Author Archives: residentjudge

‘This Must Be the Place’ by Maggie O’Farrell

O'farrell_thismustbetheplace

2016, 483 p.

I’ve long had a rather ambivalent relationship with Maggie O’Farrell’s books.  I looked back in my reading journal to the first O’Farrell I read, After You’d Gone (2000).  I scored  a 10/10 (so I obviously liked it a great deal), but I also wrote:

I couldn’t work out if the author was sloppy and undisciplined or very very good…The book teetered on the edge of Mills and Boon but the strength of the writing anchored it.

Coming now to my fourth Maggie O’Farrell, I still feel much the same way, but I’m not as generous this time round.  I’ve since read My Lover’s Lover (2002) and Instructions for a Heatwave (2013) and I think that I’m starting to tire of O’Farrell’s repeated themes of disappearances and the fragility of relationships and her stylistic technique of multiple narrators and tenses.

They are all here in this book. The plot circles around the marriage of the two main characters: Daniel, an American linguist and Claudette, a famous film star who stages her own disappearance at the height of her fame.  After Daniel encounters Claudette and her stuttering son Ari on the side of the road with a broken-down car, they fall in love and he leaves his American wife and eczema-crazed son and doomed daughter to marry her. Both are flawed characters, being willfully absent at times and veering between oblivious and judgmental. They are surrounded by a wider constellation of other characters – mothers, siblings, children, a woman on a bus in South America -and complicated backstories. The book is set over 70 years, but most of the action takes place between 2010 and 2016 in Ireland, London and America. As well as a mixture of present and past tense narrative, it has a breakout section in the form of catalogue, and a chapter in the form of an interview.

The book seemed to take an inordinate time to get going, and this kaleidoscope of characters is too big to keep in mind. They swoop in and out of the narrative, and I found myself flicking back to see if I could find where they last appeared, cursing the absence of a contents page.  I used to think that jumping around in time and place required masterful plotting. It probably does, but I’ve come to value more highly writing that can take responsibility for time shifts through the narrative, instead of just plonking the reader into the middle of it and expecting them to make the connections. I don’t mind having to work hard as a reader, but I need to feel that it’s not because the author is being lazy.

I simply didn’t care enough for any of the characters to sustain me over such a lengthy book. It has received good reviews from readers who enjoyed its narrative skittishness, but with this particular writer, I’m finding it a bit stale.

My rating: 6.5/10

Read because: CAE bookgroup (The Ladies Who Say Ooooh)

Listening to the pollies

One of the funniest clips I’ve seen this year was Bob Katter talking about marriage equality and crocodiles. In the same sentence.

Quite apart from the absurdity of what Katter is saying, I was struck by the broadness of his Australian accent, particularly once he started on crocodiles.

I was fascinated by this blog-post from the Museum of Australian Democracy, which provides sound clips of early Prime Ministers.

https://www.moadoph.gov.au/blog/what-did-our-early-prime-ministers-sound-like/

[I had to use Chrome to get all the sound files to work]

I was surprised that although some of the Prime Ministers featured had quite humble backgrounds, they used Received Pronunciation here. I wonder if they were ‘bunging it on’ for the microphone?

‘The Conscription Conflict and the Great War’ ed. Robin Archer, Joy Damousi, Murray Goot and Sean Scalmer

conscriptionconflictandthegreatwar

2016, 210 p.

Today is 20th December, the centenary of the second referendum held in Australia over the question of conscripting men to serve overseas in World War I.   So it is “meet and right” (to quote the Book of Common Prayer) that I should post this review today.

The Conscription Conflict was released last year, in preparation for the centenary of the first of the conscription referendums. As is made clear in both the foreword and conclusion of this collection of essays, the concept of asking the people about conscription is unique to Australia. It was not undertaken in any other country, and when Australia did introduce conscription during WWII and again in the 1960s, it did not make the mistake (as a government intent on introduction might view it) of asking the people again.  Not only was seeking the agreement of the people exceptional, what is even more striking is that the people answered ‘No’, in the midst of wartime emotion and censorship, and against the exhortations to vote ‘Yes’ from the Federal government, the major Protestant Churches, municipal councils, chambers of commerce, nationalist organizations, conservative women’s groups and almost all of the press.

