. So Phillips made the journey himself, immersed himself in the island’s “texture”: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>What does Dominica smell like? Not like England. What is the first thing you notice when you go back? The heavy texture of the air. Caribbean nights do not sound like Parisian nights […] There is a different way of feeling the length of the day, the rhythm of your life is just different.</p>
</blockquote>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/500949/original/file-20221214-3038-8x9ey2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/500949/original/file-20221214-3038-8x9ey2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/500949/original/file-20221214-3038-8x9ey2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=485&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500949/original/file-20221214-3038-8x9ey2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=485&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500949/original/file-20221214-3038-8x9ey2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=485&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500949/original/file-20221214-3038-8x9ey2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=609&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500949/original/file-20221214-3038-8x9ey2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=609&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500949/original/file-20221214-3038-8x9ey2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=609&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Jean Rhys (left) with Mollie Stoner in 1970s.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Wikimedia Commons</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/guide-to-the-classics-wide-sargasso-sea-107882">Guide to the classics: Wide Sargasso Sea</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>A Dominican story</h2>
<p>Miranda Seymour, the author of a new and highly praised biography of Jean Rhys, reviewed Phillips’ novel in June 2018. She described it as “sporadically brilliant” and “well-intentioned but mildly unsatisfactory”. She seemed to mistake it for a biography. She found its “use of Rhys’ life” to be “capricious”: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>We learn little about her writing and nothing at all about her relationship with Ford Madox Ford. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>The review ends with a sharp take on the novel’s imaginative identification with Rhys leaving Dominica that second time, crossing water again on her return to England in 1936: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>Phillips tells us that Jean Rhys – a novelist whose work is known to be ferociously unsentimental – “broke off a piece of her heart and gently dropped it into the blue water”. Oh dear.</p>
</blockquote>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/500952/original/file-20221214-205-rojn7f.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/500952/original/file-20221214-205-rojn7f.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/500952/original/file-20221214-205-rojn7f.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=924&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500952/original/file-20221214-205-rojn7f.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=924&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500952/original/file-20221214-205-rojn7f.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=924&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500952/original/file-20221214-205-rojn7f.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1161&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500952/original/file-20221214-205-rojn7f.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1161&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500952/original/file-20221214-205-rojn7f.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1161&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
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<p>Her objections to Phillips’ style and approach notwithstanding, Seymour does seem to have been drawn to the Dominican story that the novel opened up. Just as Phillips’ novel had done four years before, her biography, <a href="https://www.harpercollins.com.au/9780008353254/i-used-to-live-here-once/">I Used to Live Here Once: The Haunted Life of Jean Rhys</a>, turns its attention to the significance of Dominica and the first 16 years of Rhys’ life. In her foreword, she writes that she was drawn to the importance of these not by Rhys’ fiction, but by <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/smile-please-9780241285558">Smile Please</a> (1979), a late autobiographical sketch, which evoked those years and places. </p>
<p>Like Phillips, Seymour travelled to Dominica, where she saw Rhys’ family homes overgrown with tropical foliage and spoke to some of the same people about the island, its past, and the Rees Williams family’s complex ties there. This feeds in to the story she tells of Rhys’ family life and early years, a lively account of a world where, as Rhys wrote in Voyage in the Dark:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>everything is green, everywhere things are growing […] green, and the smell of green, and then the smell of water and dark earth and rotting leaves and damp.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Opening the biography with the words of the creole song that Jean Rhys sang for a recording in 1963 (a digital version is held with Rhys’ papers at the McFarlin Library, University of Tulsa) sets the scene of Rhys’ life and yearnings beyond the Europe and England with which she has been mostly associated. </p>
<p>It is a brilliant move. The words of the song charge the dark sexuality of Rhys’ writings with the irreducible trace of her early years, the threat of waywardness, the path to the devil.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Tout mama ki ti ni jen fi – All mothers with young daughters!</p>
<p>Pa lésé yo allé en plési yo, – Don’t let them go follow their own pleasures,</p>
<p>Pa lésé yo allé en jewté yo. – Don’t let them go follow their joy.</p>
<p>Si diab la vini yi kai anni mé yo. – If the devil comes, he will just take them away.</p>
<p>Elizé malewé – Poor Elizé</p>
<p>Elizé malewé – Poor Elizé</p>
<p>Elizé malewé. – Poor Elizé.</p>
<p>On pon innocen la ou van ba de demon la. – You took an innocent child and sold her to the two devils.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Seymour’s inclusion of this song (along with the translation provided by Sonia Magloire-Akba, an authority on the creole language, whom Seymour consulted in Dominica) provides a compelling ground and context for the markers of otherness that flicker through Rhys’ story. At boarding school in England, for example, she was nicknamed “West Indies”. Then there is her “libellous” characterisation as “Lola Porter, a tempestuous and highly sexed Creole writer” in Ford Madox Ford’s <a href="https://books.google.com.au/books/about/When_the_Wicked_Man.html?id=IS-YNAEACAAJ&redir_esc=y">When the Wicked Man</a> (1932). </p>
<figure class="align-right ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/500953/original/file-20221214-19-yax3rb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/500953/original/file-20221214-19-yax3rb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=708&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500953/original/file-20221214-19-yax3rb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=708&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500953/original/file-20221214-19-yax3rb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=708&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500953/original/file-20221214-19-yax3rb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=890&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500953/original/file-20221214-19-yax3rb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=890&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/500953/original/file-20221214-19-yax3rb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=890&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Ford Madox Ford c.1905.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Public domain</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>But Rhys’ connection to Dominica is not really pursued in the depth it deserves, nor is the influence of her location between cultures and within the colonial violence of her family’s history. These are confined for the most part to the early pages of the book. Seymour chronicles the detail and difficulties of Rhys’ relations with Ford, but she does not note Ford’s use of racialised epithets that tied her to the island wherever she lived (he describes Lola as a “devil” and a “blackamoor”).</p>
<p>Seymour provides a detailed account of Rhys’ recording of the creole song in 1963. Her voice is “light and lilting”; it “quavers out into the dusty air” of the archive. She stops singing. “It’s not quite right,” she says, then begins again, and stops again. She sings another song, about a woman from Grenada being told to “take her gold earrings, pack her bags and go home”. </p>
<p>For Seymour, all this is about “performance”; Rhys is flirtatious, “a siren”. But it tells also, surely, of a writer not getting it quite right in her recollections, the long and difficult remembrance, the intractable past and its songs and stories. </p>
<p>These provided the matter of Rhys’ last two publications, the collection <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sleep_It_Off_Lady">Sleep It Off, Lady</a> (1976), and the memoir Smile Please. Rhys was, according to Carole Angier, unhappy with Sleep It Off, Lady, declaring most of the stories “no damned good” (she was wrong about this). </p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/501229/original/file-20221215-26-nq0l35.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/501229/original/file-20221215-26-nq0l35.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/501229/original/file-20221215-26-nq0l35.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=827&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/501229/original/file-20221215-26-nq0l35.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=827&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/501229/original/file-20221215-26-nq0l35.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=827&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/501229/original/file-20221215-26-nq0l35.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1039&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/501229/original/file-20221215-26-nq0l35.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1039&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/501229/original/file-20221215-26-nq0l35.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1039&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Jean Rhys c.1921.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Public domain</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The collection was published with one story, The Imperial Road, removed. This was a story Rhys had rewritten many times over the previous three decades. There are several versions in her archives, and one is available to read in the online journal Jean Rhys Review, but it remained otherwise unpublished. It is a story of colonial return and rejection, and of colonial resentment: a road built to commemorate the British presence on the island disappears from view; its existence is then denied by the local people. </p>
<p>Rhys’s editor Diana Athill excised the story, troubled by its apparent endorsement of the colonial project. “Am I prejudiced?” Rhys wondered in a letter to her friend Francis Wyndham. “I don’t know. I certainly wasn’t …” Dominica is intractable for Rhys, but never straightforward.</p>
<p>For all its interest in Rhys’ Dominica, Seymour’s biography stops short of examining the colonial relations that are central to her story. She writes of Athill’s concerns about The Imperial Road, but not of Rhys’s reflections, which have been the subject of commentary by literary scholars. She also sidesteps the racial threads that are so strikingly evident in the creole song. </p>
<p>Her chapter describing Rhys’ 1936 return to Dominica is full of fascinating detail, but again there are omissions. She tells, as Angier did before her, of Rhys’ brother Owen Williams, who fathered two children to Dominican women. The children came to visit Rhys when she stayed on the island, but Seymour gives little detail of the meeting beyond noting that they asked for money. </p>
<p>More is, however, known about this family. The literary scholar Elaine Savory interviewed Ena Williams, one of the daughters. In 2003, Savory wrote that Ena </p>
<blockquote>
<p>told a very moving story of how, as a child, she was dressed up by her godmother, with whom she lived, every Sunday, so that she sat on the veranda of the house when the Rees-Williams family passed on their way to church. They always ignored her. She had Owen’s name but no other acceptance by Rhys’s white family. In 1936, during Rhys’s visit to Dominica with her husband Leslie, Ena Williams found her kind and generous, but she was also aware of Rhys as a renegade from respectable white society. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>How suggestive the story is. Such a knowing and necessary perspective on this writer, her family, and her Dominican connections. It offers a view from the island, a way of moving beyond the awkward fit of Jean Rhys’ years in England and Europe, the real matter of her deepest and most complex life.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/187171/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Brigitta Olubas does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>A new biography of Jean Rhys, the Dominican-born author of Wide Sargasso Sea, pays close attention to her origins – but stops short of examining the colonial relations that are central to her story.Brigitta Olubas, Professor of English, School of the Arts and Media, UNSW SydneyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1945332022-12-13T19:02:07Z2022-12-13T19:02:07ZFrom dysfunction and provincialism to an elegant literary life: Gail Jones reviews the ‘brilliant’ first biography of Shirley Hazzard<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/500614/original/file-20221213-5529-ku00pf.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C0%2C4000%2C2000&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption"></span> </figcaption></figure><p>When Shirley Hazzard received the National Book Award in 2003 for The Great Fire in the Marriot Ballroom in Times Square, the other guest of honour was Stephen King, who was there to receive a Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters. The contrast of acclamations and models of value could not have been more profound. King took the opportunity to speak of popularity and populism as the marks of literary success; Hazzard feistily defended reading across time, the nuanced experiences literature affords, and the private and complex pleasures that are irreducible to sales, fame or notoriety. </p>
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<p><em>Shirley Hazzard: A Writing Life – Brigitta Olubas (Hachette).</em></p>
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<p>Hazzard’s stance serves as an exemplar of literary integrity. Her life itself defends the right to be unfashionable, the value of learning and heterodox opinion, and the wish to preserve, in the space of the “literary”, erudition, complexity, and what might be called the private mystery of any reading encounter. </p>
<p>As the opening of an extraordinarily rich and detailed biography, the anecdote also signals a kind of structural intelligence in the construction of a life story: the biographer working, as a novelist might, to recognise those odd moments in which the self shows its plenitude. This story begins with the centrality of symbolic others to the construction of “character” and the social moments in which personal value is called upon bravely to declare itself. </p>
<p>Brigitta Olubas’s <a href="https://www.hachette.com.au/brigitta-olubas/shirley-hazzard-a-writing-life">Shirley Hazzard: A Writing Life</a> is a brilliant achievement. In her fastidiously detailed account, Olubas exceeds “mere” detail for an aesthetic which honours time’s rearrangement through obsession, projection and a livelier narrative understanding. </p>
<p>Her style reads at times like a Hazzard echo. There are moments in which the syntax and cadence, in particular, are so like that of her subject that Olubas is asserting another biographical dimension: amplification through the elective affinity of style. This is particularly the case in the novel’s closing chapter, an affecting elegy crafted beautifully in the silence of memorialisation.</p>
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<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/remembering-shirley-hazzard-art-is-the-only-afterlife-of-which-we-have-evidence-70519">Remembering Shirley Hazzard: 'art is the only afterlife of which we have evidence'</a>
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<h2>Discord and sorrow</h2>
<p>Born in Sydney in 1931, Shirley Hazzard was a willing and relieved exile from the age of 16, but she was also dogged by both the opportunity and the misery of her putative Australianness. </p>
<p>In part, this was because her early family life was one of discord and dysfunction. Her father was a philandering alcoholic, her mother “manic depressive”, and her nation <em>provincialissimo</em> (to use her own description from an interview with Paris Review in 2005). Her only sibling, sister Valerie, was radically estranged. The shared circumstance of an unhappy childhood did not overcome their opposing temperaments, nor Hazzard’s powerful need to renounce her disappointing family. </p>
<p>Without judgment, Olubas tracks the ghastly business of a lifetime of family sorrow through a massive archive of saved letters and diary fragments. Hazzard’s dealings with her “troublesome” mother are compounded, self-protective, and at times cruelly dismissive. At one stage, her mother’s care was entirely in the hands of Elizabeth Harrower, a fellow novelist, who took on the role with a selfless love of which Hazzard seemed incapable. Olubas retains throughout a poise of devotion to the complications and contradictions of her subject, and to what must have been Hazzard’s vexed, if repressed, knowledge of failure in her filial role.</p>
<p>In 1947, Hazzard’s father Rex took a job in Hong Kong, journeying with his family by way of Kure in Japan. A single brief tour by army jeep of Hiroshima, then a fixated attachment to Alexis Vedeniapine, a 32-year-old British army officer in Hong Kong, provided Hazzard with an image repertoire and an arc of longing and that would last until her death in 2016. </p>
<p>Vedeniapine was a Russian raised in Shanghai, who longed for his mother and sister. After traumatic wartime experiences and his own dislocations, he wanted to be a farmer and cultivate his own garden. He left for rural England; Hazzard’s family returned temporarily to Australia, after Valerie contracted tuberculosis. Still a teenager, Hazzard gave herself over to an inner drama of romantic torment, which she replayed throughout her life. The excruciating abjection of the future novelist makes for difficult reading. She pleads, accuses, displays her own misery in histrionic appeals. </p>
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<p>Though affianced, a marriage does not eventuate. “Alec” maintains his distance and Hazzard repeatedly cancels her promised journey to join him. She moves instead to New York, where she works in a secretarial role at the United Nations, and then, in an existential <em>coup de foudre</em>, to Naples for a year’s commission in an office whose purpose was to supply UN peacekeeping forces in the Suez. </p>
<p>At 25, Hazzard feels at last an adult. In her view of Vesuvius, the Bay of Naples and post-war Neapolitan ruins, she discovers an emotional objective-correlative and a confirmation that grandeur, even ruined, is found in modes of life that contest, rather than confirm, the conventions of her origin nation (or indeed, of any nation). </p>
<p>Olubas’s detailed account of the early rhapsody of Italy, its challenge, its recalibration, its enticing high-cultural poetry and layered antiquity, establishes how attachments to place ground the literary imagination, and how the attention demanded by other places might generate stylistic innovation. The sections on Italy are among the best in the book. </p>
<p>Olubas’s readings of Hazzard’s Italian novels, The Evening of the Holiday (1966) and The Bay of Noon (1970), also move deftly to consider how literary knowledge is continuous with located sensibility, and how intricately personalised such knowledge might be. For readers who may have disregarded the early novellas as practice pieces or, worse, affectations of a yet-to-be-realised novelistic skill, Olubas establishes their delicacy, insight, and fit-for-purpose completion. Each of these small texts is preoccupied with time and the role of art in transfiguring the shreds of a life.</p>
<h2>A rich intellectual companionship</h2>
<p>At the same time, Olubas is aware of iterations and reiterations. The pattern of torment, distance, and falling for older, inaccessible (often married) men culminated in 1963, when Hazzard met Francis Steegmuller at a party in New York hosted by her friend Muriel Spark. </p>
<p>Steegmuller was 25 years her senior, depressive, grieving, a wealthy widower and art collector, who very likely preferred men. A literary <em>éminence grise</em> in New York, he had already authored 14 books, including acclaimed biographies of Flaubert and Maupassant. He was a prodigious critic, translator and scholarly Francophile. The highly-strung and immensely gifted Hazzard, still largely unpublished, met in this man the prospect of an elegant literary life. When they married, after her entreaties and his initial vacillation and resistance, they established, over time, a rich intellectual companionship. An entire world of connections and friendships was opened by Steegmuller’s reputation and Hazzard’s social energies. </p>
<p>This meant almost constant travel, shuttling between Manhattan and Europe, especially Italy and France, and enjoying a writing life that did not have the burden of needing to work for an income. Steegmuller owned a gold-coloured Rolls Royce, which he garaged in Switzerland, and employed loyal Italian drivers to take the couple as required to various destinations, especially Capri. </p>
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<p>The marriage offered, in short, conditions that enabled Hazzard to flourish as a writer. Even towards the end of Steegmuller’s life (he died at 88 in 1994), they were travelling three to four times a year between New York and Capri, staying in luxurious hotels, taking their meals in restaurants, living in a manner unknown to all but a privileged few. Their circle of close friends included a who’s who of the New York scene, as well as European connections that consolidated and affirmed their literary lives. Most touching among these, perhaps, was the link with Bill Maxwell, the distinguished editor, whose eloquent and fond letters of support for Hazzard and her writing are quoted throughout the book. </p>
<p>Hazzard was also emboldened to criticise her former employer, the UN. She played a role in exposing the Nazi affiliations of Secretary-General Waldheim and the demoralisation of its staff after the Secretariat removed its support for an Amnesty International conference on torture. The title of one of her essays, <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/1974/02/23/archives/-the-patron-saint-of-the-un-is-pontius-pilate.html">The Patron Saint of the UN is Pontius Pilate</a>, makes clear her tough critique. She was not an apolitical aesthete, as her critics like to suppose, but someone engaged in civic prosecution, conscientious and difficult, on an international scale. </p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/the-australian-women-expats-who-found-liberation-in-the-us-97868">The Australian women expats who found liberation in the US</a>
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<h2>The major novels</h2>
