Our March 2018 journey began as a struggle between competing travel bucket lists.
I voted for Southeast Asia and the Far East; Padre was stuck on Australia due to what he calls the ‘Steve Irwin’ effect. Irwin, a wildly popular critter-wrangling TV star who died from a stingray attack, made the “G’day Mate!” Aussie attitude about life seem pretty darn cool. (We found a rare compromise cruise; see trip itinerary here.) For me, it had to do with the past. In 1992 we spent two amazing weeks in New Zealand, and I somehow adopted this silly notion that we’d done Down Under already.
Kiwi and Aussie cultures share many things in common, but from what I’ve learned so far, Australia is definitely a one-of-a-kind Down Under country. In the meantime I’m dismantling my preconceived notions with the help of this Australia reading list.
A book made the list if 1) it helped me understand something about Australia I wanted to understand, and 2) it showed up frequently among other travellers’ recommendations. I’ve also included my aspirational list, books I plan to read before or during the journey*.
(*….So many books, so little time!)
In a Sunburned Country by Bill Bryson, 1992. 331 pgs.
★★★★★ Five stars for best overall introduction to the entire country for the traveller. And readers will chuckle all the way through.
★★★ Three stars for timeliness and accuracy (it came out in 1992). Since it’s still a very popular guide, I suspect the general travel observations hold up (we’ll find out once we get there).
We both read this one, and loved it. Bryson is America’s favorite walkabout travel writer, and his travel memoir is an oldie but goodie. And thanks to Bryson I’ll know what Aussies mean if they tell me someone ‘Did a Harry’. Australian Prime Minister Harold Holt disappeared off Victoria’s coast in 1967, never to be seen again. Aussies debate to this day whether Holt bolted from his responsibilities or drowned off the coast. So if you need to disappear, ‘Do a Harry’. In detailing his journeys to just about every far corner of sprawling Australia, Bryson sprinkles quirky historical and cultural details such as this throughout.
One criticism of this book I’ve heard is that Bryson makes it sound as if EVERTHING in Australia is out to eat or kill you. He does share plenty of anecdotes about deadly Australian things taking out humans, but maybe he’s right: the man-eating crocodiles, noxious spiders, and box jellyfish (whose sting is so painful its victims scream even while sedated – and don’t forget the sharks) – sound like they’re under every rock or wave and out to get you.
We’ll let you know when we get back.
If we survive.
Breath by Tim Winton, 2008. 218 pgs.
★★★★★ Five stars for a spot-on coming-of-age tale by one of Australia’s most acclaimed writers.
★★ Two stars for the Australian setting; it’s not that Australian, if that’s what you’re looking for. If I were you I’d read it anyway: Aussies face the same growing up issues as the rest of us do, I’ll bet.
I set out to read Breath because we would be sailing halfway around the Australian continent. What better way to explore our relationship to the power of oceans than to read a novel about Australian surfing? The main characters could just as easily have been surfing off Washington State’s rugged coastline, near where I live, though. Those boys just needed some wetsuits.
And that’s not a criticism in any way. Winton’s novel, a taut coming-of-age tale, captures the universal themes of emerging adulthood. The protagonist, Brucie Pike, looks back on his youthful death-defying surfing exploits out in Australia’s ferocious sea rips from the perspective of his adult life as an emergency medic. What I thought might be rather Australian about it (based on those preconceived notions of mine) was its exploration of physical courage and some people’s addiction to risk. The Aussies sure seem to be great risk-takers, if the cultural stereotypes I’ve picked up from watching Australian movies are any indication (think Crocodile Dundee). As a former high school teacher (and long-ago teenager), I identified easily with Winton’s main characters, even though I’m not a boy and never rode a wave.
The Thornbirds by Colleen McCullough, 1979, 692 pgs.
★★ Two stars for plot and characters (unless you love soap operas)
★★★★ Four stars for thrilling descriptions of the Australian Outback
I agree with Germaine Greer who said, “It’s the best bad book I ever read.”
I devoured this 1970s blockbuster back when I was still young enough to believe in romantic fairytales. The contrived plot is romance on steroids, and the older priest’s forbidden lust for our heroine seems rather creepy now, in light of modern church scandals. Yet if you can live with what’s wrong, it’s worth reading for McCollough’s descriptions of Australian landscapes and weather catastrophes alone. At least read her horrifying description of a massive lightning fire as it consumes every living thing standing helplessly in front of its raw fury. You’ll never forget it; I know I haven’t.
Kangaroo, by D.H. Lawrence, 1923. 492 pgs.
★★★★★ Five stars for wondrous descriptions of land, sea, and sky surrounding the city of Sydney, Australia.
★★ Two stars for a bumpy plot and extreme political views, even for 1923 (too many isms here: fascism, socialism racism, sexism).
If you can look past its flaws and pay attention to the word-crafting, this one’s worth your time. Lawrence is a master at describing just about anything, but especially the breathtaking landscapes around Sydney, where in the 1920s he lived with his wife Frieda during a 100-day Australia sojourn.
Lawrence builds his story on a rickety plot about the extreme politics of the day (and lots of meanders into the messiness of human relationships). The Australian landscape tends to turn into an outsize character wherever it lives – in books and films, especially – and Kangaroo is no exception. Even when Lawrence tries to stay on track with the plot, he veers off into gorgeous, extended descriptions of the natural world around him. This story will appeal to the literary obsessives out there (or former English teachers like myself. The English teacher in me never dies).
Aspirational Booklist (working on it):
30 Days in Sydney: A Wildly Distorted Account by Peter Carey, 2010. 257 pgs.
Peter Carey wrote this non-fiction travelogue in his attempt to define the essence of Sydney and its surroundings. This excerpt from a review sealed the deal for me:
(This book) is a desultory, impressionistic love letter to the city, structured loosely around earth, air, fire and water (one friend protected his home from bush fires; another barely survived the “murderous seas of the 1998 Sydney-Hobart race” which sank six yachts and killed five men).
Most of our Australia trip time is in Sydney, and I wanted to sample one of Carey’s books because he is up at the top of Australia’s ‘top authors’ list. So this is a two-fer. I’ll be awake, jetlagged, reading it in the middle of the night during the first few days of the trip, I’m sure.
Update: We both finished this book and loved it! Poignant descriptions of that tragic sailboat race, as well as the fires that regularly threaten Sydney’s suburbs. Highly recommend this one (and it’s a quick read).
Talking to My Country by Stan Grant, 2016, 240 pgs.
Bill Bryson wrote enough about Australia’s simmering racial tensions to make me want to know more. Award-winning correspondent Stan Grant draws on his own experiences growing up Aborigine, and details the effects of colonialism and racism on modern-day indigenous Australians. He also works tirelessly to promote early intervention and opportunities for Aboriginal youth so they get the same opportunities in life as others. He sounds like my kind of guy – so I’m going to read his book!
Beneath the Southern Cross by Judy Nunn, 1999. 520 pgs.
This sweeping historical fiction saga follows over five generations of the Kendall family, up to the year before the 2000 Sydney Olympics. It’s set mainly around the Rocks area of Sydney, where we’ll be staying and taking historical walking tours. So I hope to gain a thorough orientation to the settlement of Australia.
The Dry, by Jane Harper 2017. 336 pgs.
The headline for this book’s New York Times Book Review:
A Page-Turner of a Mystery Set in a Parched Australia
And there are dead bodies, mystery lovers! Enough said.
Time to read.