This book is similar in scope and content to the La Trobe Journal I reviewed earlier, with one author and themes in common. This book, too, emerged from an expert workshop held at the University of Melbourne in 2015, sponsored by the Academy of the Social Sciences. It takes a much more international and philosophical approach than many of the  analyses of the referendums in the past.

Part I of the book starts with an exploration of the concept of liberalism held in Britain, and the changing response to conscription by various political brands of liberalism: the Gladstonian Liberals, ‘New Liberals’ and Liberal Imperialists.  I found this chapter, written by Douglas Newton (who also featured in the first chapter of the La Trobe Journal) rather difficult as I am not particularly knowledgeable about the nuances of British liberalism. Chapter 2 by Robin Archer (the historian, not the actor!) explores the philosophy of liberalism in Australia among Labor anti-conscriptionists at the time (the terminology is confusing because our current opposing political parties are Liberal and Labor- even though the Liberal party is also conservative).  The unions feared that compulsory industrial service would be introduced alongside military conscription, with workers allocated to jobs where pay and conditions would be determined by the military.   Their fears were lent credence by the increasingly authoritarian environment and rhetoric introduced by Prime Minister Hughes. In face of criticisms of their loyalty, Labor anti-conscriptionists emphasized the British liberal tradition, thus taking us back to the argument of Chapter I.

Part II deals with the anti-conscription campaign and results. Frank Bongiorno explores the varied organizations which made up the opposition to the referendum  and their ideological positions. He addresses the two referendums chronologically, and picks up again on the argument in Part I of the book that anti-conscriptionists drew on the idea of liberty and freedom as  fundamental principles. I’ve been studying the conscription referendums as they played out in Heidelberg and Ivanhoe, and Bongiorno’s final paragraph rang true to me when I considered the program of meetings at a local level, both pro- and anti-, which existed alongside those larger Melbourne-based rallies.

The campaigns over conscription were imbued with the grief and anxiety of a society at war, yet they were also colourful and exciting, occasions for marching and singing, for rallies, concerts and torchlight processions, for compelling oratory, for the display of banners, placards and buttons, for the sporting of sandwich boards bearing clever slogans, and, among women were increasingly at the heart of the enterprise…Such occasions could sometimes be a little frightening; yet they contained the pleasures of joining with others in a common cause, and the frisson of facing a little but not too much danger while fighting for freedom and democracy (p. 91)

Chapter 4, by Joy Damousi deals with the pro-conscription side by looking at the contribution of the academics at the University of Melbourne, a staunchly pro-conscription organization.  As she notes, for some of the academics involved, this was the only political question on which they campaigned publicly throughout their career.  In particular she focussed on the prominent law professor, William Harrison Moore, who along with the classics lecturer, Jessie Webb, published a set of arguments in support of conscription. He also toured the suburbs and country areas, preparing leaflets and addressing meetings.  Both went on to work with the League of Nations after the war.

Chapter 5 by Murray Goot re-examines the statistical results of the two referendums, placing them alongside the results of the elections of 1914 and 1917. He emphasizes the importance of the turnout, which in both referendums was larger than a ‘normal’ election, but warns that aggregate data are of little use in weighing the behaviour of the individual voter.

Part III  makes comparisons.  John Connor’s chapter asks ‘Why was it easier to introduce and implement conscription in some English-speaking countries than in others?’ He argues that it was easier to introduce conscription early on in the conflict (as America did soon after entering the war), and that passing legislation was more effective than asking the people. In the case of Australia, the labour movement, both political and industrial, was more powerful than it was in other countries. He takes a chronological approach, tracing through the “conscription conversations” of Britain, New Zealand and Australia in 1916, with its varied outcomes; then the United States, Canada and Australia in 1917 where, again, Australia said ‘no’ when the other countries did not; and finally Newfoundland and Ireland in 1918.

In Ch.7 Ross McKibbin compares Britain and Australia in more detail. He concludes that Britain’s political, industrial and military situations favoured the adoption of military conscription, and that because of a trade-off that saw the introduction of a quasi-civil conscription, Britain enjoyed a higher degree of political stability than other conscripting countries in the Empire.  He notes that the Labour Party in Britain emerged strengthened from the war, where as in Australia, the Labor Party was much weakened. Although both countries were sectarian and racist, this took a different form in each; and in Australia the failure to introduce conscription opened up the bitterness between those who volunteered and those who ‘shirked’.