<p>Hazzard is most cherished for the distinctive achievement of her two major novels, The Transit of Venus (1980) and The Great Fire (2003). The Transit of Venus won the National Book Critics Circle Award in the United States and instant fame for its author.</p>
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<p>Two adult Australian sisters, Caroline (Caro) and Grace Bell, arrive in England burdened with a vicious and maddening guardian, Dora, whom Hazzard memorably stated was a version of her mother: “a destroyer who sees herself as a perpetual victim”. The novel follows both sisters, but concentrates on Caro and the theme of doomed love. </p>
<p>Declaring The Transit of Venus “undeniably a masterpiece”, Olubas then uses the word melodrama (or melodramatic), five times in the next two paragraphs. Hazzard’s allegiance to a register and a set of devices generally regarded as counter to high-literary fiction has been the casual weapon of the novel’s critics. Yet there is a wonderful argument here about how such devices, like prolepsis, might serve a moral project. </p>
<p>Olubas considers the narrative acts by which chance and fatedness are taken seriously as components of love, and the apparent paradox of a flexible, alert and often astonishing style in tension with a “drama” of structural concealments and misrecognitions. The text’s verbal wit and affective power work with what she calls “dramatic reversals and contradictions, themselves generated by ignorance, the costs of not knowing”. </p>
<p>This is scrupulous even-handedness. It yields a cleverly compressed and original reading of what a lesser critic might take as aesthetic error. Olubas’s scholarship is marked by her willingness to concede and assiduously contextualise the range of criticisms the novel received. She draws attention to the bewilderment of Australian critics: their apparent anxiety that ornate style and transnational themes might have a role in Australian literature, that our revered plain-speaking and nationalist provincialism might be somehow under threat from expatriate intelligence and forensic skill. </p>
<p>The Great Fire was also widely celebrated, even as it was initially regarded with suspicion in Australia. The story of Helen Driscoll, a 16-year-old-girl, falling for Leith, a 32-year-old war hero and son of a much-acclaimed writer, it recapitulates Hazzard’s own story, but in an elevated tone and with a redemptive conclusion. </p>
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<p>Just as Caro, the heroine of The Transit of Venus, is relieved of her loneliness and secretarial penury by a millionaire Manhattanite, so in The Great Fire there is a powerful drive to avow that romance is the paradigmatic meaning within plot, and that exceptional women, like Hazzard herself, will find justification for their existence in love. This is always a form of romantic love; families, children, animals and places (with the exception of Italy) figure less in Hazzard’s reckoning. </p>
<p>But there is another element here: literature itself as a love-object and a means to further romance. It might be argued that the difficulty of The Great Fire is not its implausibly idealised romance, but the relegation of historical suffering to a Turneresque backdrop. Olubas implies that the Hong Kong section of the novel, with its anguished but particularised colonial impediments, is more impressive than the vague sighs and hand touching of the Hiroshima section. </p>
<p>With both novels, Olubas traces how memories of an Australian childhood operate at the level of trope and obsession. Hazzard sees the long prospect (even within a single life) as the basis of epic ambition and understanding – not nostalgia, exactly, but a backwards view that requires artistic reconstruction and reparation.</p>
<p>One of the most fascinating aspects of this immersive biography is the way it attends to Hazzard’s literary constitution: her love of Auden and Hardy, her reverence for Leopardi and Virgil (it was no accident that she lived close to the tombs of both in Italy), her ability to charm others by recitation and the ornamentation of a shared moment with a bon mot or a line of verse. </p>
<p>Proud of her recitations, a voluble speaker (“not a listener”, as one friend complained), Hazzard had classicist and in some ways anachronistic tastes. She disdained the contemporary for the canonical reassurance of Byron, Pope and Flaubert. She read The Odyssey and Shakespeare aloud to Steegmuller as his life waned. Such details lend private dignity and tenderness to a marriage so much in the social whirl. When Hazzard describes her husband’s fall on an escalator in terms of the abyss facing Hector before his encounter with Achilles, there is a sense of how this scale of reference ennobles and fortifies her deepest feelings.</p>
<p>In The Transit of Venus, when Caro sees New York skyscrapers obstructing the sun “as the mountains of the Taygetus bring early dark down to Sparta”, her reference recalls what Hazzard considered the “timeless” scale of literary sensibility. This is an idiosyncratic classicism, internalised as a refutation of the shabby modernity of the everyday. It is also one deserving of respect and due regard to the demands a very singular and exceptionally talented writer. In this task, Olubas’s biography pays worthy tribute.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/194533/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>The author has participated in an ARC funded symposium on the work of Shirley Hazzard convened by Brigitta Olubas.</span></em></p>An exceptionally talented writer, Shirley Hazzard is cherished for her novels The Great Fire and The Transit of Venus. Her life defends the right to be unfashionable and the value of learning.Gail Jones, Professor, Writing and Society Research Centre, Western Sydney UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1924032022-11-02T04:50:36Z2022-11-02T04:50:36ZThe first biography of Lachlan Murdoch provides some insights, but leaves important questions unanswered<p>The title of Paddy Manning’s <a href="https://www.blackincbooks.com.au/books/successor">The Successor: The High-Stakes Life of Lachlan Murdoch</a> tells us what is good and not so good about this biography.</p>
<p>It is a smart play on the title of the much-applauded HBO television series, <a href="https://www.hbo.com/succession">Succession</a>, which everyone except the show’s creators says is modelled on the decades-long corporate psychodrama within the Murdoch family. The Murdochs have said little about the Emmy Award-winning show, but in a knowing wink they chose to use Succession’s grandly jarring theme music in a tribute to Rupert at his 90th birthday party.</p>
<p>I say “Rupert” because he has long since joined the small club of globally famous figures known by their first name. Not so Lachlan Murdoch, Rupert’s third child but, importantly for him, his eldest son.</p>
<hr>
<p><em>Review: The Successor: The High-Stakes Life of Lachlan Murdoch – Paddy Manning (Black Inc.)</em></p>
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<p>The book’s subtitle is the giveaway. If a “high-stakes life” was Lachlan Murdoch’s defining feature, would it need to be spelt out? The subtitle of a biography of, say, Don Bradman, does not need to inform us of his “high-stakes” life as a cricketer.</p>
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<p>Lachlan Murdoch turned 50 last year. He is executive chair and chief executive of Fox Corporation, co-chair of News Corporation, founder of the investment company Illyria Pty Limited, and executive chair of Nova Entertainment. He was in his mid-twenties when he first headed the Australian arm of News Limited, as it was then known. In recent years, after several twists and turns, he has become the anointed heir to Rupert’s global media empire. But he still sits deep in the shadow of his father.</p>
<p>In June, the small independent news website Crikey published an <a href="https://www.crikey.com.au/2022/06/29/january-six-hearing-donald-trump-comfirmed-unhinged-traitor/">opinion piece</a> arguing the Murdoch-owned Fox Corporation bore at least some responsibility for the January 6 riots at the Capitol in Washington. Many read it as referring to Rupert, but it was Lachlan who <a href="https://www.crikey.com.au/2022/08/24/crikey-statement-lachlan-murdoch/">sued for defamation</a>.</p>
<p>The ensuing commentary noted that Rupert has never sued a journalist for defamation and asked whether Lachlan is thin-skinned. It is a fair question, given Lachlan has sued a journalist before for inaccurately reporting his use of the company’s private jet. </p>
<p>But it vaults over at least one reason Rupert has not sued: he has an army of his own journalists, who can be deployed to fight battles on his behalf. And they do. A relevant example is what happened to an authorised biographer, who slipped his minders and published a far less flattering portrait than had been anticipated.</p>
<p>Rupert gave more than 50 hours of interviews to Michael Wolff and greenlit his access to key senior people in News Corporation, but the resulting biography, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/4846256-the-man-who-owns-the-news">The Man Who Owns the News: Inside the Secret World of Rupert Murdoch</a> (2008), reportedly infuriated Murdoch. It revealed, for instance, that the ageing media mogul was dyeing his hair to impress Wendi Deng, who is the same age as his second daughter, and who became his third wife in 1999. </p>
<p>The biography was not mentioned in News Corporation’s US outlets until March 2009, when the Murdoch-owned tabloid the New York Post reported Wolff’s marital troubles in its <a href="https://pagesix.com/2009/03/30/bald-truth-divorce-for-wolff/">Page Six gossip column</a>. “The bald, trout-pouted Vanity Fair writer, 55,” as Wolff was described, had been carrying on a “steamy public affair” with a 28-year-old intern, prompting his wife to evict him from their Manhattan apartment. So there.</p>
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<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/rupert-murdoch-at-90-why-the-old-mogul-may-have-one-final-act-in-him-yet-156901">Rupert Murdoch at 90: why the old mogul may have one final act in him yet</a>
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</em>
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<h2>An unauthorised account</h2>
<p>At least a half a dozen biographies have been written about Rupert, but The Successor is the first biography of Lachlan Murdoch. That alone makes it noteworthy. It is unauthorised and Lachlan was not interviewed for it, so it draws primarily on interviews with friends, colleagues and enemies, and on secondary sources, notably a good use of overseas media sources. </p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/492503/original/file-20221031-15-8wzpb6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/492503/original/file-20221031-15-8wzpb6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/492503/original/file-20221031-15-8wzpb6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=881&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/492503/original/file-20221031-15-8wzpb6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=881&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/492503/original/file-20221031-15-8wzpb6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=881&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/492503/original/file-20221031-15-8wzpb6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1107&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/492503/original/file-20221031-15-8wzpb6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1107&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/492503/original/file-20221031-15-8wzpb6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1107&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="caption">Lachlan Murdoch at the Vanity Fair Oscar Party, February 2020.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Evan Agostini/AP</span></span>
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<p>It draws less heavily on the voluminous academic literature about the Murdoch media, though when it does, Yochai Benkler, Robert Faris and Hal Roberts’ book <a href="https://academic.oup.com/book/26406">Network Propaganda</a> (2018) is quoted to good effect. Discussing the role of the Fox News television network, they write: “Conspiracy theories that germinate in the nether regions of the internet stay there unless they find an amplification vector”.</p>
<p>What do we learn about the person who wields so much media power and influence? About Lachlan himself, not much. About Lachlan as a businessman, a bit more. About how Lachlan compares with Rupert and what that might mean for the media – and us, the audience – a good deal more.</p>
<p>The portrait that emerges of Lachlan is drawn in bright colours – he has an adventurous spirit, tattoos, boyish good-looks; he is friendly and easygoing – but it does not have much depth. There are endless descriptions, in real-estate brochure mode, of overlong yachts and stylishly appointed bathrooms in multi-million dollar mansions dotted across the globe. And there are numerous gossipy accounts of parties with Tom and Nicole and Baz. </p>
<p>Manning plumbs the standard biographical sources of his subject’s formative years, but they yield little of much import. At several points Joe Cross, a futures trader friend, is wheeled in to provide testimonials that are the verbal equivalent of eyewash. Here he is on Lachlan meeting his future wife, Sarah O’Hare:</p>
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<p>It was on […] he’s like, hook, line and sinker gone. And fair enough! With Sarah, she’s the whole package, she’s like a completely down-to-earth knockabout Aussie, being a supermodel didn’t hurt, and she loves all the things that Lachlan loved […] and she’s got a whole group of fabulous friends that now come together with his tight group of mates, and everyone gets on.</p>
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<p>More fruitfully, Manning recounts how Lachlan, for his final year thesis in an arts degree at Princeton, wrote about Immanuel Kant’s categorical imperative as inflected by the ideas in the Bhagavad Gita. The thesis was good, according to his supervisor, Professor Beatrice Longuenesse. But what stayed with her, as reported by a journalist who interviewed her many years later, was how Lachlan resembled many other graduates of elite universities, who “glide to the highest reaches of the business world, which they do not tend to disrupt with the lofty ideas they explored as undergraduates”. </p>
<h2>Family business</h2>
<p>Perhaps the most interesting insight is the extent to which Lachlan is conscious of his family and its history. The family business and the business of the family are pillars around which his life revolves, both by birthright and by choice. He remembers everything negative written about his father, and is fiercely protective of both him and the memory of his grandfather, Keith Murdoch, who for many years headed the Herald and Weekly Times. </p>
<p>Surprisingly for an accomplished journalist, Manning tacitly accepts an abiding myth of the Murdoch family – Keith’s heroic role in writing the so-called “Gallipoli letter” during the first world war. Lachlan retold the story when his grandfather was inducted into the Melbourne Press Club’s Hall of Fame in 2012. </p>
<p>That Sir Keith’s letter was, in important ways, misleading and sensationalised has been discussed by several journalists and authors, including Les Carlyon in his bestselling book <a href="https://www.panmacmillan.com.au/9781743534229/">Gallipoli</a>, Mark Baker in his biography of another Gallipoli correspondent, <a href="https://insidestory.org.au/the-myth-of-keith-murdochs-gallipoli-letter/">Phillip Schuler</a>, and by Tom Roberts in his award-winning 2015 <a href="https://theconversation.com/book-review-before-rupert-keith-murdoch-and-the-birth-of-a-dynasty-49491">biography of Keith Murdoch</a>. </p>
<p>Not that Lachlan has always deferred to his father. Manning recounts his subject’s fury when, in 1999, Rupert reneged on an agreement with his second wife Anna, Lachlan’s mother, who had “given up her claim to an equal share of Rupert’s fortune precisely to ensure that Prudence, Elisabeth, Lachlan and James would not have to share the control or assets of the Murdoch Family Trust with any children from Rupert’s marriage to Wendi Deng”.</p>
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<span class="caption">Lachlan Murdoch’s parents, Rupert and Anna, in 1997.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Alan Berliner/AP</span></span>
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<p>Manning’s biography shows it is not well known that Lachlan and Anna, whose marriage to Rupert lasted much longer than his other three wives, staved off an attempt by Rupert and Elisabeth to sack James after the News of the World phone-hacking scandal. The unfolding scandal overlapped with the period between 2005 and 2014 when Lachlan had left the family company, because his father had not backed him when he was being monstered by executives in the US arm of the business.</p>
<p>Manning also recounts scenes from this period seemingly drafted for Succession. The then head of News Limited in Australia, John Hartigan, was forced to mediate between father and son over the amount of access Lachlan could have to the company’s Sydney headquarters. “Don’t let him into the fucking building,” Rupert is reported as saying. “When you’re out, you’re out.” </p>
<p>Later, the Murdoch siblings began attending family counselling, where they discussed working together to “hold Rupert to account to be a mentor to James and not undermine him, as he had done with Lachlan so many years before”.</p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/fox-news-donald-trumps-cheerleaders-and-the-journalists-who-challenged-his-narrative-149575">Fox News, Donald Trump's cheerleaders and the journalists who challenged his narrative</a>
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<h2>Failures and successes</h2>
<p>Even Rupert Murdoch’s foes concede he has been a highly successful media businessman; what about Lachlan?</p>
<p>He has had some searing failures. He led News’ role in the 1990s rugby league wars. With James Packer, he made a multi-million dollar losing investment in the internet service provider OneTel. Worst of all, he lost his $150 million investment in Channel Ten, which for a time he headed. </p>
<p>He has also had some notable successes. He invested around $10 million early in a standalone online classified advertising site, realestate.com.au, that is today worth billions. He bought a share of an Indian Premier League cricket team, the Rajasthan Royals, whose value increased dramatically. And he bought into Nova Entertainment, successfully re-setting the pitch of its radio stations, notably Smooth FM. </p>
<p>On the evidence presented in Manning’s biography, Lachlan is a good businessman, if not in the same league as his father, which is admittedly rarefied air. He was given a start in business few others have enjoyed. Sifting the benefits of privilege from natural ability and hard work is not straightforward, but Manning lays out a telling statistic. In 2022, Lachlan’s wealth was estimated at $3.95 billion in the Australian Financial Review’s annual rich list. The same list gave the wealth of his older sister Prudence at $2.58 billion. She “had not worked a day for their father’s business and had mostly escaped the Murdoch spotlight”.</p>
<p>Prudence may well be a savvy investor, and her second husband worked for many years in News Corp. She may also have an eye to what happens to News and Fox in the future. The latest speculation among Murdoch watchers, which Manning discusses, is the possibility that after Rupert Murdoch’s passing, three of the four siblings who retain shares in the family company, Prudence, Elisabeth and James, will combine to oust Lachlan. According to one Wall Street analyst, who has followed News for decades and is privy to the breakdown in the relationship between the siblings, it is “fair to assume Lachlan gets fired the day Rupert dies”.</p>
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<span class="caption">Lachlan, Rupert and James Murdoch at the Television Academy Hall of Fame, Beverly Hills, California, March 2014.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Dan Steinberg/AP</span></span>
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<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/courting-the-chameleon-how-the-us-election-reveals-rupert-murdochs-political-colours-149910">Courting the chameleon: how the US election reveals Rupert Murdoch's political colours</a>
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<h2>Right and wrong</h2>
<p>It is hard to know whether this is real or just speculation. It is also not clear how much of the breakdown in family relationships is sibling rivalry and how much is fuelled by ideological differences. James Murdoch has severed ties with News and Fox. He is on the record criticising the company’s reporting on climate change and its coverage of former president Trump’s efforts to reject the electorate’s decision in the 2020 election.</p>
<p>The core question The Successor raises in this reader’s mind, though, is how the portrait of Lachlan as a decent, socially progressive family guy in the first half of the book squares with the picture in the second half of a hard-nosed businessman who endorses the extreme, inflammatory opinions broadcast nightly on Fox News. Does he do this because it attracts viewers or because he actually believes Tucker Carlson’s ravings about the racist “great replacement” theory? </p>
<p>Where does Lachlan stand on these issues? Like his father, he has an abiding love of newspapers, but appears most engaged with them as a business, where Rupert has always had an almost visceral sense of news, both for itself and for what it can do for him and his companies. Manning reports Lachlan’s speeches espousing the virtues of press freedom and his interviews defending Fox, but the speeches are boilerplate and the comments unconvincing. Asked in one interview about Fox’s role in polarising America, Lachlan pointed to criticism of Fox from the far right, saying: “If you’ve got the left and the right criticising you, you’re doing something right.”</p>
<p>Or something profoundly wrong. This is the evidence of several media analyses reported in The Successor. Manning acknowledges that at a key point in the vote-counting for the 2020 presidential election, Fox News correctly called the result. But in the following two weeks the network cast doubt on the result at least 774 times, according to the watchdog group Media Matters. </p>
<p>Media Matters is a left-leaning organisation, so its count might be dismissed as partisan, but an investigation earlier this year by the <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2022/04/30/us/tucker-carlson-gop-republican-party.html">New York Times</a> of 1100 episodes of Tucker Carlson Tonight found that he had amplified the great replacement theory 400 times. The number of guests who disagreed with Carlson was found to be decreasing, while the length of his monologues was increasing to double, even triple their earlier length. </p>
<p>When the US congressional hearings into the January 6 riot at the Capitol were held earlier this year, Lachlan, according to Manning, decided to air them not on Fox News, but on the little watched Fox Business channel. This was in stark contrast not only to the prominence other television networks gave to the historic hearings, but to the vast amount of airtime previously given on Fox News to the </p>
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<p>wild and false claims of a rigged election by Rudy Guiliani and Sidney Powell […] once again calling into question whether the channel was really in the news business at all. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>Lachlan has argued that, however florid the opinions aired on Fox, the network’s news coverage is professional and balanced. Its coverage of the congressional hearings belied this claim. It was aired late at night, from 11pm. Apart from muted acknowledgement of the force of some of the testimony, Manning writes, “the rest was about sowing doubt and trying to move on”. </p>
