“She believes Marianne lacks ‘warmth’, by which she means the ability to beg for love from people who hate her.”

Suburban sights. Geilston Bay, December 2020.

Enjoyed is probably not the appropriate word for how I felt reading a tale of the lives of two extraordinarily damaged people. While I have no doubt that most “normal” people are flawed and impaired through the various mechanisms of society, culture and family, Connell and Marianne are significantly fucked up.

The tale is one of how two fucked up, emotionally stunted teenagers negotiate their lives through to young adulthood. It is hard-going at times but doesn’t shirk from the messy realities of the damage wrought by the structures supposed to raise, nurture and support young people.

The book consists in large part of chronological snippets of incidents, dialogue and internal monologues. I see that many have found Marianne an improbable and unlikeable character, but I found her tendency towards self-harming behaviour a reasonable response to the trauma of her childhood.

Connell struck me as the more fanciful. Give his inability to communicate and express his fears and hopes, I struggled to see how others reacted to him as realistic. Sure, a lot is going on in terms of inner turmoil and reflection, but the bloke barely utters more than a dozen words in a sitting. How he has managed to impress his genius upon others was a little beyond me.

Still, the story's arc rang true, and the odious types that moved into their worldview once they hit university were not unfamiliar or implausible. The endless self-defeating choices (and non-choices) of our two central characters struck me as likely as not, given the circumstances.

There is no shortage of frustrations and annoyances with our two central characters. Their decision-making and their inability to communicate in ways that advance their lives and loves in safe and sustainable ways are maddening. Still, I enjoyed the long and meandering journey to something approaching happiness and self-actualisation.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Comments

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

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

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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