Inaugural blog: reading round-up

7 August, 2006
Jo Case, Deputy Editor

Working at Australian Book Review, I feel a bit of a duty to read Australian books. I have to admit that at times, when there's nothing around to take my fancy, it's a chore. But recently, I've been more than happy to bury myself in the offerings that land on my desk, rather than venture into my local bookstore and think for myself.

This delicious combination of duty and pleasure began when I thought Ishould read Deborah Robertson's Careless and see what all the critics have been raving about (including Fatherlands author Emily Ballou, in our current issue). Robertson has been noted for her skilful short stories in the past, particularly her acclaimed collection Proudflesh. Coming to an author known for building up a small but respectable fan base through published short fiction is the literary equivalent of discovering a hot 'new' band that's worked their way into the spotlight after years of gigging in pubs. You know that the groundwork has been done, and that is no flash-in-the-pan Next Big Thing dreamed up by a marketing department. So it was no surprise to find that Careless lives up to the hype.

Robertson explores some pretty big issues - new millennium parenting, the responsibilities of motherhood, how individuals (and the wider society) cope with death and the grieving process, personal privacy in our prurient media age. She deftly explores these complex issues, leaving plenty of room for nuance and creating multi-faceted and compelling characters at the same time. It's a combination that can be difficult to pull off - exploring social issues without sacrificing character development - but Robertson does it with aplomb. This is bound to remain one of the books of the year: expect it to resurface in several 'Best of 2006' lists this Christmas, including ABR's in the December/January issue.

Another author who handles complex social issues in the mad modern world is Walkley award-winning journalist Kate Legge, a newcomer to fiction with a long background in newspapers (including political reporting from Canberra and Washington, feature writing, and editorship of something idly called The Australian's Review of Books). Legge's fictional debut was always going to be one to watch. And it's no surprise that a writer whose everyday life is so involved with wider social and political trends has decided to include them as themes in her fiction. I was discussing Legge's book (which I'll review at length in our September issue) with a friend over coffee last week. She asked me what it was about. 'Pretty much everything,' I replied.

The central theme of The Unexpected Elements of Love is global warming. The main character, Janet, is a weather reporter on cable TV. Her eight-year-old son has an irrational fear of the weather. Another central character, ageing sculptor Roy, is similarly obsessed with climate change, which will form the theme for his final work, a controversial commission for the federal weather bureau. Other contemporary themes covered include: post-feminist mothering; IVF; ADHD; ageing and society's attitudes towards the elderly; voluntary euthanasia/assisted suicide; gentrification of the inner-city; and descent into senility. It's a lot to pack into one relatively short novel (256 p), but, once again, it works. Legge is an intelligent and skilful writer, capable of sharp, often sardonic, observations and evocative imagery. The constant references to 'the warming' and the weather can feel laboured at times, but overall this is a marvellous book, with plenty of food for thought.

Another first novel dealing with issues of motherhood and senility (or bringing up children/looking after ageing parents) is Kate Veitch's Listen, released in September. Rosemary is a young mother of four, unhappily mired in 1960s suburban Australia, while the grim London she left behind has transformed into the hub of the swinging sixties. One dreary Christmas Eve, a car pulls up in the driveway. Rosemary tells the kids she is going out for Christmas tree lights, but she never returns. Decades later, her four children have families of their own and are each dealing in their own way with the loss of their mother. At the same time, their much-loved, mild-mannered father is slowly losing his grip on reality. Each of the children starts off as stereotypes - the do-it-all career woman; the beautiful artist; the nerdy school principal and the alcoholic baby/black sheep of the family. But, as the unexpected happens, and they each must take control (or, in one case, relinquish control) of their lives, they develop into much more nuanced characters. It's a simple enough story, but beautifully told and thoroughly enjoyable. Ignore the off-putting Women's Weekly Book Club sticker on the cover - Listen is much better than that and can be enjoyed by readers who wouldn't touch a Women's Weekly if their lives depended on it (or, more likely, if stuck in a doctor's surgery).

Border Street is the first novel from Sydney lawyer Suzanne Leal. It follows the traditional 'semi-autobiographical-first-novel' trajectory more closely than those previously mentioned - but, thankfully, Leal actually has an interesting story to tell. A young couple, Kate and Cameron, snap up a prime Sydney rental property thanks to Kate's instant affinity with their elderly migrant landlords, who live adjacent to the property. The instinctively curious Kate is soon drawn to find out all she can about her neighbours' dark history - their experiences (as Jews) in occupied Czechoslovakia during World War II, their subsequent trials under the Communists (dealt with only fleetingly) and their resettlement in Australia in the late 1960s. The core of the book revolves around budding writer Kate's weekly sessions with Frank and a dictaphone, as she gathers material for a loosely planned writing project. As Kate grows increasingly preoccupied by his tale, and her own moral questions about what she would and would not do under Frank's circumstances, I was sucked in. Frank, in particular, is wonderfully multi-faceted. He is compassionate and generous, but also nosy, broadly judgmental and temperamental, with the political affinities of a talk back radio host. Perhaps the fact that Frank's story is based on Leal's real-life series of interviews with an elderly acquaintance has helped - she has captured rather than created this wonderful character. Complete with glowing recommendations from Gail Jones and Markus Zusak, this is another auspicious debut, with an enthralling story to tell.