<p>By this point, most have realised that Lachlan is further to the right than his father, whose primary outlets in America, the Wall Street Journal and the New York Post, have denounced as shameful former president Trump’s role in the Capitol riot. The effect, then, of the second half of The Successor is to undermine the portrait of Lachlan in first half, rendering it almost meaningless. The two can’t be squared. </p>
<p>Ultimately, Lachlan has to take responsibility for what Fox News does and the impact of its broadcasts. If he won’t, there are two multi-billion dollar lawsuits underway to focus his attention. The voting-machine companies, Smartmatic and Dominion, are alleging Fox News knowingly and maliciously spread a false narrative accusing them of election fraud.</p>
<p>Lachlan is still young by the family’s standards. His grandmother, Dame Elisabeth Murdoch, died aged 103, which Rupert described, perhaps apocryphally, as an early death. As the first biography of the current head of a powerful media empire, The Successor is well worth reading. It probably won’t be the last biography; nor should it be, as there is more to know about Lachlan Murdoch, the enterprise he heads, and the siblings who appear to covet it. </p>
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<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/cruelty-pettiness-and-real-estate-in-confidence-man-maggie-haberman-wields-eye-popping-anecdotes-to-plumb-the-trump-phenomenon-191684">Cruelty, pettiness and real estate: in Confidence Man, Maggie Haberman wields eye popping anecdotes to plumb the Trump phenomenon</a>
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<img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/192403/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Matthew Ricketson is the Media Entertainment and Arts Alliance's representative on the Australian Press Council. </span></em></p>He is the heir-apparent of a global media empire, but how much to we really know about Lachlan Murdoch?Matthew Ricketson, Professor of Communication, Deakin UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1916842022-10-26T19:03:19Z2022-10-26T19:03:19ZCruelty, pettiness and real estate: in Confidence Man, Maggie Haberman wields eye popping anecdotes to plumb the Trump phenomenon<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491550/original/file-20221025-20-5thin9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=40%2C13%2C2950%2C1998&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Trump pictured in 1996.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Anders Krusberg/AP</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Donald Trump has been colonising the world’s attention for years, via television, on social media and in books. Ironically, given Trump likes books about as much as he does germs, more than 100 books about him are listed on Wikipedia, ranging from biographies and exposés to paeans of praise (think his former campaign manager, Corey Lewandowski) and <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bibliography_of_Donald_Trump#:%7E:text=No%20one%20in%20the%20world,compared%20to%20just%20over%20800">scathing analyses</a> of his presidency.</p>
<p>One work, <a href="https://www.panmacmillan.com.au/9781250201621/">Plaintiff in Chief</a>, concerns the gob-smacking number of lawsuits Trump and his businesses have engaged in – 3500 – and is already well out of date, having been published in 2019. There is even a book about all the Trump books. Its nicely punning title, <a href="https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/What-Were-We-Thinking/Carlos-Lozada/9781982145637">What were we thinking?</a>, might also be said to apply to the publishers of Carlos Lozada’s book although that would undervalue his insights, and those of the authors whose work he examines.</p>
<hr>
<p><em>Review: Confidence Man: The making of Donald Trump and the breaking of America –Maggie Haberman (HarperCollins)</em></p>
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<p>With the application of all this intellectual muscle, though, what do we still need – or want – to know about Donald Trump? All of us probably do need to know the likelihood Trump will run again for president and, worse, win. On that hinges the future of democracy in a global superpower along with prospects for real action combating the effects of climate change.</p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/us-elections-november-ballot-will-test-whether-trump-is-ready-to-bounce-back-192355">US elections: November ballot will test whether Trump is ready to bounce back</a>
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<hr>
<p>The answer to this need-to-know question is undeniably important, but I still want to know whether Trump actually believes the 2020 presidential election was stolen. Is there some psychological wound from his childhood that renders him unable to bear loss? Or is his unblinking refusal to accept the election result yet another example of his lifelong habit of lying and grifting to get his own way?</p>
<p>If the answer is the former, I care less about what might have happened to Donald as a toddler than that he has managed to persuade about two thirds of Republican voters to his view, <a href="https://www.politifact.com/factchecks/2022/feb/02/viral-image/no-most-americans-dont-believe-2020-election-was-f/">according to polls analysed by Politifact</a>. </p>
<p>If the answer is the latter, which bespeaks a truly chilling level of cynical disregard for the consequences of his actions, it immediately raises another question. Exactly how has Trump been able to persuade so many Republicans to believe his lies, despite all evidence to the contrary, including Trump’s legal team losing 64 out of 65 cases brought contesting the result? </p>
<p>I ask these questions following publication of Maggie Haberman’s <a href="https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/668293/confidence-man-by-maggie-haberman/">Confidence Man: the making of Donald Trump and the breaking of America</a>. Since the mid-1990s, Haberman has reported on Trump, first for the Murdoch-owned tabloid, The New York Post, then for its rival, The New York Daily News, and, since 2015, for The New York Times.</p>
<p>The driving argument of her book is that to understand Trump you need to understand the New York real-estate and property development world in the 1960s, 70s and 80s. What he learnt there, she argues, about business, politics and people, was the template of behaviour he took into the White House.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491549/original/file-20221025-232-letjy7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491549/original/file-20221025-232-letjy7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491549/original/file-20221025-232-letjy7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=384&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491549/original/file-20221025-232-letjy7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=384&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491549/original/file-20221025-232-letjy7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=384&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491549/original/file-20221025-232-letjy7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=483&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491549/original/file-20221025-232-letjy7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=483&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491549/original/file-20221025-232-letjy7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=483&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Trump, real estate mogul, in 1985.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Marty Lederhandler/AP</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>‘False’, ‘Totally false’, ‘Fake News’</h2>
<p>During two campaigns and four years in office, writes Haberman, Trump treated the country like a version of New York City’s five boroughs. His aides soon realised he had imagined a presidency that functioned like one of the once-powerful Democratic Party machines in those boroughs. A single boss controlled everything in this kingdom and knew his support alone could ensure electoral success for others. This was an “us” versus “them” realm where racial dynamics changed from one block to the next.</p>
<p>The argument has explanatory power. But so too, to take one example, does James Poniewozik’s view, in his 2019 book, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43726540-audience-of-one?from_search=true&from_srp=true&qid=l8trsnVgb0&rank=2">Audience of One</a>, that the key to Trump’s worldview is his symbiotic relationship with television. Trump did seem to govern in much the same way as he behaved in The Apprentice, the reality TV program he starred in – making contestants beholden to his every whim and impulse.</p>
<p>As Poniewozik <a href="https://insidestory.org.au/its-appetites-were-his-appetites-its-mentality-was-his-mentality/">puts it</a>, the Trump administration soon became a “dogpile of competitors, cronies and relatives throttling one another daily for survival”. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491546/original/file-20221025-17-h7cudu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491546/original/file-20221025-17-h7cudu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491546/original/file-20221025-17-h7cudu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=396&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491546/original/file-20221025-17-h7cudu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=396&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491546/original/file-20221025-17-h7cudu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=396&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491546/original/file-20221025-17-h7cudu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=497&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491546/original/file-20221025-17-h7cudu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=497&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491546/original/file-20221025-17-h7cudu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=497&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Trump greets contestants on The Apprentice in 2004.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Jennifer Szymaszek/AAP</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Haberman tells readers that on top of her daily reporting, she conducted 250 interviews for the book, including three with Trump, either in person or in writing. For the latter, Trump annotated her list of questions in his customary black “Sharpie” pen with comments like “False”, “Totally false” and “Fake News”. </p>
<p>Because Haberman has known Trump for so long she has been derided as a <a href="https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/shill">schill</a>. Because she enjoyed good access to him on the campaign trail and during his presidency she has been <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/2022/oct/02/confidence-man-review-maggie-haberman-donald-trump">called a “Trump whisperer”</a>. She may at times have been both, but like almost any journalist who has reported on Trump her work has been labelled “fake news”. </p>
<p>She has borne, too, Trump’s seemingly casual but calibrated barbs: “Did you ever notice that her glasses are always smudged?” he said to his aides.</p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491534/original/file-20221025-21-zpgazd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491534/original/file-20221025-21-zpgazd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491534/original/file-20221025-21-zpgazd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=912&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491534/original/file-20221025-21-zpgazd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=912&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491534/original/file-20221025-21-zpgazd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=912&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491534/original/file-20221025-21-zpgazd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1146&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491534/original/file-20221025-21-zpgazd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1146&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491534/original/file-20221025-21-zpgazd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1146&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>More precisely, she reports him saying this to aides, but there is no source for the comment in the book’s end-notes. Does that mean he didn’t say it? Does Haberman take the same insouciant approach here to sourcing as the authors of <a href="https://theconversation.com/in-plagued-journalists-have-traded-their-independence-for-access-resulting-in-a-kind-of-political-pornography-189124">Plagued</a>, political journalists Simon Benson and Geoff Chambers, did in their recent book about the Morrison government’s response to the pandemic? </p>
<p>Like the authors of Plagued too, Haberman has fielded criticism for withholding information from her newspaper readers and <a href="https://www.poynter.org/commentary/2022/maggie-haberman-book-not-going-to-leave-donald-trump/">saving it for her book</a>. (Benson and Chambers knew about Morrison’s multiple ministerial portfolios but held onto that information for up to two years before it became public.)</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/in-plagued-journalists-have-traded-their-independence-for-access-resulting-in-a-kind-of-political-pornography-189124">In Plagued, journalists have traded their independence for access, resulting in a kind of political pornography</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p>In Confidence Man Haberman recounts Trump telling one aide days after the 2020 presidential election, “I’m just not going to leave”, and another, “We’re never leaving. How can you leave when you won an election?” (She also reports him in other conversations seeming to accept he had lost but does not probe the contradiction further.) Should she have reported those comments at the time rather than saving them for her book?</p>
<p>The information gathered by Haberman was clearly important and could, perhaps should, have been published in The New York Times contemporaneously but we don’t know the circumstances in which it was obtained. Perhaps the information was only revealed on condition it would not be published immediately. There is little doubt that people being interviewed for a book published well after the news cycle has pedalled on are willing to speak more candidly. If the aim of a book is to provide context and nuance about contested current events, then the trade-off between news now and understanding later may be worth it. </p>
<p>Responding to the criticism that she had witheld vital information from the public, a <a href="https://www.poynter.org/commentary/2022/maggie-haberman-book-not-going-to-leave-donald-trump/">spokesman for The New York Times said</a>, </p>
<blockquote>
<p>Maggie Haberman took leave from The Times to write her book. In the course of reporting the book, she shared considerable newsworthy information with The Times. Editors decided what news was best suited for our news report.</p>
</blockquote>
<h2>Devastating observations</h2>
<p>Returning to the “smudged glasses” barb, we know Trump has publicly insulted women and journalists countless times. The comment has the ring of truth, so it is probably not as important that this quote was unattributed. The end-notes of Confidence Man do run to 63 pages (providing a good deal more information than the sparse end-notes in Plagued.)</p>
<p>At several points Haberman also tells us about news stories she has written, how they were received, those whose accuracy was later vindicated and, occasionally, those that contained errors of fact or context. In other words, she is reflective and concerned to be as fair as possible in her reporting and judgements.</p>
<p>When Haberman’s book was released in early October, <a href="https://nymag.com/intelligencer/article/maggie-haberman-trump-book-bonkers-revelations-ranked.html">New York magazine listed 22 revelations from</a> it while acknowledging they “feel less like bombshells and more like laundry lists of erratic presidential behaviour”.</p>
<p>For many readers the coverage of New York City’s property world will be unfamiliar, but the bulk of the book covers Trump’s political career and is very familiar: the 2016 campaign, the presidency, the unceasing stream of controversies – large, small or confected – the impeachment trials, the pandemic response, the 2020 campaign and the January 6 riots at the Capitol.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491552/original/file-20221025-14-b8gjq3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491552/original/file-20221025-14-b8gjq3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491552/original/file-20221025-14-b8gjq3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491552/original/file-20221025-14-b8gjq3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491552/original/file-20221025-14-b8gjq3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491552/original/file-20221025-14-b8gjq3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491552/original/file-20221025-14-b8gjq3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491552/original/file-20221025-14-b8gjq3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">President Donald Trump as he returns to the Oval Office after speaking on the Ellipse on January 6, 2021.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">House Select Committee/AP</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Familiar though these events are, their sheer volume means they are not discussed in any great depth and what discussion there is does not venture beyond the political journalist’s inside-the-Beltway frame of reference. This can be frustrating but the value of reading Confidence Man, in my view, is not in the explosive revelations or the private, never-seen-before details. It is how Haberman uses anecdotes to build up a devastating picture of character.</p>
<p>It is true there is some extraordinary material in the book but Haberman does not badge it up Bob Woodward-style. Instead, she quietly but frequently enough for it to look like a deliberate strategy, drops in eye-popping anecdotes and devastating observations about Trump’s behaviour. </p>
<p>You have to be on the lookout for them because they are nestled within 597 pages of detailed coverage of his life and career. Some come from her own reporting while others are drawn from earlier journalists’ and authors’ work. </p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491520/original/file-20221025-17-tn27g3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491520/original/file-20221025-17-tn27g3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491520/original/file-20221025-17-tn27g3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=945&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491520/original/file-20221025-17-tn27g3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=945&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491520/original/file-20221025-17-tn27g3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=945&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491520/original/file-20221025-17-tn27g3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1187&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491520/original/file-20221025-17-tn27g3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1187&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491520/original/file-20221025-17-tn27g3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1187&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Trump as a child.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: Confidence Man</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Haberman spends little space on Trump’s childhood but enough to show his bullying began early: a neighbour in Queens, New York, was horrified when her baby sitting in a playpen in the backyard was pelted with rocks over the fence from a five-year-old Trump. Later, Trump proudly recalled gluing together his brother Robert’s blocks to build his own tower.</p>
<p>That Trump is profligate with others’ money but tight with his own is well known but Haberman reminds us that one of his early antagonists, the satirical magazine, Spy, used to mail cheques to his office for steadily diminishing amounts to see whether he would keep cashing them; he did, down to one for 13 cents.</p>
<p>When the Trumps moved into the White House in 2017, Donald loved being able to press a button on his desk to order a valet to bring him a Diet Coke. He remade the White House to suit his tastes, installing plenty of television sets, even in the bathroom, and telling guests he had renovated the entire area, including the toilet.</p>
<p>“You understand what I mean,” he said to one visitor, who interpreted it to mean he did not want to use the same bathroom as his African-American predecessor. Apart from the apparent racism, Trump’s statement was also untrue as officials told Haberman it was customary for toilet seats in the White House to be replaced between one administration and the next.</p>
<p>Trump may not be a book reader but, Haberman reports, he has near perfect recall of anything written about him in the media. He knew little and cared less about policies or how government actually operated but staff noticed he absorbed policies far better from television coverage than from their briefings. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491551/original/file-20221025-20-vt41gk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Donald Trump on the presidential plane." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491551/original/file-20221025-20-vt41gk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491551/original/file-20221025-20-vt41gk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=398&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491551/original/file-20221025-20-vt41gk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=398&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491551/original/file-20221025-20-vt41gk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=398&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491551/original/file-20221025-20-vt41gk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=500&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491551/original/file-20221025-20-vt41gk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=500&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491551/original/file-20221025-20-vt41gk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=500&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Trump, pictured here on Air Force One in 2018, absorbed information better from television than from briefings.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Pablo Martinez Monsivais/AP</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>They noticed his “singular interest” in whether those representing him on television appeared persuasive, and on their appearance full stop. He would comment on the lighting, the make-up, the women’s dresses, their hair. Trump had always been preternaturally aware of the appearance of things. Sleeping over at a friend’s house during primary school, he earnestly commented on the “wonderful” quality of the bed-sheets.</p>
<h2>Extra ice cream and special glassware</h2>
<p>Trump himself noticed how he could say almost anything and supporters at his MAGA rallies would forgive him. Haberman compares this revelation – and two others – to the scene in Jurassic Park when the velociraptors learn how to open doors. </p>
<p>Similar penny-dropping moments happened when Trump learned how to communicate by Twitter unburdened of staff controls and when he discovered presidential pardons. “For Trump, who never really accepted the fact that Congress was a separate and equal branch of government, the ability to deliver ‘justice’ on a case-by-case basis hit like a revelation,” writes Haberman. </p>
<p>The Faustian pact Trump appeared to strike with his MAGA base, though, was that just as they would forgive him if he shot someone on Fifth Avenue, as he infamously remarked, so he would shape his administration to suit their every demand, no matter how misconceived, extreme or counter-productive they might be. </p>
<p>Trump’s callousness and cruelty is well documented. (Haberman reports that one of the very few times Trump has cried was in private after his father, Fred, died.)