The book finishes with Part 4: Legacies.  I very much enjoyed Sean Scalmer’s chapter that challenges an interpretation by Jeremy Sammut, a critic of Labor mythology,  who has posited that the left and the ALP have developed the  myth that the defeat of conscription saved Australia from a military dictatorship. Scalmer shows that the victors of the conscription battles did celebrate their collective achievements in the years following WWI, but this ‘legend’ was undermined by the actions of later Labor governments. The battle over conscription came to be seen as a Pyrrhic victory that brought about disunity, bitterness and division. Scalmer, however, argues that the conscription campaign was an important episode in the history of Australian democracy, and notes that “[b]y the respect granted to popular opinion, the primacy of the democratic principle was confirmed.” (p. 210)

And so, how did you spend the Reinforcements Referendum Centenary? I spent it outside Brunswick Town Hall, along with the cast of the Serenading Adela street opera. It will be performed on 7th January  to celebrate the centenary of the women’s march to Pentridge prison to ‘serenade’ Adela Pankhurst, who was incarcerated there for her anti-war activities prior to the second referendum.  But more of that anon.

https://www.facebook.com/search/str/serenading+adela/stories-keyword/stories-public

 

‘Hillbilly Elegy: a Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis’ by J. D. Vance

Vance_hillbillyelegy

2016,  257 p.

I  put a hold on this book at the library months and months ago when there were about 60 people in line ahead of me, and finally it arrived.  It’s worth the wait.

J. D. Vance grew up in Middletown Ohio, but his cultural roots were in Jackson, Kentucky. “Middletown Ohio!”- it sounds like a Billy Joel song. Even his name, which is unexceptional at first glance, tells his story. ‘Jay Dot Dee Dot’ is what he called himself, but the names which the letters abbreviated changed, as did his surname, as his mother churned through a series of marriages that ended in failure. The real anchor in his life was his grandmother, Mamaw (pronounced Ma’am-aw), who along with her husband Papaw, made the trek northwest to join the steel-manufacturing workforce in Ohio in the post WWII boom. His grandparents had had a rocky marriage but hostilities had ebbed, and of  all their children, it was J.D.’s mother (Mom) who was probably the most troubled. She was a nurse, but fell in and out of addiction to prescription drugs, and bounced quickly from one marriage to another, dragging her children Lindsay and J.D. with her. It was only when J.D. finally settled with his grandmother Mamaw on a permanent basis that he had enough structure in his life to settle at school, eventually gaining entry to Yale Law School. It is from this vantage point – the kid who escaped – that he writes this book that makes sense of, but does not excuse, the hillbilly culture that is dying around him.

He writes of  a world of truly irrational behaviour.

We spend our way into the poorhouse. We buy giant TVs and iPads…We purchase homes we don’t need, refinance them for more spending money, and declare bankruptcy, often leaving them full of garbage in our wake.  Thrift is inimical to our being. We spend to pretend that we’re upper-class. And when the dust clears – when bankruptcy hits or a family member bails us out of our stupidity – there’s nothing left over (p. 147)

Homes are a mess; family members scream at each other. They don’t study and don’t make their children study.

We choose not to work when we should be looking for jobs. Sometimes we’ll get a job, but it won’t last. We’ll get fired for tardiness, or for stealing merchandise and selling it on eBay, or for having a customer complain about the smell of alcohol on our breath, or for taking five thirty-minute restroom breaks per shift. We talk about the value of hard work but tell ourselves that the reason we’re not working is some perceived unfairness: Obama shut down the coal mines, or all the jobs went to the Chinese. These are the lies we tell ourselves to solve the cognitive dissonance- the broken connection between the world we see and the values we preach. (p. 147)

And there we have The Donald, with his orange skin and long red tie, telling them exactly the same thing- that Obama shut the coal mines, and it’s all the fault of “Ji-na”. This book was embraced last year as the Trump phenomenon rolled on, and it is a political book in that it explains and gives coherence to political allegiances that seem self-defeating to Australians. As he explains, most Middletonians viewed Barak Obama with suspicion, and George W. Bush had few fans in 2008. Many loved Bill Clinton but many saw him as a symbol of moral decay, and Ronald Reagan was dead.  They loved the military and the space program.

