Author Archives: residentjudge

I hear with my little ear: Podcasts 1-8 November 2025

Let’s just jump ahead, shall we? I have been listening to podcasts between September and November, but many of them have been current affairs podcasts, which just come and go.

The Human Subject (BBC) The Gay Man and the Pleasure Shocks From the website:

This is the story of patient B-19, a 24-year old who, in 1970, walks into a hospital in Louisiana troubled by the fact that the drugs he’s been abusing for the past three years are no longer having the desired effect. He claims he is “bored by everything” and is no longer getting a “kick” out of sex. To Dr Robert Heath’s intrigue, B-19 has “never in his life experienced heterosexual relationships of any kind”. Somewhere along the way, during the consultations, the conclusion is drawn that B-19 would be happier if he wasn’t gay. And so they set about a process that involves having lots of wires sticking out of his brain. Julia and Adam hear from science journalist and author, Lone Frank, author of The Pleasure Shock: The Rise of Deep Brain Stimulation and Its Forgotten Inventor.

Actually, I wasn’t particularly shocked by this episode. It was the 1970s after all, time of ‘Clockwork Orange’, and brain stimulation and operant conditioning was all the go. While most of us wouldn’t see being gay as something that had to be ‘cured’, I do wonder if truly deviant behaviour that would otherwise see a person incarcerated for life (an inveterate child abuser?) might not still turn to methods like this?

The Rest is History Episode 606: Enoch Powell Rivers of Blood With Nigel Farage on the loose, it seems appropriate to go back to revisit Enoch Powell and his ‘Rivers of Blood’ speech. As Dominic and Tom point out, Enoch Powell is better remembered than a lot of Prime Ministers are, and he influenced Thatcher and inspired the Brexiteers. He was born in Birmingham in 1912 and was a precocious child who seemed destined to be a classics scholar. He had no interest in women, but he was obsessed by Nietzsche. He was a Professor of Greek at Sydney University by the age of 25 (I didn’t know that!), but he really wanted to be the Viceroy of India (as one does). He fought in WW2 but not in a combat role. He was a Tory, but he was often critical of the party, and championed English nationalism in Parliament in his hypnotic droning voice. He decriminalized homosexuality, was anti-Vietnam, anti-US but economically very dry. Despite the influx of Windrush and British/Pakistani immigrants in the late 1940s, immigration was seen more as a regrettable necessity rather than a national issue. At first Powell did nothing about the reported ‘white flight’ from areas like his electorate of Wolverhampton, but by 1964 it was recognized that immigration had to be controlled to avoid the ‘colour question’, a question supercharged by television of unrest in Montgomery and Alabama in the US. Why did Powell change? He argued that he was representing the views of his electorate, and he held up an ideal of the English people and became more radical as a way of distinguishing himself from Heath. In 1967 there was an influx of Indians from Kenya after Kenyatta expelled them and an Act was passed to restrict immigration. The Labour government introduced a Racial Relations Bill in 1968 which prohibited racial discrimination in areas like housing. When the Tories decided to quibble over the details but accepted the principle of the bill, Powell was furious and this was the impetus for the ‘Rivers of Blood Speech’, which was publicized beforehand, so television crews were there to record it. He was sacked as Minister for Defence, but he had strong support on the streets. He never distanced himself from violence, but he was wrong- there were no rivers of blood. And until now Tories wouldn’t touch the issue again.

The Rest is History Episode 577: The Irish War of Independence: The Violence Begins (Part 2) After their largely ceremonial electoral victory in 1917, Sinn Fein established an alternative shadow government which had cabinet positions, courts and issues a Declaration of Independence. It wanted to attend the Paris Peace Conference, but it didn’t get a seat at the table. The IRA was recruiting heavily, but the majority were more involved with logistics and protection rather than firing guns. The conflict hotted up in the early 1920s when the IRA began attacking police barracks and courts. There was a mass resignation of police, and they were replaced by ex-army soldiers, the notorious ‘black and tans’ and auxiliaries. In 1921 the Flying Columns and IRA intelligence ramped up, with localized violence. But this violence was not necessarily a sectarian war, but it certainly had sectarian aspects.