When he began building the notorious wall on the southern border of the US to keep out Latino immigrants and asylum seekers, he urged officials to put spikes on top and to paint it black so as to burn the skin of those trying to climb the wall.</p>
<p>John Kelly, one of the revolving door of chiefs of staff who tried and failed to bring order to the Trump administration, had a son in the military who died while on duty in Afghanistan, and Kelly had been a general himself. Once, when he and Trump were standing together at the Arlington National Cemetery grave site where Kelly’s son was buried, Trump wondered aloud why anyone would want to join the military.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491535/original/file-20221025-19-fm2yzw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Two men at the Oval Office in Washington." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491535/original/file-20221025-19-fm2yzw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491535/original/file-20221025-19-fm2yzw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491535/original/file-20221025-19-fm2yzw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491535/original/file-20221025-19-fm2yzw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491535/original/file-20221025-19-fm2yzw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491535/original/file-20221025-19-fm2yzw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491535/original/file-20221025-19-fm2yzw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Kelly, left, and Trump in 2017.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Evan Vucci/AP</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Trump’s petty, venal behaviour has also been well documented, but the details Haberman has marshalled can still surprise. After winning the 2016 election, he invited a group of moderate Democrats to join him for dinner to discuss various pieces of legislation, but he couldn’t help needling them throughout. For dessert, he made sure he received one more scoop of ice cream than any of his guests.</p>
<p>More importantly, as early as 23 February 2020 Trump was not only aware of the dangers of COVID-19 but was taking precautions against it. On a trip to India Trump was reluctant to eat, pushing food around his plate and drinking only from “special glassware that he said Melania [Trump] had the White House staff pack for the trip, primarily for fear of contracting the coronavirus”. </p>
<p>During the pandemic he sometimes acknowledged the seriousness of COVID but mostly he downplayed or denied its impact on public health, with catastrophic results.</p>
<h2>A deeper malaise?</h2>
<p>Carlos Lozada, in his survey of all those Trump books, identifies many that seek to explain the Trump phenomenon through a single overriding cause, and he finds that limiting. Haberman tacitly acknowledges this when she quotes Trump saying he always aimed to “put some show business into the real estate business”. When he did, she writes, Trump learnt that “he could win as much press for projects he never completed as those he did”. </p>
<p>Poniewozik, from his vantage point as a television critic, makes the same observation: namely, that Trump enjoyed more success playing the role of a business titan on television than actually being one, before citing Fran Leibowitz’s acid line that Trump is “a poor person’s idea of a rich person”.</p>
<p>Closing Haberman’s book, I do think Trump knew he had lost the election quite soon after the results came in. Just how much his years in New York’s property development world shaped that decision is hard to say. It seems part of the explanation but only part. </p>
<p>In my mind her book jostles alongside Poniewozik’s work and for that matter, James Zirin’s Plaintiff in Chief, which underscores how Trump sees the law not as a “system of rules to be obeyed” but “as a potent weapon to be used against his adversaries”. We’re still seeing this play out in Trump’s unremitting efforts to stave off multiple investigations of his business and his behaviour. </p>
<p>Lozada prefers explanations of Trump as a symptom of longer term problems in American politics and society, an approach exemplified in BBC correspondent and historian Nick Bryant’s excellent book, <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/when-america-stopped-being-great-9781760896232">When America Stopped Being Great</a>.
Surely both explanatory approaches need to be deployed.</p>
<p>Trump may be a symptom of a deeper malaise afflicting American democracy but has there ever been a symptom quite like him? In 2020 the majority of voters opted to be cured of their Trump symptoms, but the treatment failed and the bacillus rages on.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/191684/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Matthew Ricketson does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Donald Trump likes books about as much as he does germs, but more than 100 have been written about him. Journalist Maggie Haberman conducted 250 interviews for hers, including three with Trump.Matthew Ricketson, Professor of Communication, Deakin UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1918202022-10-12T12:17:48Z2022-10-12T12:17:48ZAnthony Bourdain and the farce of the ‘unauthorized’ biography<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/489070/original/file-20221010-20-52iu9r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=696%2C183%2C2083%2C1496&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">The circumstances of Bourdain’s death were bound to arouse curiosity.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/anthony-bourdain-promotes-his-new-book-medium-raw-at-the-news-photo/808538412?phrase=anthony bourdain&adppopup=true">Ian West/PA Images via Getty Images</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>“The agents of reticence,” wrote the English poet Ian Hamilton in “<a href="https://books.google.com/books/about/Keepers_of_the_Flame.html?id=ZE5ZAAAAMAAJ">Keepers of the Flame</a>,” “have no truck with the agents of disclosure.”</p>
<p>Thwarted by J.D. Salinger as he tried to write the story of the novelist’s life, Hamilton was out for revenge when he penned this work on literary estate management and mismanagement. The title “Keepers of the Flame” was <a href="https://www.oxfordlearnersdictionaries.com/us/definition/american_english/keeper">a reference</a> to those in Victorian times who attempted to preserve pure images of the departed. </p>
<p>That was 30 years ago. Little has changed, as a new biography of chef, writer and television travel star Anthony Bourdain has demonstrated.</p>
<p>Written by journalist Charles Leerhsen, “<a href="https://www.google.com/books/edition/Down_and_Out_in_Paradise/7yiJEAAAQBAJ?hl=en&gbpv=1&dq=Charles+Leerhsen,+Down+and+Out&printsec=frontcover">Down and Out in Paradise</a>,” which publisher Simon & Schuster <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2022/09/27/dining/anthony-bourdain-biography.html">has deemed</a> the “first unauthorized biography” of Bourdain, has already elicited controversy.</p>
<p>The book’s publication has moved forward despite the best efforts of Bourdain’s brother, Christopher, and other friends and family members to torpedo Leerhsen’s work. <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2022/09/27/dining/anthony-bourdain-biography.html">According to The New York Times</a>, Christopher Bourdain called for Simon & Schuster to halt publication until the book’s “many errors were corrected.” The publisher refused, responding, “With all due respect, we disagree that the material in the Book contains defamatory information, and we stand by our forthcoming publication.”</p>
<p><a href="https://www.umb.edu/faculty_staff/bio/nigel_hamilton">As a seasoned biographer</a>, I’m not surprised by any of this. What gets my biographer’s goat, though, is the positioning of this battle as one conducted between “unauthorized biography” on the one hand and “authorized” biography on the other – the publisher, for hinting at scandalous content by casting the work as “unauthorized,” and the aggrieved, to think they have any power to “authorize” whether the biography gets published in the first place.</p>
<h2>No need to ask permission</h2>
<p>Biography traces its origins back to Classical times – and to the Roman historian <a href="https://books.google.com/books/about/Suetonius_the_Biographer.html?id=3H-KngEACAAJ">Suetonius</a>, in particular. </p>
<p>His “<a href="https://www.google.com/books/edition/Lives_of_the_Caesars/JsNxkG6Ai9sC?hl=en&gbpv=1&dq=Lives+of+the+Caesars&printsec=frontcover">Lives of the Caesars</a>,” which recounts the biographies of 12 Roman emperors, from Julius to Domitian, offered Romans a stunning cornucopia of imperial tales, chronicling the rulers’ rise to power and their achievements, murders, assassinations, family troubles, frivolity, suicides and sexual perversions. It’s small wonder Seutonius <a href="https://theconversation.com/guide-to-the-classics-suetoniuss-the-twelve-caesars-explores-vice-and-virtue-in-ancient-rome-85608">was eventually banished from Rome</a>.</p>
<p>As long as there has been biography, there has always been pushback to writers’ prying into their subjects’ lives.</p>
<p>Among living subjects of biography, such a response is all too common. In the 1990s, the feminist Germaine Greer, author of “<a href="https://www.google.com/books/edition/The_Female_Eunuch/dtnbrx0pOI4C?hl=en&gbpv=1&dq=Greer,+The+Female+EUnuch&printsec=frontcover">The Female Eunuch</a>,” lambasted a fellow Australian writer, Christine Wallace, for daring to try to write a biography of Greer without her permission. <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/2018/nov/18/the-life-of-germaine-greer-elizabeth-kleinhenz-review">Greer decried</a> Wallace as a “parasite” and a “brain-dead hack.”</p>
<p>Eventually, however, Greer – a professor of literature – <a href="https://www.google.com/books/edition/Germaine/EDhrDwAAQBAJ?hl=en">accepted</a> that she was powerless to prevent herself from being written about.</p>
<p>After all, there exists no such thing as “authorized” or “unauthorized” biography, as both the “<a href="https://www.google.com/books/edition/Encyclopedia_of_Life_Writing/pedJAgAAQBAJ?hl=en&gbpv=1&dq=Encyclopedia+of+Life+Writing,+Jolly&printsec=frontcover">Encyclopedia of Life Writing</a>” (2001) and “<a href="https://www.google.com/books/edition/The_ABC_of_Modern_Biography/p7kIuQEACAAJ?hl=en">The ABC of Modern Biography</a>” (2018) attest. </p>
<h2>The lost cause of libel</h2>
<p>Bourdain <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/local/obituaries/anthony-bourdain-celebrity-chef-and-roguish-culinary-adventurer-dies-at-61/2018/06/08/7b6d7d7a-6b15-11e8-bea7-c8eb28bc52b1_story.html">died while working in France</a> in 2018. He was 61 years old when he took his life in the bedroom of his hotel room.</p>
<p>The circumstances of Bourdain’s death were bound to arouse curiosity. Given the tales of dysfunction and substance abuse that Bourdain revealed in his bestselling memoir, “<a href="https://books.google.com/books/about/Kitchen_Confidential.html?id=cocVLbFkgyQC">Kitchen Confidential</a>,” what more secrets are there in his life that might help explain his death? What secrets might his family try to suppress?</p>
<p>As Shakespeare noted in “<a href="http://shakespeare.mit.edu/othello/full.html">Othello</a>,” a reputation is everything. And since good biography must critically examine its subject’s reputation, biographers are destined to find themselves on a collision course with those looking to protect the image of the subject.</p>
<p>If the book presents as distorted a life as Bourdain’s brother claims, could Bourdain’s family and associates go after Leerhsen for libel? </p>
<p>In short, no.</p>
<p>More than 50 years ago, Alabama police commissioner L.B. Sullivan sued The New York Times for defamation. The case made its way to the Supreme Court, which ultimately ruled in favor of the Times and overturned <a href="https://www.oyez.org/cases/1963/39">existing libel laws</a>, making it significantly more difficult for public figures to successfully sue for defamation during their lifetimes.</p>
<p>Furthermore, the protections of libel law <a href="https://splc.org/2019/10/can-you-libel-a-dead-person/">end with death</a> – and Bourdain is dead. </p>
<h2>Throwing sand in the gears</h2>
<p>Of all the other legal rights of defense, there is one that biographers most fear, whether in life or after death of the subject: copyright, or the law of “intellectual property,” which extends for <a href="https://www.copyright.gov/circs/circ15a.pdf">70 years after death</a>. Bourdain’s legal heirs have the power to grant or deny use of the deceased’s written and spoken words. </p>
<p>For biographers, the quoting of a subject is as crucial as water to fish. How else is a biographer to bring that individual – a real individual, not a fictional one – back to literary life on the page?</p>
<p>Interviews with surviving witnesses are potential silver, certainly, but they will always be secondhand. By contrast, the words of biographical subjects are gold. They do not confer truth necessarily – often they confer the opposite, <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2021/01/24/trumps-false-or-misleading-claims-total-30573-over-four-years/">lies</a> – but they do convey authenticity, without which the reader cannot judge fairly the account and portrait that is composed.</p>
<p>In “Down and Out in Paradise,” the “most revealing material,” <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2022/09/27/dining/anthony-bourdain-biography.html">The New York Times points out</a>, “comes from files and messages pulled from Mr. Bourdain’s phone and laptop, both of which are part of the estate.” </p>
<p>The executor of Bourdain’s estate – his ex-wife, <a href="https://www.usmagazine.com/celebrity-news/news/anthony-bourdains-daughter-ariane-will-inherit-bulk-of-his-estate/">Ottavia Busia-Bourdain</a> – could have attempted to restrict the use of this material. But for mysterious reasons, she didn’t.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="Woman and man pose." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/489071/original/file-20221010-23-i7qphj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/489071/original/file-20221010-23-i7qphj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=398&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/489071/original/file-20221010-23-i7qphj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=398&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/489071/original/file-20221010-23-i7qphj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=398&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/489071/original/file-20221010-23-i7qphj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=501&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/489071/original/file-20221010-23-i7qphj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=501&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/489071/original/file-20221010-23-i7qphj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=501&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
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<span class="caption">Anthony Bourdain’s ex-wife, Ottavia Busia-Bourdain, is the executor of his estate.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/ottavia-busia-and-anthony-bourdain-attend-the-julie-and-news-photo/526122962?phrase=Ottavia%20Busia-Bourdain&adppopup=true">Lars Niki/Corbis via Getty Images</a></span>
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<p>Either way, copyright control confers no legal right of “authorization” for a biographer’s work – there is no requirement to obtain permission from him or his heirs, beyond copyright permissions to quote authentic words. </p>
<p>In a perfect world, publishers wouldn’t resort to this advertising gimmick, so that the public – especially students – won’t be misled regarding the rights of biographers in our democracy. But I won’t insist. </p>
<p>Life’s too short. </p>
<p>And I have a biography to write.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/191820/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Nigel Hamilton has received funding from UMass Boston</span></em></p>Bourdain’s brother, Christopher, has called for the publisher, Simon & Schuster, to halt publication until the book’s ‘many errors were corrected.’Nigel Hamilton, Senior Fellow, McCormack Graduate School, UMass BostonLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1829472022-07-27T20:12:47Z2022-07-27T20:12:47ZGeorge Floyd deserved a better life. A new book charts his trajectory from poverty to the US prison-industrial complex – and the impact of his death<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/475799/original/file-20220725-55372-7s6qxp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=542%2C21%2C3860%2C3083&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Justin Lane/EPA</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>George Perry Floyd, Jr. was murdered when Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin sank his knee into Floyd’s neck for nine minutes and 29 seconds. Video footage went viral within hours, helping to inspire protests against racism and police violence that lasted all the American summer of 2020.</p>
<p>But while the size of the protests was unprecedented, the activism of that summer had <a href="https://theconversation.com/the-fury-in-us-cities-is-rooted-in-a-long-history-of-racist-policing-violence-and-inequality-139752">deep roots</a>. Journalists across the United States and indeed the world, focused attention on that history of protest, as they had done during the 2014 police killings of Eric Garner, choked to death in New York, and Michael Brown, shot in Ferguson, Missouri. </p>
<hr>
<p><em>Review: His Name Is George Floyd: One Man’s Life and the Struggle for Racial Justice – Robert Samuels and Toluse Olorunnipa (Penguin RandomHouse)</em></p>
<hr>
<p>At the Washington Post, reporters and researchers devoted significant resources to a six-part series, <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/nation/2020/10/12/george-floyd-america/">George Floyd’s America</a>. Now, two of those journalists, Robert Samuels and Toluse Olorunnipa, have expanded the work into a book: <a href="https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/703358/his-name-is-george-floyd-by-robert-samuels-and-toluse-olorunnipa/">His Name Is George Floyd: One Man’s Life and the Struggle for Racial Justice</a>. </p>
<p>When Floyd was born in 1973, 200,000 people were incarcerated in the US. By the time of his death, as Samuels and Olorunnipa point out, that number exceeded 2 million. The proportionate rate of growth of that number in <a href="https://usafacts.org/data/topics/security-safety/crime-and-justice/jail-and-prisons/prisoners/?utm_source=usnews&utm_medium=partnership&utm_campaign=fellowship&utm_content=bracketed_link">Texas</a>, where Floyd grew up, is even worse. <a href="https://www.usnews.com/news/best-states/articles/2021-10-13/report-highlights-staggering-racial-disparities-in-us-incarceration-rates">African Americans are locked up at 4.75 times the rate of white Americans; Latinos at 1.3 times the rate</a>. </p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/475757/original/file-20220724-26-wfg4dg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/475757/original/file-20220724-26-wfg4dg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/475757/original/file-20220724-26-wfg4dg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=906&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475757/original/file-20220724-26-wfg4dg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=906&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475757/original/file-20220724-26-wfg4dg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=906&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475757/original/file-20220724-26-wfg4dg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1138&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475757/original/file-20220724-26-wfg4dg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1138&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475757/original/file-20220724-26-wfg4dg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1138&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<p>This <a href="https://www.sentencingproject.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/05/intl-rates.png">extraordinary rate of incarceration</a> is a political choice rather than a reflection of more violent criminals being locked up. Rates of incarceration <a href="https://citeseerx.ist.psu.edu/viewdoc/download;jsessionid=ED19CF648065ABC51FE1605ED5D77E32?doi=10.1.1.462.6544&rep=rep1&type=pdf">increase</a> with political conservatism and the increased rates of poverty, income inequality and unemployment that accompany that conservatism. Extensive investment in prisons, jails and police forces has created a self-perpetuating system that evolves by producing the very criminals it locks up.</p>
<p>This life-and-times biography poignantly depicts the mechanisms by which African Americans, especially male children and adults, become disproportionately the fodder for that system. A long history of racism, it might be said, funnelled George Floyd to prison.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/the-fury-in-us-cities-is-rooted-in-a-long-history-of-racist-policing-violence-and-inequality-139752">The fury in US cities is rooted in a long history of racist policing, violence and inequality</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>The grandson of sharecroppers</h2>
<p>Floyd’s two parents were both born to <a href="https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/sharecropper">sharecroppers</a> in North Carolina. The cycle of poverty in which they were trapped was not of their own making. Black Americans have been prevented from building wealth from the moment slavery ended. </p>
<p>Floyd’s great-great-grandfather, for example, who was born into slavery in 1857, amassed land worth $US30,000 in 1920, but his white neighbours stole it from him by a mixture of fraud underpinned by the threat of violence. That tale is absolutely typical for a majority of Black families in the US South.</p>
<p>The knock-on effects have been intensified by government policies that meant for generations, Black Americans had <a href="https://theconversation.com/to-see-the-legacy-of-slavery-look-at-present-day-school-systems-43896">fewer opportunities for education</a>; <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2020/06/25/opinion/sunday/race-wage-gap.html">earned</a> <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/business/2020/06/04/economic-divide-black-households/">less</a> even for the same work; and were <a href="https://www.npr.org/2021/11/17/1049052531/racial-covenants-housing-discrimination">prevented</a> <a href="https://aas.princeton.edu/news/2020-pulitzer-prize-finalist-history-race-profit-how-banks-and-real-estate-industry-undermined">from buying property</a> that would <a href="https://www.vox.com/identities/2019/12/4/20953282/racism-housing-discrimination-keeanga-yamahtta-taylor">build wealth over generations</a>.</p>
<p>Desperate for a better life for her three children, Floyd’s mother uprooted them to Houston, Texas, when Floyd was four. There, they lived in public housing in the segregated <a href="https://www.gpb.org/news/2020/07/20/george-floyds-third-ward-reflections-on-the-neighborhood-made-him">Third Ward</a>.</p>