Nothing united us with the core fabric of American society. We felt trapped in two seemingly unwinnable wars, in which a disproportionate share of the fighters came from our neighbourhood, and in an economy that failed to deliver the most basic promise of the American Dream- a steady wage. (p. 189)

His solutions? He doesn’t really have any, but he can see the problems, and he can draw policy lessons as a way of “putting a thumb” on the scales of life chances. “We can adjust how our social services systems treat families like mine” (p. 243) and the definition of a family can be expanded to include the grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles who are overlooked by child services.  “The most important lesson of my life is not that society failed to provide me with opportunities” (p. 244). His schooling was adequate, he had low-interest schooling grants and never went hungry. Instead “the real problem for so many of these kids is what happens (or doesn’t happen) at home…. Can you change this with a new law or program? Probably not. Some scales aren’t that amenable to the proverbial thumb”. (p. 246)

I don’t know what the answer is, precisely, but I know it starts when we stop blaming Obama or Bush or faceless companies and ask ourselves what we can do to make things better. (p. 256)

This book is, in effect, a survivor story and an ethnographic report from an insider/outsider.  It reminded me a bit of Shirley Brice Heath’s Ways with Words (1983), also about Appalaccian school children in two adjoining towns, Roadville and Trackton, and their use of language and its relationship with school success.  Vance is a Republican, and he remains angry at “welfare queens” amongst his own people.  However, this is not a call for more individualism or personal responsibility. It’s a shared cultural response, a choice taken as an extended family and community.  It can’t be imposed from outside, and even though he doesn’t mention Trump by name, a politician might capture the anger but will not be the solution.

It would be nice if one single book could offer a solution to the world’s ills. That’s not going to happen, and its not going to be this book.  But in terms of setting out a coherent, if unfamiliar worldview held by important voting-blocs in America, this is an instructive and fascinating report from the other side.

‘A Fuhrer for a Father’ by Jim Davidson

furhrerforfather

2017, 256 p.

After reading a string memoirs written by women that seemed to excoriate their mothers, I decided not to read any more. I probably should have stuck to my decision when I picked up historian and Meanjin editor Jim Davidson’s A Fuhrer for a Father.  But perhaps a memoir about a father written by a son might be different, I thought.  Indeed, beyond Germaine Greer’s Daddy We Hardly Knew You (which I haven’t read) and Raymond Gaita’s Romulus My Father (which I have), I’m hard pressed to think of other similar books, written by sons about their fathers. [However, I see that Shaun Carney and Mark Colvin have both recently released books that exactly fit this category].  Furthermore, I knew that Jim Davidson is open about his homosexuality, and the question of a father’s acceptance of his son’s sexuality is an interesting one, particularly when the father is a domestic and forceful martinet with a string of relationships with women.  And besides, a historian can bring a particular eye to memoir, able to interweave the personal  with the broader historical picture, as Graeme Davison did so well in Lost Relations So, read it I did.

For the first half of the book, I appreciated Davidson’s depiction of 1950s-60s upper middle-class suburban life in Melbourne that had echoes of Barry Humphrey’s Sandy Stone character and, although set in an earlier period, My Brother Jack.  It is the juxtaposition of the theoretical and domestic that is highlighted in the subtitle of the book:  “The domestic face of colonialism”. When Donaldson read the historian AP Thornton’s remark that everybody has experienced imperialism in the shape of childhood, he rose from the desk and danced around the room (p. 53). For as a historian, this is how he conceptualized his father: a symbol and wielder of imperialism as a form of power. Born in South Africa, his father worked in Fiji as a surveyor on a gold mine, travelled to New Guinea, and later in life became involved financially in the sale of Aboriginal artwork.  Within his family he was strident, manipulative, bullying and controlling, not only with his first wife (and Jim Davidson’s mother) Olga, but also with his ‘second family’ of Eve and his half-brothers Garry and Hank. The juxtaposition of colonialism and domesticity is a powerful and rich observation, and Davidson explores it in the first part of the book and reverts to it again at the end:

Imperial dominance rested on patriarchy – was almost its outward projection. This book has been an exploration of one telling example of that nexus….For Jim [i.e. his father] became an anachronism, an unbending projection of the past. His idea of indigenous people had been engendered by family experience of Africa, the romances of Rider haggard, and his own quest for the exotic in the Islands. (Arnhem Land was an autumn romance). Everything was firm, unequivocal, and placed him at the centre of events, which he felt enabled and entitled to control. The contest with various opponents was the thing; his women and children were just auxiliaries. Livestock. (p 251)