In Our Time (BBC). Apparently Melvyn Bragg is stepping down from In Our Time after 26 years. He is 85, after all, and he was starting to sound a bit quavery. So, they’re dipping back into the archives and they replayed an episode on Hannah Arendt from 2017. She was born to a non-observant Jewish family in Hanover in 1906, a family that was so non-observant that she was surprised when she found herself singled out as being Jewish. She had an affair with Heidegger, but then he became a Nazi. She was a classicist, and she maintained this interest throughout her life. She escaped to America in 1941 as a refugee, where she developed English as her third language. In her book Eichmann in Jerusalem, she warned of a new sort of atomized evil, like a fungus, and she saw Eichmann as thoughtless, rather than evil. Actually, I hadn’t realized that she was anything other than a political writer: she was just as focussed on the human condition as politics.

‘Miss Gymkhana, R. G. Menzies and Me’ by Kathy Skelton

1990, 153 p.

I hadn’t heard of this book, which was sent to our former CAE bookgroup as part of their mop-up operations, now that the CAE no longer runs its bookgroup program. Apparently my group read it about 25 years ago, but I hadn’t joined at that stage. I am the youngest (!!) in the bookgroup, and as the book is about ‘small town life in the Fifties’, my fellow bookgroupers probably recognized even more in the book than I did. But even for me, born in the mid-50s, there was much that was familiar but is lost now, in a world that is much more complex and hurried today.

I guess you’d classify it as a memoir, but it is more a memoir of a time rather than events. The author, Kathy Skelton, was born in 1946 and grew up in Sorrento, a sea-side town that still has its tourist season and its quiet season. It’s a strange place, Sorrento: there have always been very wealthy people there, but also just ‘ordinary’ small town people there as well. In her introduction, she reflects on the nature of memory. Reflecting on famous people that she was aware of at the time- President Nasser, Archbishop Mannix, the voice of Mr Menzies, the young Queen Elizabeth and the Petrovs- she reflects:

Have I printed their images, acquired much later, on a childhood, half grasped and half remembered? Have I overlaid fragments of memory with layers of stories, recounted by others, stories that in turn are their fragments of memory?

I have done all these things, yet still believe I know these events and people intimately, that I have remembered accurately, and that these memories are shared with others who did and did not live in our town. (p.4)

Her book is centred on Sorrento, but she takes a wider view as an observer. She has a child’s-eye view of politics. Her father’s family were Liberal voters: her mother’s family were Labor, and even Communist. The arrest of the Petrovs made an impression on her, although she thought that they looked a lot like Cec and Una Burley, who lived around the corner. Cec was the school bus driver, and Una Burley was the local gossip, and many paragraphs are prefaced with “According to Una Burley….”. Robert Gordon Menzies, the Prime Minister, seemed to be an immovable fixture of the 50s and early 60s, almost beyond politics to the eyes of child (I remember feeling the same way). As with the Queen, political figures were just there, unquestioned. The school turned out to see the Queen, catching the bus into Melbourne to line up along Toorak Road, only to see a “white-gloved hand and a pale face below a thatch of violets” (p. 98). The next Sunday it appeared that the Queen might be coming down to Sorrento to visit prominent resident M. H. Baillieu, but these ended up being put aside because the Royal Couple were resting “their shoes off, stretched out on a spare bed in Government House. Their intended visit was nothing more than a rumour started by persons unknown.” (p. 99)

Likewise, she observes but does not participate in the sectarian split that divided 1950s Australian society, played out at the political level through the ALP/DLP split, and at the personal level through family allegiances to either the Catholic or Protestant churches. As the child of a ‘mixed’ marriage, she attended both the Catholic and Anglican churches. She writes of the Billy Graham crusade at the MCG on 15 March, attended by 130,000 people, 15,000 more than had watched the Melbourne 1956 premiership. She was there: she made her decision for Christ, but “I knew already that I didn’t want to enter into correspondence about God and Jesus and whether I was leading a Christian life, with anyone” (p. 63)

Her description of school life, marching, grammar classes, the march through Australian history of Explorers and Sheep are all familiar to me: obviously school rooms didn’t change much in the 50s and 60s.

