And here is the thing about them men they was Australians they knew full well the terror of unyielding law the historic memory of UNFAIRNESS were in their blood and a man might be a bank clerk or an overseer he might never have been lagged for nothing but still he knew in his heart what it were to be forced to wear the white hood in prison he knew what it were to be lashed for looking a warder in the eye and even a posh fellow like the Moth had breathed that air so the knowledge of unfairness were deep in his bone and marrow. In the hut at Faithfull’s Creek I seen proof that if a man could tell his true history to Australians he might be believed it is the clearest sight I ever seen and soon Joe seen it too.
— Peter Carey, True History of the Kelly Gang
By Lisa Richardson
It might not be a date marked on your calendar, but if you’re anywhere near the Longhorn Saloon on Jan. 26, you’ll fast become aware it’s Australia Day. A proportion of Whistler’s working class will be out there, chest-beating and drinking themselves senseless, to celebrate… umm… well, they probably don’t really know either. But it’s good to be patriotic, mate.
Here’s a quick primer then on Australian culture for the more literary minded. Because the sum of Australia’s artistic output is, in fact, more than Neighbours and the Crocodile Hunter. So here’s Pique’s top six must-reads, to gain a little insight as to why people might drape themselves in their flag, drink Bundaberg rum by the gallon and run naked around the village. It’s as random and personally biased as any list will be, and likely to have missed out a hundred equal candidates. But nevertheless, it’s a quick and affordable way to take a tour of the Great Southern Land (read any of the following to a soundtrack of Midnight Oil and Powderfinger), especially if you say g’day to your local librarian.
Peter Carey: True History of the Kelly Gang
Carey nabbed the Booker in 2001 for this recreation of the life of one of Australia’s greatest icons. To take on a cult figure of history and dare to rewrite his story appropriating the voice of Ned Kelly, bushranger, is bold. But Carey deserved the swag of accolades he reeled in with True History — it is genius. Painstakingly researched, he takes you down into a history that, for an Australian, is vaguely familiar, but rendered fresh and in a voice so authentic I recognized it in every larrikin and layabout I’ve ever known. Apparently, all Carey had to work with of Ned Kelly’s hand was a single letter. But I think he might have been doing a bit of channeling.
The Kelly gang were captured after the shootout at Glenrowan, when Kelly fought wearing armour he’d fashioned himself and was shot in the knee. Kelly was nursed to health in order to be hanged. The Aboriginal trackers who helped the troopers track the gang had been brought down from Queensland, because the Victorian Aboriginals refused to help the police. The modern day descendants of the trackers are still in court in Queensland, trying to recoup their ancestors’ promised share of the reward money.
John Birmingham: He Died with a Felafel in His Hand
Felafel has a cult following, not just in Australia, but in the UK, where esteemed publications like Loaded and the Guardian sang its praises, as have plenty of seedier types as well. It was adapted into a play, and most recently, a film, and is a must-read for any Whistlerite, most of whom will have known their fair share of house-sharing hell. Birmingham’s 1994 tale is a haphazard semi-autobiographical story, weaving from Brisbane sharehouse to sharehouse, and leaves the perpetually broke and stoned writer in a pretty bad light. Self-incrimination is his strength; these are the confessions of a bum who smoked up, shared with and stole from some 100 different flatmates, so they’re likely to resonate with most of the literate in this corridor on some level. Not to mention that one of his more recent assignments is a travel-guide on Australia’s pot culture, Dopeland.
Tim Winton: The Riders
Scully is your quintessential Aussie anti-hero – rough-edged and rough looking, but with a heart as big as the continent itself. Dumbly loyal to his ambitious wife Jennifer and his feisty little sunbleached daughter, they’ve been trekking all over Europe, as Antipodeans are wont to do. Having gone ahead to Ireland to prepare the tumbledown bothy his wife spontaneously fell in love with, he works with an innocent and unquestioning devotion to prepare a new life for them. It’s a stability that is shattered when he goes to collect them from the airport. The glass doors at the airport arrivals lounge slide coolly open. There she is – just his seven year old. Shell-shocked and silent. Unable to answer his frantic questions, "Where’s mum, mate?"
And so begins a desperate trip zagging back and forth across Europe, on the trail of a ghost. The Riders charts his descent into madness as he revisits the places they have lived – the Greek Islands, Paris, Amsterdam – with the reader at his shoulder, wondering what the hell has happened, and whether Scully will ever know.
Bruce Chatwin: The Songlines
Chatwin was a Pom, which would ordinarily be enough to exclude him from representing Aussie culture, but he was a ratbag adventurer, and this classic takes you deep into the heart of central Australia, and reveals something of Aboriginal culture that guilty consciences and centuries of practised denial prevent white Australia from appreciating. Chatwin writes with a lean understated prose, and seems to attract, or be attracted to, real characters, fleshing out a detailed portrait of the outback. At the same time as he’s examining this place, these ancient people, he’s looking to get closer to the heart of human nature, his own unquenched wanderlust, the nomad at the core of us all.
May Gibbs: The Adventures of Snugglepot and Cuddlepie
A sentimental favourite and one for the kids, Gibbs was an artist and writer born in the UK in 1880 who grew up in the Australian bush. Her stories, about two gumnut babies, trace their adventures in the micro-sized world, peopled with kookaburras, goannas, magpies, and Banksia men. Her illustrations feature fairy type creatures the size of flower blossoms, and they’re so realistic and accurately depicted that when I first started walking about the Australian bush, I could identify wildflowers I’d never seen before. It’s a classic book that was combined with its two sequels in 1940 and amazingly, has never been out of print.
Bill Bryson: In a Sunburnt Country
Okay, here’s another bloke who’s not Australian, but his book, In a Sunburnt Country , is so funny and full of fascinating information that you didn’t know or that vaguely rings a bell, it should be required reading for everyone. Bryson has a knack for turning up the obscure fact, in fact for turning up an entire tome of obscure facts, so you’ll be reeling with Australian trivia and you’ll be able to impress everyone.
AND you’ll be able to tell all your friends that this savagely festive celebration, Australia Day, actually commemorates the day Arthur Philip and the First Fleet sailed into Sydney Harbour and spilled out onto the shores of a country that had been periodically bumped up against by lost explorers for some 300 years, and inhabited by Aboriginals for maybe 40,000.
Technically, it marks an invasion. But for all the ex-pats out there, temporary or permanent, Australia Day is a day when we can be nostalgic for a landscape so different from this one, for a cultural heritage that bonds us together over Vegemite sangers, Tim-Tams slurped through your coffee, beaches, mateship, Gallipoli and the Man from Snowy River, swags and Blundstones, a spirit of adventure and a calloused sort of optimism. As much of a happy mountain girl as I am here in my new home, drill deep enough, and it’s still at the core of my heart, my country.