However, much of the last half of the book is a long, petulant complaint of one grown man as son against another grown man, his father.  While there is always an element of remaining the child in relation to your parents, in many ways Davidson seemed content to remain the dependent.  Money became a particularly fraught expression of their relationship. There are long complaints about being ‘written out of the family’ and especially being written out of the will.  Yet at the age of 48, his father was still giving him money for overseas trips, and he did not demur at the $10,000 being handed to him by his father here and there (as he interprets it, as a guilt payment for the will that was to follow.) At a more mundane level there are interminable reports of Christmas Dinners replete with bad behaviour on all sides, including Davidson, who hurls his Christmas presents at the recipients before storming out and deliberately choosing presents with nettles of malice.  It’s unpleasant, petty and reflects poorly on everyone.  Even his closing words reveal Davidson’s relishing of the ultimate last word:

I suspect [my father] rather fancied a book being written about him; the devil would be in the detail. Well, here it is…Not quite the book he wanted. (p.255)

Not one of my better book choices.

 

Somewhat missing in action….

There’s been very little going on in this blog recently because I’ve been busy working away polishing up my presentation for Heidelberg Historical Society tomorrow night (Tuesday 12th). On the 20th December it will be the 100th anniversary of the second Conscription Referendum, and I thought it might be interesting to look at it from the perspective of a rather middle-class suburb like Ivanhoe and Heidelberg.

And tomorrow night’s the night! It will be at the Ivanhoe Uniting Church Community Centre in Seddon Street Ivanhoe at 8.00 p.m.  if you should just happen to be driving past.

Mind you- I’ve known about this since about November 2016. So why then was I finishing it off at 1.00 a.m. this morning? You’d think I’d know better by now.

The LaTrobe Journal No. 96 Sept. 2015

Ah…Number 96.  The September 2015 (No. 96) edition of the State Library of Victoria’s La Trobe Journal was a special edition focusing on Victoria and the Great War.  It is edited by John Lack and Judith Smart, both noted scholars in the field of social history of World War I. The very good news is that is is available for free online at the SLV site!

https://www.slv.vic.gov.au/about-us/our-publications/la-trobe-journal/la-trobe-journal-no-96-september-2015

Fittingly, the collection starts  right at the beginning of the war with Douglas Newton’s article ‘”We have sprung at a bound”: Australia’s leap into the Great War July-August 1914’. He argues that rather than Australia being requested to assist the Mother Country,  it was the dominions, including Australia, who rushed with their offers of assistance to a Britain that had not yet conclusively made up its mind to embark on the war. The volume closes with Bronwyn Hughes discussing the stained glass windows found in many of Victoria’s churches.

These two articles form the chronological bookends for a number of chapters discussing different aspects of World War One as experienced in Victoria.  Judith Smart’s chapter ‘A Divided national capital: Melbourne in the Great War’ focuses on Melbourne as the capital city of Australia at the time, as the Federal Government was not transferred to  Canberra until 1927. Kate Laing’s chapter discussed two women’s organizations that emerged during the war: the Women’s Peace Army which, as the name suggests, undertook a more militant approach and the Sisterhood of International Peace, which set its sights on the desire for peace after the war had concluded. Rosalie Triolo traces through the attitude towards Germany that was promulgated through the School Paper, the monthly publication distributed to children as supplementary reading material by the Education Department.  Bart Ziino’s chapter picks up on the current interest in emotions as a historiographical approach as he examines ‘War and private sentiment in Australia during 1915’, a year that saw families confronting the deaths from Gallipoli and the Western Front that sobered the initial euphoria over the declaration of war. Jillian Durance looked at the military band and its use in the military funeral for Major General Bridges. It was a first for many reasons: he was Australia’s first military commander to die on ‘active service’; his body was returned for a State funeral in Melbourne as capital city and final re-burial at Duntroon (a very rare occurrence, despite the wishes of many bereaved families); and it was the first time that an Australian cathedral was the scene of a national funeral service for an Australian general killed in war. In her chapter, she hones in on Ray Membrey, a member of the Showgrounds Camp Band, which performed not only at the funeral, but also as entertainment for the first wounded soldiers repatriated to Australia.