<p>Government policies that requisitioned homes from Black residents elsewhere in Houston had forced them into this section of the city. In the Cuney Homes development, known as “the Bricks,” even today the median income is <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/george-floyd-neighborhood-stimulus/2021/04/09/59f57e7c-9623-11eb-962b-78c1d8228819_story.html">US$15,538</a>, well under half the <a href="https://fred.stlouisfed.org/series/MEPAINUSA672N">national average</a>.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/475800/original/file-20220725-55416-zdyf6d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/475800/original/file-20220725-55416-zdyf6d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/475800/original/file-20220725-55416-zdyf6d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475800/original/file-20220725-55416-zdyf6d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475800/original/file-20220725-55416-zdyf6d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475800/original/file-20220725-55416-zdyf6d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475800/original/file-20220725-55416-zdyf6d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475800/original/file-20220725-55416-zdyf6d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">A memorial to Floyd in Houston’s Third Ward.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">David J. Phillip/AP</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Floyd attended the local Jack Yates Senior High School, opened in 1926 when education was segregated by race and never the equal of other Houston schools catering to white children. As Floyd grew to 193 centimetres tall, he learned to offset the alarm that his size and colour induced in people. </p>
<p>He became self-deprecating and deliberately easy-going, charming people across generations everywhere he went. Excelling at football, he secured entry to college. </p>
<p>But Floyd’s dreams of playing pro football were stymied by his academic achievements. Never good at tests, Floyd fell behind by middle school and struggled to graduate high school. There were just not the resources in the schools to make up for living in poverty in an overcrowded flat with the responsibilities of caring for relatives. </p>
<p>After four years at two colleges, Floyd dropped out and returned to Houston. Not long after, he was arrested for the first time for selling drugs. </p>
<p>Samuels and Olorunnipa do an extremely good job of showing that at every node along the passage toward being turned into fodder for the prison-industrial complex, Floyd’s chance of escape was significantly less than that of a white man of the same age. Reading how Floyd’s options narrowed, it was impossible not to share his frustration and despair.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/475803/original/file-20220725-55416-yczxwr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/475803/original/file-20220725-55416-yczxwr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/475803/original/file-20220725-55416-yczxwr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475803/original/file-20220725-55416-yczxwr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475803/original/file-20220725-55416-yczxwr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475803/original/file-20220725-55416-yczxwr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475803/original/file-20220725-55416-yczxwr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475803/original/file-20220725-55416-yczxwr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Protestors gather near the scene of the arrest of George Floyd on May 28, 2020.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Craig Lassig/EPA</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Forensic exposé of injustice</h2>
<p>Quotas for arrests meant police sought the “low-hanging fruit” of petty drug dealing done on the streets. Misconduct charges for these police officers are common: the cop who arrested Floyd in 1997 for selling drugs was sacked in 2002 after being charged with theft and hampering arrest. The officer who arrested Floyd in 2004 was “later accused of falsifying charges in hundreds of drug cases, including the one involving Floyd.” </p>
<p>Chauvin himself had faced <a href="http://complaints.cuapb.org/police_archive/officer/2377/">29 charges</a> of misconduct and internal investigations prior to murdering Floyd. (Only 18 appear on the city’s police internal affairs records.) But because <a href="https://www.brennancenter.org/our-work/research-reports/state-policing-reforms-george-floyds-murder">records of “decertification” are patchy</a>, such “wandering” officers can often get themselves <a href="https://www.pbs.org/newshour/nation/wandering-cops-moving-from-department-to-department-is-a-roadblock-to-police-accountability">rehired</a>.</p>
<p>The officers can stay unaccountable by targeting impoverished men who, unable to afford lawyers, are more likely to accept plea deals. Floyd was never tried by jury; he rather accepted eight plea deals.</p>
<p>He knew that even if he got to court, the decision was unlikely to be positive because the state of Texas does not provide public defenders. Rather, the court pays for a private lawyer to defend those who can’t afford their own representation. Judges in Harris County, where Houston is located, more often than not will appoint lawyers who had donated to their election campaigns.</p>
<p>In 2007, police arrested Floyd for a violent assault on evidence provided by a dubious photo ID process. (It has since been improved.) Facing up to 40 years of prison, a reluctant Floyd accepted a plea deal for five. </p>
<p>Claustrophobia made Floyd’s time in prison difficult, and yet he discovered that none of the mental health, drug addiction, or education programs included in legislation such as the notorious <a href="https://www.brennancenter.org/our-work/analysis-opinion/1994-crime-bill-and-beyond-how-federal-funding-shapes-criminal-justice">1994 Crime Bill</a>, which sloshed billions of dollars into prison building, were available. As the authors point out, it was only after the <a href="https://www.communitycatalyst.org/blog/how-structural-racism-fuels-the-response-to-the-opioid-crisis#.YtX8puxBxqs">opioid crisis</a> hit white communities that such funds were expended. In short, whereas policymakers declared crack cocaine a crime problem, they saw opiate addictions, more commonly associated with white people, as an epidemic or public health emergency. </p>
<p>The man responsible for prosecuting the case against Derek Chauvin, Jerry Blackwell, knew well the racism inherent at every level of what we uncritically call “the criminal justice system.” </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/475768/original/file-20220725-31994-41c760.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/475768/original/file-20220725-31994-41c760.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/475768/original/file-20220725-31994-41c760.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475768/original/file-20220725-31994-41c760.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475768/original/file-20220725-31994-41c760.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475768/original/file-20220725-31994-41c760.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475768/original/file-20220725-31994-41c760.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475768/original/file-20220725-31994-41c760.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Derek Chauvin at his trial.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Pool Court TV/AP</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Blackwell anticipated the defence would claim that Floyd’s drug use or some physical anomaly was the reason he had died. He therefore required an independent medical examiner review the coronial findings into Floyd’s death.</p>
<p>That person, and the examiner who worked for the Floyd family in the civil case against the city of Minneapolis (which the city settled before trial for a <a href="https://www.npr.org/2021/03/13/976785212/minneapolis-agrees-to-pay-27-million-to-family-of-george-floyd">record $US27 million</a>), both questioned whether the autopsy had been conducted correctly. Specifically, they doubted whether the incisions made on Floyd’s body were sufficient to ascertain the cause of death. And, indeed, the defence claimed that Floyd’s drug use and a supposedly enlarged heart had contributed to his death.</p>
<p>This was not unique; as the authors report, in 2021 researchers found evidence that medical examiners “had misclassified or covered up nearly 17,000 deaths that involved police between 1980 and 2018”. </p>
<p>All this detail might make the book sound dull, but the research is woven lightly through the account of Floyd’s life so as to maintain momentum. We learn too about Floyd’s family, friends, girlfriends, and his young daughter Gianna. The authors bring to life Floyd’s ability to take people as he found them, underpinned by a deep Christian faith in God.</p>
<h2>Activism</h2>
<p>The final third of the book, which focuses on events after Floyd’s death, is also gripping. Even as we know the outcome, the twists and turns in the criminal case against Chauvin make for heart-in-the-mouth reading. Chauvin was <a href="https://theconversation.com/relief-at-derek-chauvin-conviction-a-sign-of-long-history-of-police-brutality-159212">convicted of murder and manslaughter</a> and is serving a 22-and-a-half year sentence. And in <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2022/jul/07/derek-chauvin-sentenced-violating-george-floyd-civil-rights">early July</a> a federal judge sentenced Chauvin to 21 years in prison for violating George Floyd’s civil rights – the sentence will be served concurrently.)</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/the-sentencing-of-george-floyds-killer-has-lessons-for-policing-in-australia-and-new-zealand-too-162164">The sentencing of George Floyd’s killer has lessons for policing in Australia and New Zealand too</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p>Even more striking is the depiction of the bravery of protestors in Minneapolis and of Floyd’s family members, especially his brother, Philonise Floyd, as they seized an opportunity they never wanted – as spokespeople for justice. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/475796/original/file-20220725-31994-5enrk4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/475796/original/file-20220725-31994-5enrk4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/475796/original/file-20220725-31994-5enrk4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475796/original/file-20220725-31994-5enrk4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475796/original/file-20220725-31994-5enrk4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475796/original/file-20220725-31994-5enrk4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475796/original/file-20220725-31994-5enrk4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475796/original/file-20220725-31994-5enrk4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Philonise Floyd speaks to the media after Chauvin’s conviction.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">John Minchillo/AP</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Joined by the civil rights veterans, the Reverends Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton, Philonise campaigned hard for federal legislation to reform policing. Republican opposition to the hardest-hitting sections of the <a href="https://www.congress.gov/bill/117th-congress/house-bill/1280">George Floyd Justice in Policing Act</a>, introduced to Congress in February 2021 by Rep. Karen Bass, meant the bill foundered – and has still not been passed. </p>
<p>Unlike all the earlier sections of the book, the activism around police and legislative reform is not given quite the context it deserves. Although Samuels and Olorunnipa interviewed 400 people for their book, activists who have long campaigned against police brutality and for the <a href="https://www.versobooks.com/books/2426-the-end-of-policing">dismantling</a> of the entire criminal justice system in favour of a society built on <a href="https://www.teenvogue.com/story/what-is-prison-abolition-movement">equal distribution of resources</a>, such as <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oVjMNMG6Mxo">Angela Davis</a> and <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2019/04/17/magazine/prison-abolition-ruth-wilson-gilmore.html">Ruthie Wilson Gilmore</a>, do not appear. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/475802/original/file-20220725-26-u439u2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/475802/original/file-20220725-26-u439u2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/475802/original/file-20220725-26-u439u2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475802/original/file-20220725-26-u439u2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475802/original/file-20220725-26-u439u2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475802/original/file-20220725-26-u439u2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475802/original/file-20220725-26-u439u2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/475802/original/file-20220725-26-u439u2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Protests in Houston over Floyd’s death.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">David J. Phillip/AP</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Nor is there much comment on the <a href="https://www.brennancenter.org/our-work/research-reports/state-policing-reforms-george-floyds-murder">efficacy of prior efforts</a> to reform the criminal justice system via legislation. Banning choke-holds, for instance, will not end police murders when Black lives are still not regarded as mattering as much as those of white people.</p>
<p>This criticism aside, His Name is George Floyd is a monumental achievement – a work of activism in itself. </p>
<p>Bringing Floyd vividly to life, it makes an impassioned and persuasive plea for the dignity and preciousness of life. The book’s cover deliberately evokes the <a href="https://www.torranceartmuseum.com/staffpicks/2021/1/7/i-am-a-man-written-by-hope-ezcurra">posters held aloft during the 1968 workers’ strike in Memphis, Tennessee</a> (when Martin Luther King, Jr. was killed), that proclaimed “I <em>Am</em> a Man.” </p>
<p>George Floyd was a man, too, who deserved a better life.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/182947/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Clare Corbould has received funding from the Australian Research Council. She is a member of the Australian Greens.</span></em></p>A new book about George Floyd, the grandson of sharecroppers, murdered by a police officer in 2020, is a moving work of reportage and activism.Clare Corbould, Associate Professor, Contemporary Histories Research Group, Deakin UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1836372022-07-17T20:01:41Z2022-07-17T20:01:41ZGwen Harwood was one of Australia’s finest poets – she was also one of the most subversive<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/473795/original/file-20220713-18-wobs8o.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=4%2C2%2C564%2C505&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Gwen Harwood (1920-1995).</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">A.T. Bolton/Wikimedia commons</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/">CC BY-SA</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Gwen Harwood is one of Australia’s finest poets. Her poetry is studied in secondary schools across the nation. While she remains largely unknown internationally, her poetry and letters continue to excite and inspire readers 27 years after her death.</p>
<p>Over her lifetime, she published more than 400 poems, 13 libretti, and six collections of poetry: Poems (1963), Poems / Volume Two (1968), Selected Poems (1975), The Lion’s Bride (1981), Bone Scan (1988), and The Present Tense (1995). </p>
<p>Harwood’s <a href="https://www.uqp.com.au/books/gwen-harwood-collected-poems">Collected Poems 1943–1995</a> was published posthumously in 2003. There are also three volumes of her extraordinary letters: Blessed City (1990), A Steady Storm of Correspondence (2001) and Idle Talk, Letters 1960–1964 (2015).</p>
<hr>
<p><em>Review:</em></p>
<p><em>My Tongue is My Own: A Life of Gwen Harwood – Ann-Marie Priest (La Trobe University Press)</em></p>
<p><em>Bad Art Mother – Edwina Preston (Wakefield Press)</em></p>
<hr>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/467890/original/file-20220609-22-lmgtxf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/467890/original/file-20220609-22-lmgtxf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/467890/original/file-20220609-22-lmgtxf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=918&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/467890/original/file-20220609-22-lmgtxf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=918&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/467890/original/file-20220609-22-lmgtxf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=918&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/467890/original/file-20220609-22-lmgtxf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1153&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/467890/original/file-20220609-22-lmgtxf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1153&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/467890/original/file-20220609-22-lmgtxf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1153&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="caption"></span>
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<p>Two recent publications explore Harwood’s experiences as a poet and demonstrate the power and durability of both her poetry and letters. The first is the highly anticipated biography, <a href="https://www.blackincbooks.com.au/news/read-extract-my-tongue-my-own">My Tongue is My Own: A Life of Gwen Harwood</a> by Ann-Marie Priest; the second, <a href="https://www.wakefieldpress.com.au/product.php?productid=1781">Bad Art Mother</a> by Edwina Preston, is a fictional account of a number of woman artists in the 1960s, centred on a poet with clear parallels to Harwood. </p>
<p>These books examine the inequalities implicit in gender stereotyping of the time, some of which continue today. They highlight the inventive ways that Harwood and other women artists attempted to transcend or subvert the limitations of patriarchy.</p>
<p>Both books discuss the importance of the Bulletin scandal or “hoax” perpetrated by Harwood in 1961, initiated when Harwood sent two sonnets – Eloisa to Abelard and Abelard to Eloisa – to the Bulletin under the pseudonym Walter Lehmann. </p>
<p>Harwood believed the sonnets were “poetical rubbish” and that anyone who published them was completely incompetent. She famously stated: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>I forebore to say that those who couldn’t tell poetry from a bunyip’s arse might well be laughed at.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The poems alluded to a famous epistle by Alexander Pope (1688–1744), <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44892/eloisa-to-abelard">Eloise to Abelard</a>. Acrostically, they read: “So Long Bulletin” and “Fuck All Editors”. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/the-red-witch-how-communist-writer-intellectual-and-activist-katharine-susannah-prichard-helped-shape-australia-182412">'The Red Witch': how communist writer, intellectual and activist Katharine Susannah Prichard helped shape Australia</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>‘The fantasies of lady poets’</h2>
<p>Ann-Marie Priest reconstructs a lively account of the Bulletin scandal from a variety of sources. </p>
<p>Identified as a “housewife” in most of the newspaper reports of the scandal, Harwood claimed this demonstrated that she was not taken seriously as a poet. The reception of her poetry was not being separated from discussions of her gender, unlike the work of her male counterparts, so she looked for ways to expose, escape and undermine the restrictions of patriarchal society.</p>
<p>Unable to cope with a woman – a “housewife” – orchestrating a major hoax of the male-dominated literary establishment, the Bulletin, with new poetry editor <a href="https://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/buckley-vincent-thomas-12261">Vincent Buckley</a> at the helm, sought to discredit her subversive act.</p>
<p>In her detailed account, Priest discusses an article, “The Hoax That Misfired”, published in the Bulletin, which attempted to undermine the hoax in the aftermath of the scandal. It was written by journalist <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_Coleman">Peter Coleman</a> in collaboration with Buckley, Harwood’s friend and fellow poet. Buckley betrayed her, arguing that </p>
<blockquote>
<p>despite Mrs Harwood’s best efforts, [the sonnets] had two defects which made them unsuitable for their hoax: they made real sense and they had a limited but definite literary merit.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The article concluded condescendingly. Harwood, Buckley wrote,</p>
<blockquote>
<p>apparently imagined that the acrostic would remain her private secret for ever […] Such are the fantasies of lady poets.</p>
</blockquote>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/473332/original/file-20220711-25-1smcbz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/473332/original/file-20220711-25-1smcbz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/473332/original/file-20220711-25-1smcbz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=599&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/473332/original/file-20220711-25-1smcbz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=599&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/473332/original/file-20220711-25-1smcbz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=599&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/473332/original/file-20220711-25-1smcbz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=752&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/473332/original/file-20220711-25-1smcbz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=752&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/473332/original/file-20220711-25-1smcbz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=752&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Harwood’s biographer Ann-Marie Priest.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Black Inc.</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/judith-wright-an-activist-poet-who-was-ahead-of-her-time-178422">Judith Wright, an activist poet who was ahead of her time</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>An accessible account</h2>
<p>Priest’s biography is an accessible account of Harwood’s life, often filtered through and framed by an examination of Harwood’s complex relationships.</p>
<p>John Harwood, Gwen Harwood’s oldest child and literary executor, revealed in a recent issue of <a href="https://www.australianbookreview.com.au/abr-online/current-issue/978-june-2022-no-443/9180-gwen-harwood-and-the-perils-of-reticence-notes-of-a-son-and-literary-executor-by-john-harwood">Australian Book Review</a> that he had initially gone against his mother’s wishes to “tell all” and embargoed much of her correspondence. After his father died, John Harwood allowed Priest access to this material. </p>
<p>Priest’s reconstruction of events synthesises of a plethora of sources, including a massive quantity of letters, diaries, and interviews with Harwood’s friends and correspondents. She combines this with some analysis of Harwood’s poems to create a riveting narrative, exploring Harwood’s private and literary life.</p>
