Literature is strewn with the wreckage of men who have minded beyond reason the opinions of others.

I want to break free... East Derwent Highway, Lindisfarne. April 2012.

Two very different books this week. The first is Judith Schalansky's Atlas of Remote Islands. Helpfully sub-titled Fifty Islands I have not visited and never will, this is a coffee-table book that combines hand drawn maps of fifty of the most remote and hostile islands on earth with brief, fable-like narratives of elements of their histories on the facing page.

Schalansky grew up in East Germany in 1980 and, unable to journey far, (and like many of thus) she travelled via the atlas. This book continues these imaginary voyages. Especially fascinated by isolated islands and tales of prisoners, castaways, natives and colonists, she has developed a book that draws the reader into these journeys. Not for everybody, but if this sounds appealing I would bet that you'd like it. Recommended for atlas-fanciers.

Second up is Up The Junction by Nell Dunn. Controversial at the time of its release in 1963, it depicts contemporary life in the industrial slums of Battersea, in greater London.

The book is a riot of colloquial speech and half-complete vignettes. It captures a chaotic life of fights, petty thief, casual sex, illicit births, deaths, prostitution and back-street abortion provided a view of life in the UK that shocked many.

As I've hinted, this is not your traditional novelistic structure. Mostly a series of incomplete sketches in the lives of three young women, it captures the lot of a [type of] woman’s life in the early sixties to now. What makes it particularly interesting is that this way of life has very much been ignored in literary works then (and to a degree) now.

This captures the feeling of both a nascent freedom (not just in relation to sex) underneath a crushing oppression. This is indeed a long way from the traditionally-understood feminist narrative. In some respects this is a bleak book. No details are spared and the lives described are particularly grim. There is particularly jarring description of the realities of back street abortion.

As such it is a powerful document of the time. The chaos will put some off, but it is worth the effort. Recommended.

Comments

Leovi said…

Delicious composition, I love this original photo, beautiful colors and textures.

13 April 2012 at 16:03

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke

In dreams begin responsibilities.

A life at sea, that's for me, only I just don't have the BREAD. That's right, Theme Thursday yet again and I post a photo of a yacht dicking about in Bass Strait just off Wynyard. The problem is, I am yet again stuck at work, slogging away, because I knead need the dough . My understanding is that it is the dough that makes the BREAD. And it is the BREAD that buys the yacht. On my salary though, I will be lucky to have enough dough or BREAD for a half dozen dinner rolls. Happy Theme Thursday people, sorry for the rush.

This will hurt me...

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