My favourite chapters were those that looked at the war through individuals. Joy Damousi chose John Springthorpe as her focal point, the prominent physical, reformer and public intellectual, whose memorial to his wife I wrote about here.  She discusses three instances where Springthorpe stepped into the public limelight to publicize aspects of the war. The first was his denunciation of the Red Cross’ handling of supplies to Egypt in 1915, drawn from his own eyewitness experience and for which he was himself criticized for publicizing. The second was his commentary on the medical treatment of soldiers on the battlefield and his early recognition of shell-shock, and the third was his vocal campaign for conscription.

I enjoyed Catherine Tiernan’s chapter ‘In Search of Stroud Langford’, a man whose family home – remarkably- was the very house that the author had purchased the previous year.  Starting from the war service records, the chapter does have some family history hallmarks, but in the absence of any personally written narrative, she has had to research his story through the experience of other men who did leave records.

The absolute stand-out chapter for me was John Lack’s ‘The great madness of 1914-1918: families at war on Melbourne’s eastern and western fronts’.  Here the author takes two families: James and Edith Lewis from 41 Kooyong Rd Armadale, and Tom and Eliza Purcell from 21 Berry Street Yarraville.  The Lewis’ war is told through a number of memoirs written by Brian Lewis more than 60 years later, and the Purcell’s story is told through the diary of Thomas Purcell, written between 1915 and 1920, now kept at the State Library of Victoria.  Between these two families, Lack explores issues of class and religion in the response to the war.  It’s a terrific chapter: human and insightful.

Many of the contributors have appeared in different fora over the past few years. So, if you’d like to attend a seminar on World War I in Victoria without moving from your computer chair, find the journal online at the State Library’s site!

 

‘History of Wolves’ by Emily Fridlund

fridlund

2017, 275 p.

This book was short-listed for the 2017 Man Booker Prize but I really can’t work out why. It does well enough as a first novel – and perhaps that is its appeal – but it doesn’t have the depth or skill that I would expect in a shortlist for an award of the calibre of the Man Booker. (That said, the Booker shortlist is not necessarily a fool-proof guide to quality!)   Its shortlisting only serves to highlight its shortcomings.

Fourteen year old Linda lives in the backwoods of northern Minnesota with her parents, the last stragglers of a hippy commune that had disintegrated over the years. We learn from the opening pages that a little boy, Paul, has died and the rest of the book explains how. We learn that Linda is ostracized by her school mates, a fact which perhaps prompted the rather irrelevant blurb on the front cover “How far would you go to belong?” (yes, yes…I know that the author is not responsible for the marketing….) She hangs around the more unpopular kids and teachers, and it was her history teacher Mr Grierson who encouraged her to submit a project on wolves to the History Odyssey tournament. Her statement “An alpha animal may be alpha only at certain times for a specific reason” resonated for her beyond the topic of wolves. When a young Christian Scientist couple, Leo and Patra and their young son Paul shift into a cottage on the lake, Linda gravitates towards them and through babysitting Paul feels that she is part of the nuclear family that she lacks. When Paul dies- again no spoiler because we are told that he dies from the start – Linda tells herself, without quite believing it, that “It’s not what you do but what you think that matters”.

The descriptions of landscape are excellent, especially those of the snow that blankets the lake and isolates them even further.  But there are too many themes in the book (belonging, dominance, the distinction between act and intent) and the writer labours them.  It’s not a bad book by any means and, indeed, I enjoyed reading it, but the marketing world of the Man Booker Prize has shifted it beyond its grade, and done it a disservice.

My rating: 6.5

Sourced from: Yarra Plenty Regional Library.

‘That Dangerous and Persuasive Woman: Vida Goldstein’ by Janette M. Bomford

Bomford

1993, 226 p & notes.

Vida Goldstein is remembered as a suffragist, social reformer and pacifist. The picture on the front Bomford’s biography encapsulates what we tend to think of as the quintessential first-wave feminist, in her Edwardian clothing and earnest demeanour. It’s a photograph of Vida Goldstein, taken by T. Humphrey and Co Photographers, holding a placard dated 28 June 1912 about the English suffragist campaign. At this time, Vida Goldstein would stand in the Melbourne streets – a shocking sight- posters pinned to her skirt, selling the newspaper ‘Votes for Women’ and her own  ‘Woman Voter’ publication.