<p>She places Harwood’s love affairs upfront, beginning the biography with the sentence: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>When Gwen Harwood was in her mid-fifties, she sent some childhood photos to a younger poet who had recently become her lover. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>This foregrounds Priest’s frank discussions of Harwood’s marriage, which Harwood’s correspondence characterises as fraught and difficult. Priest’s biography also reveals the names of various lovers, starting when she was seventeen with composer, conductor and scholar <a href="https://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/dalleyscarlett-robert-5870">Robert Dalley-Scarlett</a>.</p>
<p>In her recent <a href="https://www.australianbookreview.com.au/abr-online/current-issue/978-june-2022-no-443/9175-stephanie-trigg-reviews-my-tongue-is-my-own-a-life-of-gwen-harwood-by-ann-marie-priest">review</a> of My Tongue is My Own, Stephanie Trigg comments that the biography “does not challenge the genre”, but praises the way Priest does not “foreground her own voice”, putting “Harwood’s voice – or rather, her many voices – at the heart of this volume.” </p>
<p>At times, perhaps, this is at the expense of delving further into Harwood’s role as a “self-confessed notorious trickster-prankster”. Indeed, many of Harwood’s published letters reveal her penchant for entertaining disguises and game-playing. </p>
<p>Taking Harwood more-or-less at her word, and her correspondence and discussions with people mostly at face value – without significant authorial caveats, qualifications or challenges – tends to give priority to the sometimes questionable narrative that Harwood wrote for herself.</p>
<p>John Harwood notes that when his mother was alive, she courted two separate biographers simultaneously and </p>
<blockquote>
<p>led them a merry dance […] My mother’s plan was to oversee the writing of her own life. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>Perhaps Priest is inviting her readers to read against the grain and identify moments where they believe Harwood’s assertions may be unreliable.</p>
<h2>Unreliable narrators</h2>
<p>The subversiveness of unreliable narrators is explored in Edwina Preston’s Bad Art Mother, alongside dominant contemporary discourses about motherhood and poetry. Significantly, Preston includes a statement about the Bulletin hoax and Harwood’s comment on it as an epilogue to her novel:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>someone I thought a friend said … “I thought no woman would ever use that word,” and made it clear I was cut off from decent motherhood.</p>
</blockquote>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/473331/original/file-20220711-18-woddzj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/473331/original/file-20220711-18-woddzj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/473331/original/file-20220711-18-woddzj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/473331/original/file-20220711-18-woddzj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/473331/original/file-20220711-18-woddzj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/473331/original/file-20220711-18-woddzj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/473331/original/file-20220711-18-woddzj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/473331/original/file-20220711-18-woddzj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Bad Art Mother focuses on a group of Australian women artists in the 1960s struggling with their ambition and seeking traction in the male-dominated art scene. Characters are based on Melbourne artists and writers <a href="https://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/mora-georges-23840">Georges</a> and <a href="https://knowmyname.nga.gov.au/artists/mirka-mora/">Mirka Mora</a>, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joy_Hester">Joy Hester</a>, and the founders of <a href="https://www.heide.com.au/about/heide-story">Heide</a>, <a href="https://artistprofile.com.au/modern-love-lives-john-sunday-reed/">John and Sunday Reed</a>. </p>
<p>At the heart of the book is not only a scandal akin to the Bulletin hoax, but lively and compelling letters, not unlike Harwood’s famed correspondence. Preston pieces together her protagonist’s life in a series of broken, searing vignettes, clever epistolary writing, and retrospective musings.</p>
<p>In Bad Art Mother, Veda Gray aspires to be a poet but struggles with society’s expectation that women have a duty to be wives and mothers rather than artists. This leads to her allowing the famous and chauvinistic poet, Mr Parish, and his wife to become legal guardians of her child, Owen – a character based on Sweeney Reed, who was adopted by John and Sunday. </p>
<p>Veda is presented as making this decision so that she has more time to write, and asks her sister, “What sort of a mother chooses a book over a child?”</p>
<p>But the issues at stake are more insidious than this. Preston demonstrates in subtle prose that none of the men question if they are good fathers or husbands. She exposes the ways that even Veda’s son undermines her by choosing, prioritising and praising the more conventional mother-figures in his life.</p>
<p>When her manuscript, The Poems of Veda Gray is accepted for publication, Veda explains to her sister that the publisher wants to </p>
<blockquote>
<p>reconsider the content and reassess the sequencing of the book […] a different opening poem is required (perhaps a sonnet? They suggest, because didn’t Shakespeare write lots of those?)</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It is at this point that Veda becomes “an inventor of plots to foil publishers”.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/473334/original/file-20220711-22-ilf1w4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/473334/original/file-20220711-22-ilf1w4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/473334/original/file-20220711-22-ilf1w4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/473334/original/file-20220711-22-ilf1w4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/473334/original/file-20220711-22-ilf1w4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/473334/original/file-20220711-22-ilf1w4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/473334/original/file-20220711-22-ilf1w4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/473334/original/file-20220711-22-ilf1w4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Edwina Preston.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In My Tongue is My Own, Priest outlines how Harwood’s use of “fuck” was considered repugnant largely because Harwood was a woman and mother. Veda is similarly labelled “lewd” and indecent for her literary intervention. The headline, “End of Line for Disgraced Lady Poet” is similar to the headlines about Harwood after the Bulletin scandal. The same term – “lady poet” – had been used to undermine Harwood. </p>
<p>Priest states that Harwood </p>
<blockquote>
<p>understood that men were wary of women with aspirations to write […] and all too ready to dismiss them.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Priest’s and Preston’s books – one a biography with a strong narrative impetus, and one a work of fiction with powerful biographical undercurrents – explore a comment Harwood made in a pithy interview with John Beston: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>I feel that I have sometimes been handicapped by being the poet-housewife figure; you know, how she can make a nice apricot sponge and write poetry too. There is a savage, nasty part lurking somewhere down there, and yet this is part of the kind mother too.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Both works present an opportunity to reflect on the relationship between patriarchy and women’s artistic pursuits, including their ambitions and the reception of their work. It is salutary to consider how fraught it can be for women creative artists to obtain real opportunities to make art and also the recognition they deserve.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/183637/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Cassandra Atherton does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Two new books examine the life and legacy of an inspiring poet whose work resisted patriarchal constraints.Cassandra Atherton, Professor of Writing and Literature, Deakin UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1824122022-06-08T20:20:18Z2022-06-08T20:20:18Z‘The Red Witch’: how communist writer, intellectual and activist Katharine Susannah Prichard helped shape Australia<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/465215/original/file-20220525-22-2jp1ts.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C5%2C1187%2C1377&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Katharine Susannah Prichard</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Wikimedia commons</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Nathan Hobby’s <a href="https://www.mup.com.au/books/the-red-witch-hardback">The Red Witch: A Biography of Katharine Susannah Prichard</a> takes on the challenging task of sorting out the complicated details of Prichard’s life as a child, sibling, governess, teacher, friend, lover, wife, mother, aunt, grandmother, traveller, celebrity, journalist, poet, novelist, short-story writer, social activist, public speaker and communist. </p>
<p>Prichard spent critical years as a wife and widow writing fiction in her Western Australian home, but the image of her as an isolated writer captures only a small fraction of an otherwise crowded and committed public life. </p>
<hr>
<p><em>Review: The Red Witch: A Biography of Katharine Susannah Prichard – Nathan Hobby (Miegunyah Press).</em></p>
<hr>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/465170/original/file-20220524-24-xx6vb8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/465170/original/file-20220524-24-xx6vb8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/465170/original/file-20220524-24-xx6vb8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=915&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465170/original/file-20220524-24-xx6vb8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=915&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465170/original/file-20220524-24-xx6vb8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=915&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465170/original/file-20220524-24-xx6vb8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1150&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465170/original/file-20220524-24-xx6vb8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1150&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465170/original/file-20220524-24-xx6vb8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1150&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>It is remarkable that we have had no full-scale independent biography of Prichard to this date. There has been nothing since the work of her son Ric Throssell, who edited two volumes of his mother’s writing and published a biography, <a href="https://www.allenandunwin.com/browse/books/other-books/Wild-Weeds-and-Windflowers-Ric-Throssell-9781743312223">Wild Weeds and Windflowers: The Life and Letters of Katharine Susannah Prichard</a> (1975).</p>
<p>So The Red Witch is timely. It will prompt what we might call “recalibrations” of Prichard’s life – adjustments to how we imagine the life and the combined literary and political careers – even if it is unlikely to produce any major reassessment of her standing as a writer or, for that matter, a political activist. </p>
<p>It can be read alongside works by figures such as <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carole_Ferrier">Carole Ferrier</a> and <a href="https://www.drusillamodjeska.com/my-books/exiles-at-home/">Drusilla Modjeska</a>, and later literary scholars, who have been rediscovering the role of Australian women as novelists, journalists and critics in the interwar and postwar decades.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/hidden-women-of-history-leila-waddell-australian-violinist-philosopher-of-magic-and-fearless-rebel-122402">Hidden women of history: Leila Waddell, Australian violinist, philosopher of magic and fearless rebel</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Passionate, seductive, direct</h2>
<p>Prichard is a key figure in Australian literary history, a key figure in Australia’s intellectual history, and a key figure in Australia’s left-wing political history. </p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/465175/original/file-20220525-12-8ux0mi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/465175/original/file-20220525-12-8ux0mi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/465175/original/file-20220525-12-8ux0mi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=904&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465175/original/file-20220525-12-8ux0mi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=904&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465175/original/file-20220525-12-8ux0mi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=904&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465175/original/file-20220525-12-8ux0mi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1136&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465175/original/file-20220525-12-8ux0mi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1136&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465175/original/file-20220525-12-8ux0mi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1136&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Prichard’s son Ric Throssell (1922-1999) published a biography and edited two collections of his mother’s writing.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Wikimedia commons</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>These are challenging dimensions to summon and sustain in a single narrative, not least a biography that is centrally concerned with the details of its subject’s family and friendships, her aspirations and fears, her domestic presence, her colleagues and comrades, and her sexual life. </p>
<p>Hobby manages the shifting focus of these concerns clearly, in such a way that there is no simple separation of public and private spheres. Friends and collaborators were continually struck by Prichard’s thoughtfulness and sensitivity in the public domain. But there are also few moments of private or intimate life that are free from the tensions and obligations of public, political or intellectual involvement. </p>
<p>Prichard was controversial as a communist activist, for those inclined to discover such controversy, but her friendships and family ties were seldom bound to political allegiance in any narrow way. They were more often defined by the intensity and commitment of the friendship she asked for and offered. Her letters share the passionate language of her fiction and some of its seductiveness, but also its toughness and directness.</p>
<h2>Political commitments</h2>
<p>The Red Witch is not written for “scholars”, Hobby explains, despite Prichard’s ongoing interest for literary critics and historians. It has been written for </p>
<blockquote>
<p>a general readership drawn to the peculiar pleasures of biography: the true drama of a life, the glimpses of a lost but familiar world, the recoverable details of the past. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>Hobby aims to show a “lived life”. The biography is largely successful in this aim. </p>
<p>Prichard’s father, a committed journalist and editor, was an arch-conservative. He was religious, later depressed, and eventually suicidal. The early portraits of him in Fiji with his family at the time of Prichard’s birth remain entangled in much of the story beyond his life, despite the “outrageous” distance Prichard travelled from her father’s aspirations. </p>
<p>Prichard’s early religious entanglements were in dialogue with her father. So were her later departures towards the causes of labour, women’s rights and socialism. </p>
<p>Her initiative and originality emerged early in her taking on the tasks of governess, teacher, part-time student, and then journalist. These qualities were evident, too, in her early writing and involvement in local drama societies. Early contacts became lifelong friendships. She remained on close terms with Hilda Bull (later Hilda Esson), <a href="https://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/palmer-janet-gertrude-nettie-7948">Nettie Palmer</a>, and <a href="https://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/jollie-smith-christian-8465">Christian Jollie Smith</a> – three women who also had remarkable careers. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/465173/original/file-20220524-22-amwmc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=10%2C13%2C1128%2C1626&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/465173/original/file-20220524-22-amwmc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=10%2C13%2C1128%2C1626&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/465173/original/file-20220524-22-amwmc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=864&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465173/original/file-20220524-22-amwmc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=864&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465173/original/file-20220524-22-amwmc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=864&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465173/original/file-20220524-22-amwmc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1085&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465173/original/file-20220524-22-amwmc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1085&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465173/original/file-20220524-22-amwmc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1085&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Katharine Susannah Prichard (1883-1969).</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">State Library of Western Australia</span></span>
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</figure>
<p>In May 1906, with Prichard aged 22, the first episode of her series “<a href="https://www.kspwriterscentre.com/single-post/2016/06/02/your-ks-11-a-city-girl-in-central-australia">A City Girl in Central Australia</a>” appeared in New Idea. Soon after, she met her “Preux Chevalier”, W.T. Reay, a married newspaper editor and politician, who, the evidence suggests, became her lover, his presence “coinciding” with her stays in London, Paris and Australian cities. </p>
<p>Prichard remained a great traveller. Hobby also underscores the significance of Melbourne in Prichard’s maturation as a writer and in shaping her complicated political engagements. Her family connections and her activities in journalism and literary circles led to influential contacts, from <a href="https://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/deakin-alfred-5927">Alfred Deakin</a> to the academic and essayist <a href="https://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/murdoch-sir-walter-logie-7698">Walter Murdoch</a>, the poet <a href="https://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/odowd-bernard-patrick-7881">Bernard O’Dowd</a> and, later, <a href="https://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/franklin-stella-maria-sarah-miles-6235">Miles Franklin</a>.</p>
<p>Prichard’s politics developed over the same period, through the whole range of socialist philosophies. She embraced pro-suffragist, rationalist and materialist positions, with what Prichard herself later called “idealistic naivety”. </p>
<p>The Great War confirmed her left-wing politics. She voted no in the second (not the first) referendum on conscription. Her commitment to peace was cemented in place at this stage, not least because of her brother’s death in France. </p>
<p>The Russian Revolution would reinforce the directions her politics were taking, although its effect was largely delayed until the 1920s. Prichard was famously a founding member of the Communist Party of Australia in 1920, but her full political engagement did not materialise until the 1930s and 1940s. </p>
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<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
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</strong>
</em>
</p>
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<p>Prichard’s political activity in this period, and right through to the 1960s, is extraordinary. She participated in a wide range of social groups, left-wing and women’s associations, the Movement Against War and Fascism, the Writers’ League, the Australian Peace Council, and many more. </p>
<p>Her support of communism and the Soviet Union remained firm from the 1920s on. In her utopian book The Real Russia (1935), she displays an extraordinary passion and, in her own way, a modernist desire for change.</p>
<h2>A novelist of nature, region and character</h2>
<p>Prichard’s career as a novelist began in London, where she wrote Windlestraws, a “forgettable light romance” (albeit with an intriguing plot) that was not published
until 1916, and her first published book <a href="https://anzlitlovers.com/2019/01/09/the-pioneers-by-katharine-susannah-prichard/">The Pioneers</a> (1915), which won Hodder & Stoughton’s prize for novels from “colonial and Indian authors”. </p>
<p>The Pioneers has recently attracted new critical interest for its romantic investments, but also for its complicated portrayal of the Australian bush, its relative “quietness”, and its structure and characterisation. Prichard’s potential significance for literature, and Australian literature in particular, was noted in reviews at the time. </p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/465174/original/file-20220525-14-8ux0mi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/465174/original/file-20220525-14-8ux0mi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/465174/original/file-20220525-14-8ux0mi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=928&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465174/original/file-20220525-14-8ux0mi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=928&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465174/original/file-20220525-14-8ux0mi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=928&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465174/original/file-20220525-14-8ux0mi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1167&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465174/original/file-20220525-14-8ux0mi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1167&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465174/original/file-20220525-14-8ux0mi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1167&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Katherine Susannah Prichard’s major work Coonardoo has become controversial for its depiction of Indigenous Australians.</span>
</figcaption>
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<p>Hobby identifies Prichard’s major creative period as extending from the novel Black Opal (1921) through to Haxby’s Circus (1930), a period that incorporates what remains her most read work, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1961207.Coonardoo">Coonardoo</a> (1929), plus major short stories and drama. </p>
<p>Intimate Strangers, published in 1937 after numerous delays and revisions, just misses out in this listing, but its stories of sexual desire and violence and its psychological entanglements remain confronting. </p>