The final Australian book to have caught my attention recently was described by its publisher, Black Inc., as 'our Hoi Polloi for 2006'. That's a high benchmark, but Alice Pung's Unpolished Gem is a worthy successor, confirming that Black Inc. has a knack for the evocative coming-of-age memoir. Set in Melbourne's Footscray, Unpolished Gem traces the evolution of the author's Cambodian-Chinese family, from her parents' arrival in Melbourne, grandmother in tow, in the 1970s. Pung (like Sherborne) has a seductive way with language, an eye for telling detail, and a gift for comic dialogue. I live in Melbourne's West, near Footscray, and it was an unexpected delight to rediscover the streets and surrounds I know so well through the eyes of an utterly different household. For me, much of Footscray (heavily populated by Asian and African immigrants) is a window onto another world, one I can superficially glimpse but never fully enter or understand. Alice Pung takes the reader on a journey through the looking-glass to the 'wonderland' that is Footscray (and yes, she was named after THAT Alice) in Unpolished Gem. Readers without the extra edge of local knowledge that I experienced will feel a similar thrill of entering another world.

AND ANOTHER THING (okay, two other things …)

I want to close with a couple of observations on the (very occasionally) intersecting worlds of books and TV.
Actor William McInnes (another fellow traveller from Melbourne's West), veteran of the popular Blue Heelers, smash-hit Seachange and the critically acclaimed film Look Both Ways, must be every book publicist's dream. Television appearances? No problem! Not only has first-time novelist William done the rounds of the morning shows coveted by less marketable novelists, but I walked into the lounge room on Sunday to find him good-naturedly plugging Cricket Kings on Channel Nine's Any Given Sunday. It may be no problem for William to get valuable prime-time screen time, but it did look like he was having trouble getting his panel members to look interested in the book. I was just in time to catch swimmer Nicole Stevens pick up the book, flick through it with a blank face, and say 'Oh yeah, I'm definitely going to read this book. I'll read a couple of paragraphs later on.' I hope any members of the viewing audience who decide to read the book will (at least plan to) invest in more then a couple of paragraphs. Literary authors who complain about interviewers not reading their book before they speak to them (which I agree is both rude and slack) can now spare a thought for poor William … at least literary journos PRETEND to have read the book!

Lastly, I was fascinated to catch the ABC's latest attempt at translating arts criticism into good television, the First Tuesday Book Club, hosted by the effervescent Jennifer Byrne. I was relieved to discover that, unlike last year's well-meant (but ultimately execrable) Vulture, First Tuesday works. The panel (Jason Steger, Marieke Hardy, Jacki Weaver and Peter Cundall) represented a diverse range of views and personalities, and none of them came across as if delivering verdicts from 'on high'. They seemed aware that their opinions are just that. And as host, Byrne (ABC reporter extraordinaire and former publishing director of Reed Books) was warm and engaging, wearing her intelligence lightly without discarding it altogether. A rare combination, especially on television. The inclusion of Bret Easton Ellis's notorious satirical splatterfest, American Psycho, was a stroke of genius. It sat alongside Miles Franklin winner's Roger McDonald's far more worthy The Ballad of Desmond Kale as an unfailingly juicy talking point. The success of the inclusion is confirmed on the ABC message board, where to date there are sixty-two posts on American Psycho and just eight on The Ballad of Desmond Gale. In contrast to the old Vulture online discussion, this one is overwhelmingly positive and congratulatory in tone, though viewers seemed divided on the inclusion of token Bright Young Thing Marieke Hardy (actress/scriptwriter, granddaughter of Frank), is she annoying or a breath of fresh air? Look out for next month's double billing: The Shadow of the Wind, by Carlos Ruiz Zafón and Dava Sobel's Longitude (which has, sadly, replaced Helen Garner's The First Stone, as originally scheduled).

Speaking of book clubs, literary 'bloggers' community' Sarsaparilla (whose rollcall includes ABR senior contributor Kerryn Goldsworthy) have started their own informal book club in reaction to the Australian/Patrick White imbroglio. Interested members will actually be reading a Patrick White novel. After much democratic discussion, the chosen novel was The Vivisector. Why did no one else think of this refreshingly sane response?