Vida Goldstein selling Votes for Women newspaper.

Vida Goldstein selling “Votes for Women” newspaper. State Library of Victoria, Maurice Blackburn, Papers, MS 11749, http://handle.slv.vic.gov.au/10381/360742

Vida Goldstein’s internationalism was just one aspect of her life that Janette Bomford highlights for us in this biography. At a time when women elsewhere in the Empire were still fighting for the right to vote, New Zealand and Australian women (who received the vote in 1893 and 1902 respectively) were feted in suffragist circles as an example of the new world to come (similar I suppose, to the way that Irish pro-marriage equality campaigners have advised during the current wrong-headed same-sex marriage ‘survey’).  She travelled to America as Australian delegate to the International Woman Suffrage Conference Fed 1902, aged 32 and was the delegate from the NSW chapter of National Council of Women to the Conference of International Council of Women, held immediately afterwards. She was elected Secretary to the International Woman Suffrage Committee,  serving alongside the 82 year old American feminist Susan B. Anthony who was President. While in America she undertook research into youth justice and criminology, two interests that she was to pursue throughout her life.

Nearly ten years later Vida Goldstein travelled to England in 1911 as a guest of the Pankhursts and the Womens Social and Political Union, spoke to 10,000 people in the Albert Hall and organized a contingent of ‘overseas’ women in the Great Suffrage Procession in June 1911. As Bomford points out, her contact with the most eminent suffrage workers in the United States and Britain brought her a sense of sisterhood and camaraderie that she never quite felt in Australia (p.219)

Goldstein’s commitment to women as voters and politicians in their own right dominated much of her public career. Born in 1869 in Portland Victoria, her mother had been involved in the Victorian Womens Suffrage Society in 1884, and young Vida cut her teeth as a committee member and organizer with the United Council for Women’s Suffrage and the Women’s Federal Political Association.  It was this last group, later renamed the Women’s Political Association that proclaimed itself to be unaligned to any political party, a stance which probably cost Goldstein electoral support in her three attempts to stand for the Senate as a Victorian representative, and two attempts at the House of Representatives seat of Kooyong.  She was the first woman in the Empire to stand for political office, even though she was never successful.  During the election held between the two Conscription referenda in 1916 and 1917, she was accused (with good reason) of splitting the anti-conscription vote, even though she was herself an ardent pacifist.

Her commitment to pacifism split the Women’s Political Association in the early years of the war, when there was strong support generally for Australia’s involvement. It led her to split with the Pankhursts in England, despite her involvement in the suffrage campaign there  less than five years earlier. It brought her into the spotlight of public attention as she campaigned with the Women’s Peace Army, of which she was a founding and highly visible member (I’m sure that her selection of the same initials as the Women’s Political Association was no accident- and it made taking notes on this book a nightmare!) She was mainstream middle-class, stylishly dressed  and a very capable public speaker, and she spearheaded the ‘No’ case during the Conscription referendum campaigns.

In many ways, the different aspects of her political life often clashed up against each other: the support for militant suffragism and yet strong pacifism; her determination not to align herself with a political party, even though it hurt the left of politics to which she more naturally leaned. As Bomford explains, she was a strong but inflexible character. Her parents had given her a good education, first at home with a very capable governess, and then at PLC. However, in a foretaste of what was to come, the family split over the issue of women’s suffrage when her parents publicly took diametrically opposed views. Through her parents, she became involved in the Charity Organisation Society of which they were founding members, which took a ‘case study’ and causal approach to poverty, and championed dignity in work rather than handouts to ‘deserving’ cases as practised by the Ladies Benevolent Society.  It was to her family that she looked for emotional sustenance, living with her sisters and brother-in-law in South Yarra for the last thirty years of her life.  Despite her name (which she always pronounced with ‘eye’ in both her first and surnames) she was not Jewish. Her religious and spiritual life was nurtured through Rev Charles Strong’s ministry first at Scots Presbyterian and then the Australia Church, and increasingly through Christian Science, to which she devoted her passion post WWI.

As Bomford explains, with Vida Goldstein there is no cache of personal papers for the biographer to mine. Fortunately, her correspondents often did keep her letters, most particularly her friend Stella Miles Franklin.  As a result, Bomford has had to rely on newspaper reports, Vida’s own writing in her various newspapers and speeches, and the reports of the government censors and security organizations. The constraints of material have constrained Bomford to write mainly of Goldstein as a public figure.  Nonetheless, I think that Bomford does a good job in giving an internal logic and unity to Goldstein’s politics, even though her inflexibility so often worked against the causes she believed in, and cost her many allies.