<p>What comes across throughout much of The Red Witch, right through to Prichard’s death, and alongside her sensuous identifications with nature, region and character, is the “unglamorous” dimension of the life of a working writer (with the adjective understood in its fullest sense). </p>
<p>The biography records this sense of her, evident from early existing notebooks through to her goldfields trilogy – The Roaring Nineties (1946), Golden Miles (1948), and Winged Seeds (1950) – and her last novel Subtle Flame (1967), published just two years before her death. It also reminds us that Prichard’s short stories and plays – and her poetry – are much less known than her novels.</p>
<p>Hobby covers the <a href="https://www.griffithreview.com/coonardoo-katharine-susannah-prichard/">recent controversies surrounding Aboriginal representation in Coonardoo</a>, but asserts the novel’s ongoing power. The goldfields trilogy has also attracted recent criticism. The trilogy’s take on historical scale and its persistent concern with key Aboriginal characters has been re-evaulated. Miles Franklin, it’s interesting to see, was one of the first to emphasise the central role of both women and Aboriginal peoples in Prichard’s fiction. </p>
<p>Prichard’s life was marked by the suicide of those closest to her — her father and then her husband, Hugo Throssell — and beyond her marriage by threats of sexual violence or rape. Personal life often exposed the tensions between fidelity, desire and intimate relations. </p>
<p>These later elements reappear directly or indirectly in her fiction, making it edgier and more powerful than the work of many of her contemporaries. It is more powerful, too, than any simple celebration of rural or regional Australia, for the two dimensions can be closely linked. There is little in Prichard’s fiction that sits comfortably with more mainstream investments in the Australian bush.</p>
<h2>Lovers and marriage</h2>
<p>Prichard’s marriage to Hugo is, of course, central to the story, although it is placed here in the context of other romances, before and after. If a slow starter, Prichard was not addicted to celibacy, though close relationships seem more important to her than sex itself. </p>
<p>Hobby emphasises tensions and differences within Prichard’s marriage. Difficult marriages are analysed, sharply, if sometimes comically, in Prichard’s writing. But she kept returning to the marriage throughout the rest of her career, investing in the bonds of love and intimacy it represented. Her absence overseas when Hugo committed suicide no doubt burnt the story deeply into her sense of self and community. </p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/465208/original/file-20220525-18-mn3dlu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/465208/original/file-20220525-18-mn3dlu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/465208/original/file-20220525-18-mn3dlu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465208/original/file-20220525-18-mn3dlu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465208/original/file-20220525-18-mn3dlu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465208/original/file-20220525-18-mn3dlu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465208/original/file-20220525-18-mn3dlu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/465208/original/file-20220525-18-mn3dlu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Nathan Hobby.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Melbourne University Press</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Nathan Hobby offers a full account of Prichard’s private and public lives, but – if I can read now as a literary scholar rather than a general reader – The Red Witch presents only limited interpretations of Prichard’s fiction. It considers how and why her writing mattered in the past and again today, and the way the distinctive qualities of her literary work are often reproduced in her letters and other writings, but such readings are often present only in a sentence or two. </p>
<p>Similarly, The Red Witch offers only “notes towards” a sense of Prichard’s engagement in the intellectual history that her politics and literary aspirations demanded. Her extensive reading of Marx and other political literature is noted, but little of the intellectual or political imperatives of such reading at such a time is explored. </p>
<p>Despite disagreeing with the Communist Party’s recent criticism of the Soviet Union, Prichard paid up her membership three days before her death in October 1969. Events such as the Spanish Civil War and Soviet communism itself are sometimes presented as being very remote from readers’ understanding. (The book’s referencing system asks a good deal from readers too!)</p>
<hr>
<p>
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<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/judith-wright-an-activist-poet-who-was-ahead-of-her-time-178422">Judith Wright, an activist poet who was ahead of her time</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p>The Red Witch joins a cluster of recent publications about Australian women authors from the interwar and post-war decades. This year has given us Georgina Arnott’s edited <a href="https://www.blackincbooks.com.au/books/judith-wright">Judith Wright: Selected Writings</a> and Ann-Marie Priest’s <a href="https://www.blackincbooks.com.au/books/my-tongue-my-own">My Tongue Is My Own: A Life of Gwen Harwood</a>. Last year saw Eleanor Hogan’s <a href="https://www.newsouthbooks.com.au/books/lonliness/">Into the Loneliness</a>, her account of the “unholy alliance” between Ernestine Hill and Daisy Bates. </p>
<p>Previous years saw new work on Miles Franklin, Nettie Palmer, Henry Handel Richardson, Zora Cross, Dymphna Cusack and Aileen Palmer. There was also Arnott’s biographical take on Judith Wright, <a href="https://uwap.uwa.edu.au/products/the-unknown-judith-wright">The Unknown Judith Wright</a> (2016), and further back Susan Sheridan’s <a href="https://www.uqp.com.au/books/nine-lives-postwar-women-writers-making-their-mark">Nine Lives: Postwar Women Writers Making Their Mark</a> (2011). </p>
<p>This cluster of titles suggests that we now have a rich archive of stories and studies of these writers’ lives and their personal and intellectual networks. </p>
<p>And yet my impression at the moment is that the institutional structures and support for such a grouping are disappearing rather than emerging, despite the enthusiasm we see for contemporary Australian fiction in our festivals, bookstores, reading groups, and among new postgraduates. Let’s hope The Red Witch attracts new readers, for much of it will be news to many.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/182412/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>David Carter has received funding from the Australian Research Council for past research projects. He does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond his academic appointment.</span></em></p>A timely biography of an important Australian novelist delves into the complexities of her personal and political life.David Carter, Professor emeritus, The University of QueenslandLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1790922022-05-09T02:24:40Z2022-05-09T02:24:40ZPhilosophy, obsession and puzzling people: Julian Barnes’ new novel explores big questions<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/459678/original/file-20220426-18-3ch6ty.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=2%2C1%2C995%2C586&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Julian the Apostate presiding at a conference of sectarians – Edward Armitage (1875).</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Public domain</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>No standard or rule can settle the question of what something means, says the philosopher <a href="https://theconversation.com/wittgenstein-and-the-dangers-of-certainty-76796">Wittgenstein</a>. To apply a standard or a rule correctly you have to interpret it, and that interpretation requires an interpretation, and so on. </p>
<p>“Wittgenstein’s paradox” is supposed to make us wonder whether we can rightly interpret what others say or do. It questions whether we can truly understand the motivations and point of view of another person. And if you can’t understand people who play an important role in your life, then how can you know yourself?</p>
<hr>
<p><em>Review: Elizabeth Finch – Julian Barnes (Jonathan Cape).</em></p>
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<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/459655/original/file-20220426-26-b4jhyn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/459655/original/file-20220426-26-b4jhyn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/459655/original/file-20220426-26-b4jhyn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=955&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459655/original/file-20220426-26-b4jhyn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=955&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459655/original/file-20220426-26-b4jhyn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=955&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459655/original/file-20220426-26-b4jhyn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1200&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459655/original/file-20220426-26-b4jhyn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1200&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459655/original/file-20220426-26-b4jhyn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1200&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<p>Neil, the narrator of Julian Barnes’ latest novel, has the problem of interpretation posed for him by Elizabeth Finch, his teacher in a philosophy course on civilisation and culture for adult students. Her aim, she tells them, is not to impart information or teach according to a syllabus, but to encourage them to find “a centre of seriousness in yourselves”. </p>
<p>Neil, twice divorced and a drifter through life, describes her effect on him as “explosive”. “My advisory thunderbolt,” he calls her. But who is this person who has such an impact on his life? How should he understand her? Can he find a way of expressing what she means to him? </p>
<h2>Problems of understanding</h2>
<p>In Barnes’ Booker Prize-winning novel, <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/the-sense-of-an-ending-9780099564973">The Sense of an Ending</a> (2012), his narrator is forced to question the way he has understood his life and his relationships to others. In <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/elizabeth-finch-9781787333932">Elizabeth Finch</a>, the narrator’s understanding of himself and his life is bound up with his attempts to understand a person who has had a profound effect on him. </p>
<p>The book is the most philosophical of novels, from a writer who has never hesitated to address philosophical issues. Barnes is asking his readers for the same serious engagement that Elizabeth Finch demands of her students. </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/459652/original/file-20220426-26-rl38zi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/459652/original/file-20220426-26-rl38zi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/459652/original/file-20220426-26-rl38zi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459652/original/file-20220426-26-rl38zi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459652/original/file-20220426-26-rl38zi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459652/original/file-20220426-26-rl38zi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459652/original/file-20220426-26-rl38zi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459652/original/file-20220426-26-rl38zi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="caption">Julian Barnes.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Urszula Soltys/Penguin Books Australia</span></span>
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<p>Readers will respond in their own way to this challenge. Some will be encouraged to reflect on their relationships with others; some will read the book as a puzzle with no satisfactory resolution; others will interpret it as an account of an obsession that takes over a person’s life. </p>
<p>But Barnes’ novel is not a philosophical treatise. His narrator is not motivated merely by curiosity. The novel is fundamentally a love story. Neil loves the self-contained, enigmatic Elizabeth. As an unrequited lover, he wants to understand her and make himself worthy of her, though he never overcomes the fear that she will always find him disappointing. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/where-to-start-reading-philosophy-51745">Where to start reading philosophy?</a>
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</p>
<hr>
<p>What is this deep love that Neil has for Elizabeth Finch? Defining and understanding that love is difficult.</p>
<p>Even Elizabeth’s appearance before her class encouraged speculation. She dressed conservatively, Neil remembers. Her clothes were old-fashioned, on the verge of being antique or vintage, but at the same time she managed to be stylish. She revealed nothing about her life, but there was something racy about her.</p>
<p>During drinks after class, her students speculated and sometimes fantasised about Elizabeth’s history and private life. Her presentation, “enriched by decades of smoking”, was calm and dispassionate, but she did not hesitate to express her opinions about the calamitous turnings she thought history had taken. She was pessimistic about human affairs, but refused to be labelled a cynic. </p>
<p>Neil describes her as a “romantic pessismist”, and later as a “romantic Stoic”. She demanded rigorous engagement from her students, but was never dismissive when they struggled to express their ideas. Elizabeth Finch, says Neil, was a finished article and her uniqueness could not be captured by the clumsy imaginings of her students.</p>
<h2>Writing a life</h2>
<p>So how can Neil express his love in a way that makes him worthy? After Elizabeth’s death, he is informed that she has given him sole charge of her books and papers. He first thinks of writing a biography that will capture and explain her uniqueness. </p>
<p>But her papers and books give him no insights into her life and character, or her past relationships. Her brother tells him of an encounter he once witnessed between Elizabeth and a man in a double-breasted overcoat. He saw them farewelling each other on a station platform, pressing together, palm against palm, and then parting without a backward glance. </p>
<p>Was she having an affair? Meeting the love of her life? Or did their interaction mean “nothing”, as she later told her brother? Neil’s attempt to find the man in the double-breasted overcoat, using the telephone numbers Elizabeth Finch has written down in a notebook, comes to nothing. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/friday-essay-can-you-keep-a-secret-family-memoirs-break-taboos-and-trust-52699">Friday essay: Can you keep a secret? Family memoirs break taboos – and trust</a>
</strong>
</em>
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<p>What his former classmates tell him about their interactions are hard to reconcile with his own impressions. How do biographers do it? he wonders: make a life, a coherent life, out of circumstantial, contradictory or missing evidence? Is a narrative of a life even possible?</p>
<p>Neil gives up the idea of writing an account of Elizabeth’s life and embarks instead on a project of researching and writing about the man she called a “tragic loser”: <a href="https://www.britannica.com/biography/Julian-Roman-emperor">Julian the Apostate</a>, a Roman emperor of the 4th century. Julian tried to suppress the rise of Christianity, with its “punitive, control-freak God”, and return the Empire to paganism and its tolerance for a plurality of gods and religious expressions. </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/459664/original/file-20220426-18-xom54u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/459664/original/file-20220426-18-xom54u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/459664/original/file-20220426-18-xom54u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=606&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459664/original/file-20220426-18-xom54u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=606&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459664/original/file-20220426-18-xom54u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=606&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459664/original/file-20220426-18-xom54u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=761&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459664/original/file-20220426-18-xom54u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=761&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459664/original/file-20220426-18-xom54u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=761&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="caption">An ancient Roman coin featuring the image of Julian the Apostate.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Wikimedia commons</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Perhaps, Neil supposes, he will be continuing work that EF (as he refers to her) was unable to complete. At least he will be proving wrong his son, who called him “the king of unfinished projects”. </p>
<p>Neil’s account of the Julian the Apostate’s life and influence, occupying almost a third of Barnes’ book, does prove that his son was wrong. But Neil soon comes to doubt its value as a way of honouring EF. </p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/a-bitter-culture-war-in-the-fourth-century-shows-we-may-not-be-as-divided-as-we-think-152830">A bitter culture war in the fourth century shows we may not be as divided as we think</a>
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<p>He finds that questions of meaning are no more easy to answer about Julian the Apostate then they are about the life of EF. </p>
<p>Was he a virtuous, tolerant man as he was presented by his admirers, or a superstitious poser who encouraged his men to slaughter and rob the inhabitants of the lands he passed through? Was he the devil incarnate, as Christians for centuries believed, or did he heroically stand for ideals that emerged again during the Enlightenment – as some 18th-century philosophers claimed? </p>
<p>Was his failure and early death a historical turning point or irrelevant to the subsequent course of events? And why should Neil believe that by writing about Julian the Apostate, he is continuing the work of EF? </p>
<p>He relegates his manuscript to a desk drawer, leaving its fate in the hands of others. Elizabeth Finch remains enigmatic, her intentions unknown.</p>
<p>But does this matter? Anna, one of Neil’s former classmates, reminds him of EF’s warning about “monisms”: monotheism, monoculture, monopoly, monogamy. “Nothing good begins in this way,” she had said.</p>
<p>The assumption that there is only one right way of understanding and making judgements about a person, Anna suggests, is as bad as believing that there can be only one true religion or one way of understanding a nation’s history. </p>
<p>But what is real, true and undeniable, Neil realises, is his love for EF and how it has affected him. “Love is all there is,” EF once told her class, adding that reflecting on experiences of love is the best way for people to understand themselves. </p>
<p>Why care about the interpretations and impressions of others? Neil concludes: “Because, you see, the meaning she had for me it made her more mine.”</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/179092/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Janna Thompson does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Julian Barnes’ Elizabeth Finch is an unrequited love story and a philosophical novel that asks how we understand ourselves and others.Janna Thompson, Professor of Philosophy, La Trobe UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1674482021-09-13T20:02:57Z2021-09-13T20:02:57ZI studied 31 Australian political biographies published in the past decade — only 4 were about women<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/420676/original/file-20210913-19-17pzow3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Mick Tsikas/AAP</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>This week, a new Australian political biography will appear on bookshelves. This is <a href="https://www.hachette.com.au/annika-smethurst/the-accidental-prime-minister">The Accidental Prime Minister</a>, an examination of Scott Morrison by journalist Annika Smethurst.</p>
<p>While a prime minister makes for an obvious – and worthy — biographical subject, it also continues Australia’s strong tradition of focusing on the stories of men in politics. </p>
<p>History as a discipline may have been grappling with gender issues since the 1970s, but political history has been especially resistant to questions about women and gender.</p>
<p>In a recent <a href="http://press-files.anu.edu.au/downloads/press/n8684/pdf/02_williams.pdf">study</a> for the Australian Journal of Biography and History, I looked at Australian political biographies over the past decade. I found female political figures are almost always ignored. </p>
<h2>Why biographies matter</h2>
<p>Political biographies add life, colour and depth to historical events and personalities. They can shape the legacies of politicians long after they’ve left politics. They also show us who is worthy of being written about and who is overlooked in the pages of history.</p>
<p>However, most Australian political biographies have been written about men, particularly male prime ministers. </p>
<p>This inevitably calls to mind the enduring myth of the “Great Man” as the architect of historical change. This is best described by 19th century historian Thomas Carlyle, who believed “the history of the world is but the biography of great men”. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="Labor senator Penny Wong." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/420679/original/file-20210913-27-1xz2t6s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/420679/original/file-20210913-27-1xz2t6s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/420679/original/file-20210913-27-1xz2t6s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/420679/original/file-20210913-27-1xz2t6s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/420679/original/file-20210913-27-1xz2t6s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/420679/original/file-20210913-27-1xz2t6s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/420679/original/file-20210913-27-1xz2t6s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
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<span class="caption">Labor senator and former finance minister Penny Wong is one of the few women MPs to be the subject of a recent biography.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Mick Tsikas/AAP</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>As women were largely excluded from politics until the end of the 20th century, it could be argued they simply haven’t had the opportunity to be seen as “great politicians” worthy of literary examination. </p>
<p>Yet, as political biographies define which personal and political qualities suggest “greatness”, it could also be argued we tend to associate these qualities with men and masculinity. Male leaders’ gender is never discussed or explored in their political biographies. Masculinity is portrayed as the unseen norm while gender is an attribute only ever identified with women.</p>