Her family was not rich, and her father was a “drinker”. She feared the Continental Hotel (still prominent on the hill in Sorrento) and wished that her father was one of the Men Who Were Not Interested in Drink.

The men who were interested were in the front bar of the Continental every evening, drinking more desperately and rapidly as six o’clock approached. I tried never to go past the Conti after five because of the frightening noise, the hot air, and the beery smoke that might rush out to engulf me as the door opened with men going in and out. But more than the small and the noise, I feared looking up through the golden letters on the window, PUBLIC BAR, into my father’s eyes. (p. 132)

They only had television for two weeks in 1958 when they borrowed another family’s television and kelpie while they were on holidays. They went to the movies, they listened to the radio. They had purchased a refrigerator on hire-purchase, but her father forgot to make the payments and a note was left warning that it would be repossessed unless the money was found. As a result, her mother never bought anything else on hire purchase, and so it took years for the wood stove to give way to the white electric stove, the Hoover to take over from the straw broom, or the wireless to give way to the television.

From her child’s eye viewpoint, she observes her mother’s anger and bitterness towards her father, his family and small town life, but it is somehow separate from her. She sees the young girls who win beauty contests, marry the local footballer, and suddenly are saddled with children and shabby cardigans, all the glamour gone from their lives.

Sex, politics and religion: she sees all these but they are not questioned or challenged. It’s a world that has been congealed in aspic, with certainties and truths, petty triumphs and small luxuries. A very different world. I think that much of the appeal of this book is the nostalgia and sense of safety that it evokes. You can understand why conservatives turn to the past to go ‘back on track’ or making America/ or whatever country you choose ‘great again’. There’s not a lot of analysis, but it’s not completely local either: Skelton has, as she said, evoked memories that are both local to Sorrento, but also common to other Australians at the time. At times I felt as if I were suffocating in mothballs and tight clothes, at other times I yearned for the simplicity and innocence of earlier times. I do wonder how someone born in the 1980s or 1990s would read this book. I suspect that it really would seem, as L.P. Hartley said, like a foreign country, where they do things differently.

My rating: 7/10

Read because: Bookgroup

Sourced from: Left-over CAE book.

I hear with my little ear: Podcasts 16-23 September 2025

The Shadows of Utopia Season 2 Episode 13: Tet- Part 1 Hue Time Period Covered 1968

This episode covers the Tet Offensive of early 1968. Lachlan links the media coverage of the event, with the extreme scenes in Saigon, to the reality of the offensive and what the communists hoped to achieve. It was a failure of intelligence, and the Viet Cong intended it to be the start of a revolution. Five or six major cities were taken, and there was a 6 hour fight in the US Embassy, but there was no follow-up.In Hue, perhaps the most stunning battle of the offensive took place, as for four weeks the city was occupied by the NVA and NLF. During this time, as a brutal campaign of house-to-house combat took place, the communists embarked upon a reign of terror to reshape the city they had taken, at least 2800 civilians were murdered. The US held off bombing for the first 10 days, but then they smashed the city. In the second week the US still hadn’t taken it back, but by the third week the US and South Vietnamese took it back. Hanoi admitted that expected uprisings had not occurred. The US media emphasized the surprise North Vietnamese victory and there was a turning point as Walter Kronkite described the situation as a stalemate.

And with that… I was off to Vietnam myself.

‘The Uncaged Sky’ by Kylie Moore-Gilbert

2022, 403 p.

It is a paradox that repressive penal systems try to break an individual in two opposed ways. Either they quash the individual through impossible labour in a mass dehumanizing project (I’m thinking here of the long-ago-read The Gulag Archipelago or One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich) or they annihilate prisoners’ identity through enforced idleness and solitary confinement. University of Melbourne academic Kylie Moore-Gilbert was arrested in September 2018 on charges of espionage, and spent over a year in solitary confinement during her 804 days in the Iranian Evin and Qarchak prisons.

