“May a cat eat him and may the devil eat the cat.”

The mountain has eyes. Walking the Postmans Track, Rocky Cape National Park, Tasmania. January 2021.

Paulette Jiles works magic with her writing. Much like the marvellous News of the World, the story within Simon the Fiddler flows like molasses from a spoon. Despite moments of violence and hardship, and its Civil War setting, this is a surprisingly gentle book.

Given the centrality of music – we follow Simon and his companion musicians through Texas at the tail end of the war and immediate years of the Reconstruction – the text's lyrical beauty is unsurprising. While Simon himself is hot-tempered and ill-suited to company, he is no misanthrope, and I found myself warming to him as the story progressed.

Much as life, the journey is a meandering and unpredictable one. Trials and tribulations abound, love is sighted and perused, sadness and grief felt, and the converted goal of just being left alone to play music and carve out a life always seems a ways away.

Jiles constructs a Texas under military law vividly to the reader. The heat, danger and opportunity are rich on every page. The central love story struck me as sweet and worthy, resembling the folk tales of virtuous maidens trapped behind high walls.

It strikes me as unfair to compare the tale of Simon Boudlin with News of the World, as many have done. Yes, this is the lessor book, but most books are indeed inferior to that one, so one must treat it on its own merits. Simon the Fiddler is indeed more old-fashioned and sentimental in tone, but one should expect that in what is ultimately a love story.

As the story approaches the necessary climax, in which Simon’s temper and the injustice of the periods must inevitably collide, I was not let down by the conclusion. The subtle nod to the News of the World was appreciated, and it warmed my heart to feel that these stories exist within the same universe.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

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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