This is an academic text, with quite a few initials for organizations, which is just as much part of the territory in discussing political activism today as it was at the turn of the twentieth century.  It takes a strictly chronological approach, and most of the character analysis takes place in the ‘Afterword’ that closes the book.  It is probably not widely available today, given the ferocious culling of texts in libraries and short shelf-life of books in bookshops, but Vida herself has taken on even more prominence with the recent interest in the conscription debates of WWI and the toxic politics around Julia Gillard’s Prime Ministership.  ABC’s Hindsight program had an excellent episode about her in 2009 which is available as podcast and transcript here . Claire Wright also discusses Vida on a Podcast from La Trobe University’s Biography series available at https://player.fm/series/biography/vida-goldstein  (the text is similar to Wright’s entry on Goldstein at the Encyclopedia of Women and Leadership in Twentieth Century Australia).  She also wrote a very good essay ‘Birth of a Nation?’ in Griffith Review 51 available here.

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I have posted this review to the Australian Women Writers Challenge 2017.

 

 

 

 

 

‘Australian Lives: An Intimate History’ by Anisa Puri and Alistair Thomson

thompson_puri

2017, 425 p.

It’s hard to know how to review this book and, indeed, it was hard to know quite how to read it, too. It is the print-based outcome of the Australian Generations Oral History Project, a collaboration between historians at Monash and La Trobe Universities, the National Library of Australia and ABC Radio National. It has been well-mined by the various partners, with the ABC producing five episodes on their much-missed Hindsight program and a rich page produced on Monash University’s Arts Online portal.  Much of the base material can be accessed through the National Library of Australia site, where by accessing the ‘Related Records’ field of the catalogue entry, you can listen to the original oral histories and read the entire transcripts, subject to the access conditions stipulated by each interviewee.

So why then would you bother to read the book, if it’s all online? Well, apart from the portability of a book, the 300 life histories produced as part of the project have been curated here into a more manageable 50, all of which have permissions allowing access to the sound file and transcript now (rather than at some future date) on the NLA site. They are arranged in chapters of two types. The first type are life course chapters (Ancestry, Childhood, Youth, Midlife and Laterlife) and the other chapters are thematic (Faith, Migrants, Activism and Telling My Story). Within each chapter, there are further subdivisions that group oral histories by topic.

There is a chronological spread of interviewees, spanning from one born in  1923 through to participants born in 1989. There are indigenous respondents, Australian-born respondents and participants from many other places: Bosnia, Batavia, Cairo, Malta and Sudan.

The interviews are arranged chronologically within each chapter, but it’s not always the same subject.  It is possible to follow through the same character by looking them up in the Narrator Index, where there is a very brief synopsis of the character and a list of the pages of the book where you can find their interviews. However, I read the book straight through, in the order in which it is published. At first I wondered how I was going to keep all these people straight, but fortunately each extract has a small italicized prompt, providing brief contextualizing information.

Each chapter starts with an overview, written by the authors, which provides a twentieth-century historical context and points towards the salient contributions in the interviews.  I enjoyed these as a way of giving shape to the volume.  Alistair Thomson is well-known as one of Australia’s pre-eminent oral historians, and Anisa Puri is President of Oral History NSW and a PhD candidate.  In the acknowledgements you can see the wide range of historians who have participated in the project.

If you’re the sort of person who likes listening to people tell their stories, then this book may well appeal. It’s the sort of book that you can pick up and put down quite easily. There is no overarching argument, beyond the diversity and uniqueness of each person’s story and the  interactions between individuals and society.  This comes through the extracts that they have selected:

…we selected extracts that illuminate change and continuity and how individuals lived with and against the economic forces, cultural expectations and legal constraints of their times.  We also chose extracts that highlight how different types of Australians – male or female, city or country, poor or prosperous – have managed their lives and faced distinctive challenges and opportunities.  And, of course, we picked stories that evoke the humour, drama and pathos of human life. (p.xii)

Sourced from : Yarra Plenty Regional Library

 

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I have recorded this on the Australian Women Writers Challenge website.