By its very nature, it’s hard to write about solitary confinement, because just like the space and the endless nothingness, there’s only so many words in which to express it. When the stream of days is broken by Ramadan for a second time, she is struck by the waste of her life:

Thinking about Ramadan a year later meant the unbearable realisation that I had wasted another twelve months of my life in 2A. Twelve months in a world whose total inhabitants could be counted on both hands. Twelve months in a world which had to be navigated in darkness, via touch and sound and slivers of light through the edges of a blindfold. Twelve months in which time did not exist, in which each day was both a minute and a decade, in which each week was both a second and a hundred years. Last Ramadan felt like it was only yesterday, because so little had happened in the interim. But then again, everything had happened. Everything and nothing. (p. 249-50)

I seem to have read or watched a couple of accounts of imprisonment lately (the film The Correspondent – review here– and books and articles about Jose Mujica). What comes over strongly with both Peter Greste and Kylie Moore-Gilbert is their utter bewilderment as the framing of charges seems to change over time and comes long after the initial arrest. Both Australians feel poorly served by many of the embassy officials dealing with them at first (although this seems to shift with time) and both feel that nothing is being done at an inter-government level to seek their release. The advice given to families at home to keep quiet and leave it to the government flies in the face of what both Greste and Moore-Gilbert felt they needed in the situation, and in both cases hunger striking and intransigence attracted more attention – not always welcome- than compliance and silence.

For Moore-Gilbert, the experience of solitary confinement, and having to return to it for a promised 96 hours that stretched into months, was almost intolerable. At times she urged that her behaviour, which at times was unwise, be considered as a symptom of mental illness and she was certainly dosed up with anti-depressants and sleeping tablets.

The most unnerving and treacherous aspect of her imprisonment was the complex relationship she had with her main interrogator Qazi Zadeh from the Iranian Islamic Revolutionary Guard. Saturnine and powerful, she claims that he began flirting with her, while incredibly having his wife appointed to supervise her. She needed to walk the tightrope of resisting his advances, while trying to leverage them to her advantage. Just as freedom was within her grasp, she found herself blocked by him, in a bizarre attempt to keep her in jail so that he could continue to contact her. It must have been a lonely, high-stakes situation where she could trust no-one, and in a mis-step she told his wife that the relationship was not of her volition. It only made it worse for her.

What made it possible to continue with the book was the knowledge that she did, eventually, gain release in exchange for three Iranian prisoners held by the Thai government. Was everything possible done by the Australian government for her? At the end of the book she is grateful to Nick Warner and the Australian ambassador Lyndall Sachs, although she has raised questions about the softly-softly approach.

She notes that 43 years of Islamic Republic rule has plunged Iran into a “crisis of human rights of unfathomable proportions” with the country becoming an open-air prison of 84 million people (p. 403). As occurred with Peter Greste, and with other political prisoners, she finishes the book with a plea for other political prisoners who have not been released.

I can’t help but be profoundly affected by what I witnessed inside some of Iran’s worst prisons. I feel it is my duty to speak up for my friends, as it is to tell the truth about what happened to me. If the events I have recounted in this book have similarly touched you, dear reader, I ask you, too, to use your voice. When you are a prisoner, knowing that there are people on the outside who support you and care about your plight truly can be the difference between giving up or continuing the fight. (p. 403)

We can only take her word for it.

My rating: 8/10

Read because: I had been aware of her imprisonment and wanted to learn about the experience from her perspective as an academic.

Six Degrees of Separation: from ‘We Have Always Lived in the Castle’ to…

It’s literally the first Saturday of the month, which makes it Six Degrees of Separation day. This meme, hosted by Kate at Books Are My Favourite and Best involves Kate nominating a book I have rarely read (in this case, We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson) and then nominating six other titles of books that spring to mind.