<p>This argument gains further support from the fact there are more women in Australian politics than ever before, yet there remains a notable lack of political biographies covering their lives and stories. In my study, I <a href="http://press-files.anu.edu.au/downloads/press/n8684/pdf/02_williams.pdf">examined </a> Australian political biographies published in the past decade. Only four out of 31 were on women politicians. </p>
<p>This small minority includes Margaret Simons’ Penny Wong in 2019 and Anna Broinowski’s 2017 biography of Pauline Hanson, Please Explain.</p>
<h2>Why are women ignored?</h2>
<p>There are three key factors that can explain the lack of biographies written on Australian women politicians.</p>
<p>First, as previously noted, there is the lack of gender parity in Australian politics. The 1990s saw a surge of women enter politics, partly due to Labor’s gender quotas. Yet at the moment, <a href="https://www.aph.gov.au/About_Parliament/Parliamentary_Departments/Parliamentary_Library/pubs/rp/rp2021/Quick_Guides/CompositionPartyGender">only 31%</a> of the House of Representatives are women and all major leadership positions are held by men.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/why-is-it-taking-so-long-to-achieve-gender-equality-in-parliament-117313">Why is it taking so long to achieve gender equality in parliament?</a>
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<p>Second, Australian political biography itself has a role to play here — the Great Man narrative is an enduring problem. It leads to an overemphasis on so-called “foundational patriarchs” and overlooks the impact of political players who don’t conform to this stereotype.</p>
<p>In the past decade, two biographies each were written on former Labor prime ministers Paul Keating and Bob Hawke and former Liberal prime minister Robert Menzies. Another biography on former Labor prime minister Gough Whitlam added to the ever-growing stack of tomes dedicated to these leaders. </p>
<p>Third, women politicians might be more hesitant to expose their private lives to the same extent as their male counterparts. Women politicians <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/14680777.2020.1842482?journalCode=rfms20">frequently experience</a> sexist media coverage that often scrutinises their personal choices as a reflection of their professional capabilities. It is hardly shocking that they might be hesitant to cede agency over their own story and endorse an official biography. </p>
<p>So, there are several glaring omissions in Australian political biography. Where is the biography of our first woman prime minister, Julia Gillard? Former deputy prime minister Julie Bishop is another that comes to mind. </p>
<p>There is also pioneering former Labor minister Susan Ryan, who was pivotal in the passing of the Sex Discrimination Act, the Equal Employment Opportunity Act and the Affirmative Action Act. And Natasha Stott Despoja, the youngest woman to sit in the Australian parliament and former leader of the Australian Democrats. </p>
<h2>Sisters must do it for themselves</h2>
<p>So where are all the great women political figures? Well, they’re in the memoir section.</p>
<p>Through my research, since 2010, I found 12 autobiographies and memoirs have been published by women premiers, party leaders, federal and state MPs and senators, lord mayors and, of course, our first and only woman prime minister (though I also counted over 30 written by male politicians). </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/julia-banks-new-book-is-part-of-a-50-year-tradition-of-female-mps-using-memoirs-to-fight-for-equality-163888">Julia Banks' new book is part of a 50-year tradition of female MPs using memoirs to fight for equality</a>
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<p>Autobiographies can be a valuable way for women politicians to recover their voices, reassert their agency and reclaim their public identity by telling their own life story.</p>
<p>An ambition to take charge of their public image is a common thread running through these books, usually paired with a desire to expose sexism. Gillard’s autobiography My Story, published in 2014 (the year after she left politics), is a notable example of this, holding her opponents and the media to account for their frequently sexist behaviour. </p>
<p>Many women from across the political spectrum have now published comparable memoirs, including Labor MP Ann Aly, former Greens leader Christine Milne and former independent MP Cathy McGowan. </p>
<p>This year, former Labor cabinet minister Kate Ellis’ Sex, Lies and Question Time and former Liberal MP Julia Banks’ Power Play have provided two more examples of how women politicians — particularly those who’ve left politics — use the power of memoir to reclaim their stories and critique the sexist culture in parliament.</p>
<h2>History/herstory</h2>
<p>While it’s great women are using memoirs to voice their stories, we should not give up on conventional political biography. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="Former prime minister Julia Gillard in 2018." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/420681/original/file-20210913-25-raezp3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/420681/original/file-20210913-25-raezp3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=437&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/420681/original/file-20210913-25-raezp3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=437&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/420681/original/file-20210913-25-raezp3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=437&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/420681/original/file-20210913-25-raezp3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=549&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/420681/original/file-20210913-25-raezp3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=549&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/420681/original/file-20210913-25-raezp3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=549&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">There is no definitive political biography of Julia Gillard.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">David Mariuz/AAP</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>As this genre continues to shape our understanding of political culture and history, it is more important now than ever that women are included to dispel once and for all the myth that their stories are not worth recording. </p>
<p>Rather than adding to the sexist speculation that women politicians experience, political biographers should offer their support for these stories to be told in a consensual and meaningful manner.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/167448/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Blair Williams does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Political biographies show us who is ‘worthy’ of being written about … and who is overlooked in history.Blair Williams, Research Fellow, Global Institute for Women's Leadership (GIWL), Australian National UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1629322021-07-06T01:57:44Z2021-07-06T01:57:44ZGender-ambiguous author Eve Langley is ripe for rediscovery. A new biography illuminates her difficult life<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409587/original/file-20210705-67813-nicphk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=2%2C0%2C1395%2C2297&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Courtesy of Monash University Publishing</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>Review: Eve Langley and The Pea Pickers by Helen Vines (Monash University Publishing)</em></p>
<p>When your subject is a mid-century, gender-ambiguous author who lived under other names and wasn’t always honest about basic points of identification, writing a biography is a huge challenge. But Helen Vines’ Eve Langley and The Pea Pickers builds a substantial picture of this elusive author.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409789/original/file-20210706-27-n7wfcq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409789/original/file-20210706-27-n7wfcq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409789/original/file-20210706-27-n7wfcq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=802&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409789/original/file-20210706-27-n7wfcq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=802&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409789/original/file-20210706-27-n7wfcq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=802&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409789/original/file-20210706-27-n7wfcq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1008&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409789/original/file-20210706-27-n7wfcq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1008&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409789/original/file-20210706-27-n7wfcq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1008&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Eve (left) and June Langley, 1920s.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Courtesy of Monash University Publishing</span></span>
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</figure>
<p>I first came to Langley’s work through her 1940 poem <a href="https://allpoetry.com/Native-Born">Native-Born</a> as part of my research on <a href="https://digitalcommons.wayne.edu/antipodes/vol32/iss1/28/">dead kangaroos in Australian literature</a>. </p>
<p>Langley had been absent from my educational curriculum, dominated by her male contemporaries — Kenneth Slessor, Nevil Shute and the school-boy squabbles of the <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/archives/80days/stories/2011/10/27/3367929.htm">Ern Malley</a> affair — and the more influential Patrick White and Randolph Stow. This wasn’t unusual in the 80s and 90s. Now, it is hard to justify any more than a sprinkling of them in an English course. </p>
<p>Native-Born, however, is still startlingly relevant to contemporary ecofeminism by subtly linking the discovery and cremation of a dead female kangaroo to women and the nature of the Australian landscape. </p>
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<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/friday-essay-hidden-in-plain-sight-australian-queer-men-and-women-before-gay-liberation-155964">Friday essay: hidden in plain sight — Australian queer men and women before gay liberation</a>
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<h2>Cross-dressing sisters</h2>
<p>Born in remote New South Wales in 1904, Langley is best known for her first novel, The Pea Pickers (1942). It follows the journey of two young women who cross-dress so they can work as agricultural labourers in Gippsland during the Depression. </p>
<p>This novel was loosely based on Eve and her younger sister June’s experiences, and Vines’ biography includes evocative photographs of the two sisters in lacy dresses, and also in trousers, shirt and tie with their hair cut short and boyish.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409590/original/file-20210705-27-1xfhvtl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409590/original/file-20210705-27-1xfhvtl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409590/original/file-20210705-27-1xfhvtl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=478&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409590/original/file-20210705-27-1xfhvtl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=478&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409590/original/file-20210705-27-1xfhvtl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=478&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409590/original/file-20210705-27-1xfhvtl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409590/original/file-20210705-27-1xfhvtl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409590/original/file-20210705-27-1xfhvtl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Eve (left) and June Langley, photographed in the 1920s.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Courtesy of Monash University Publishing</span></span>
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</figure>
<p>For contemporary readers with an interest in gender, Langley might well be poised to become an icon. Later in life, she changed her name to Oscar Wilde, hitching her wagon to another writer resisting the gender expectations of his times. </p>
<p>The previous authoritative biography of Langley, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/4683470-the-importance-of-being-eve-langley">by Joy Thwaites</a>, was published in 1989. According to Vines, Thwaites drew heavily on the fiction as a source of biographical content. This practice is never going to yield a definitive narrative of the author’s life, and Vines is sensitive to the limitations Thwaites faced in her research. </p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409594/original/file-20210705-27-13dfcu0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409594/original/file-20210705-27-13dfcu0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409594/original/file-20210705-27-13dfcu0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=940&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409594/original/file-20210705-27-13dfcu0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=940&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409594/original/file-20210705-27-13dfcu0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=940&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409594/original/file-20210705-27-13dfcu0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1181&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409594/original/file-20210705-27-13dfcu0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1181&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409594/original/file-20210705-27-13dfcu0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1181&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">June and Eve Langley, c. 1913.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Courtesy of Monash University Publishing</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>June Langley also contributed to the content of Thwaites’ book. It is clear from Vines’ writing there have been issues in digging out truth around the lives of both sisters. According to Vines, the girls’ mother was a serial liar about names, dates and facts, a habit both girls adopted. So it is admirable this biography illuminates so much without the need to cleave the truths from the lies the three women told about themselves and each other. </p>
<p>It is evident there was something to hide. In the final chapter, Vines considers evidence that Langley’s father was a cross-dresser who abused Eve as a child, and hypothesises much of the obfuscation had its roots there. </p>
<p>What remains as material evidence presents a maze of clues and trails.</p>
<h2>Unpacking a puzzle</h2>
<p>Eve Langley and The Pea Pickers is a puzzle built around correspondence from Langley’s editors and her sister, and a new reading of her writing and her family’s story in the public records. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409597/original/file-20210705-26172-1a77wdn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409597/original/file-20210705-26172-1a77wdn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409597/original/file-20210705-26172-1a77wdn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=362&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409597/original/file-20210705-26172-1a77wdn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=362&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409597/original/file-20210705-26172-1a77wdn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=362&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409597/original/file-20210705-26172-1a77wdn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=455&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409597/original/file-20210705-26172-1a77wdn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=455&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409597/original/file-20210705-26172-1a77wdn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=455&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Eve Langley at ‘St Pats Picnic Racecourse Te Awa’ in the 1930s with Father O’Flynn.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Courtesy of Monash University Publishing</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>At times, the story is deeply sad. Langley’s first child, Luis, was born in 1935 to her lover Luigi Rinaldi in Auckland, but Luis died at three months. In 1937, Langley married “a great and glorious drinker”, Hilary Clark. They had three children by 1941: Bisi, Langley and Karl Marx.</p>
<p>Eve Langley was often a solo parent while Clark worked away, or escaped to calm his anxiety. In 1942, she was incarcerated for eight years in Auckland Mental Hospital. Vines points to Eve being a victim of childhood abuse and trauma, but no diagnosis is known and no records are available on her treatment. </p>
<p>Although her husband, sister and mother were in New Zealand, Langley’s children were put into an orphanage. She briefly reunited with them as adults, but, Vines writes, did not re-establish a parental relationship.</p>
<p>The sequel to the Pea Pickers, White Topee, was published in 1954 after Langley’s release from the asylum.</p>
<p>She continued to write, regularly publishing poetry in The Bulletin throughout the 50s and 60s. Two further novels and “some 4,000 closely-typed pages on pink paper” remain unpublished.</p>
<p>The chapter covering Langley’s relationship with her editors at Angus & Robertson over several decades details both her life and these editorial relationships. For many years, her work was published by <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beatrice_Deloitte_Davis">Beatrice Davis</a>, who began corresponding with June during Eve’s incarceration. </p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409592/original/file-20210705-42341-55pylq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409592/original/file-20210705-42341-55pylq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409592/original/file-20210705-42341-55pylq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=1125&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409592/original/file-20210705-42341-55pylq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=1125&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409592/original/file-20210705-42341-55pylq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=1125&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409592/original/file-20210705-42341-55pylq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1414&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409592/original/file-20210705-42341-55pylq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1414&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409592/original/file-20210705-42341-55pylq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1414&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">June Langley, c.1925, when she was dressing as a boy and calling herself Jim or Jimmy.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Courtesy of Monash University Publishing</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In Vines’ drawing on these letters it is clear a friendship developed between the editor and June, who shared her own judgements on Langley. The two sisters became steadily more estranged and their relationship reads as toxic, but Davis remained focused on Langley’s creative works.</p>
<p>The description of Langley’s death in Katoomba in 1974, where June also lived, firmly underlines the hostile nature of their relationship. </p>
<p>Vines’ final chapter draws together threads of evidence and tries to determine the true figure of Eve Langley. She considers the intergenerational impact of abuse, and concludes it wasn’t Eve who was gender-fluid, but her sister. It was Eve’s forthright use of this in her fiction which was central to the eventual “hate” June felt for her sister.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>June, as a periodic cross-dresser, appears to unconsciously mimic her cross-dressing father. June’s identification of herself with her father and Eve’s identification of June with their father take on a sinister light. June, unconsciously all her life, keeps the abuse memory alive for Eve.</p>
</blockquote>
<h2>Fragmented families</h2>
<p>The Pea Pickers is a lyrical novel, raw and modern for its time in Australian fiction. It’s plot is meandering, but the book is also feminist and sketches out a life of young women in Australia largely untold elsewhere. </p>
<p>It is ironic Langley’s writing was tied to ideas of family, when the family she was born into and the one she birthed were so fragmented. The biography tracks this in a substantial chapter, including re-examining The Pea Pickers, White Topee and the unpublished Wild Australia. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409788/original/file-20210706-15-1entnut.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409788/original/file-20210706-15-1entnut.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409788/original/file-20210706-15-1entnut.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=364&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409788/original/file-20210706-15-1entnut.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=364&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409788/original/file-20210706-15-1entnut.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=364&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409788/original/file-20210706-15-1entnut.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=457&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409788/original/file-20210706-15-1entnut.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=457&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409788/original/file-20210706-15-1entnut.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=457&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">A photo of Eve Langley thought to have been referenced by Eve in The Pea Pickers.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Courtesy of Monash University Publishing</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Vines examines sections of The Pea Pickers with a contemporary eye for gender and the representation of sisters Steve (Eve) and Blue (June) where:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Hirsute masculinity (Blue’s beard) is juxtaposed with female anatomy (her breasts) suggesting that a defining characteristic of masculinity — facial hair — is easily removed, while the feminine body is less easily disguised.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The fictional narrative and its depiction of two sisters who are intimately close is another point of sadness in this biography when considered against the breakdown of the real sisters’ relationship.</p>
<p>Eve Langley, with her articulate rendering of the environment and her thematic focus on gender ambiguity in her writing is ripe for rediscovery by a new Australian audience. Vines’ biography provides an excellent gateway into her life and her work.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/162932/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Donna Mazza does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Australian writer Eve Langley, author of the 1942 novel The Pea Pickers, resisted gender expectations and wrote acutely about the landscape.Donna Mazza, Senior Lecturer in Creative Arts, Edith Cowan UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.