  1. With ‘castle’ in the title of the starting book, what else could I go for but I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith? In Grade 7 and 8, I just loved this book and kept reborrowing it from the school library. I saw the film, but it didn’t have the magic for me now that it had as a young girl. I have a copy on my shelves, but I don’t know if I want to re-read it or not. Perhaps some books are best left as memories.
  2. Brideshead Revisited had a castle in it too. I loved the series with Jeremy Irons. I know that I read the book too, while I was at university.
  3. L.P. Hartley’s The Go-Between was set in a big house as well, told from the perspective of a visitor from a lower class who doesn’t know the ‘rules’ of the gentry. We read it in Matric (yes, I’m that old), and I think that it has one of the best starting lines in literature: “The past is a foreign country. They do things differently there.”
  4. Like everyone else in the world, we read To Kill a Mockingbird at school too. I have re-read this one, many times, and every time I hear the music to the absolutely perfect movie, my eyes fill with tears. To me, this book is emblematic of the Deep South
  5. Another book set in the South- New Orleans this time- is The Yellow House by Sarah M.Broom (my review here). The youngest of twelve children in a working class family, she tells the story of her family home in New Orleans, interweaving national and local history, family stories and her own story of place and identity.
  6. The Lives of Houses, edited by Kate Kennedy and Hermione Lee is a collection of essays that emerged from a 2017 conference titled ‘The Lives of Houses’ held at the Oxford Centre for Life-Writing at Wolfson College, Oxford. This conference brought together scholars from different disciplines and professions, with an emphasis on British, Irish, American and European houses. The ‘big’ names include Hermione Lee, Margaret Macmillan, David Cannadine, Jenny Uglow, Julian Barnes, and it focuses on 19th century British writers and a peculiarly British form of being ‘the writer’ in a mixture of eccentricity and domesticity. (My review here)

So somehow or other I started off with a castle and ended up in a house.

‘Homegoing’ by Yaa Gyashi

2016, 300 p.

Despite its modest 300 pages, this book covers a huge scope, covering three hundred years over two continents: Africa and America. It opens in Ghana in the mid 18th century, with two half-sisters who are unknown to each other. One sister Effia, of Fante tribal heritage, is coerced into marrying a white British officer sent to oversee Cape Coast Castle, a staging post for enslaved Africans prior to being shipped across the Middle Passage. Living in luxury at the Castle, she is oblivious to her half-sister Esi, of Asante tribal heritage, imprisoned as “cargo” in the basement holding pens, before being shipped to America. The two family trees bifurcate at this point as Effia’s line stays mainly based in Ghana, with the ongoing effects of colonization affecting the life events of generation after generation. Esi’s line is based in America, spanning slavery, Jim Crow legislation, the Harlem Renaissance and drug-fuelled urban life.

The opening pages of the book have a time line, tracing the generations in two distinct branches. The narrative alternates between the two branches, in a series of fourteen separate but linked short stories. They could be read separately because each one in effect starts again in its opening paragraphs, although there are small familial references that allow the reader to place the character within their familial context. In many ways this disjointed narrative reflects the dislocation of slavery and the rootlessness of not knowing where you come from. It was a rather jarring reading experience: you would come to be invested in a character, only to have the narrative whisk you across the ocean and time into a new story.

Running through the book is the theme of betrayal and complicity. The coastal Fante tribe capture and sell the Asante people to white slavers. In Harlem Renaissance New York, a black man who ‘passes’ as white leaves his wife to marry a white woman. Step-mothers are cruel to their step-children; families shun their gay children. There is also the theme of severance: two half-sisters growing up on different sides of the globe; and particularly in the American part of the narrative, severance between parents and children, one of the tools of enslavement, but which recurs from generation to generation. This severance lies at the heart of identity and reflects the title of the book: one of the characters, speaking of the Back to Africa movement says “We can’t go back to something we ain’t never been to in the first place. It ain’t ours anymore.”

A rather heavy-handed motif of the book was a pair of gold-flecked stones, one each given to the two half-sisters by their mother Maame. Esi’s stone was soon lost, buried in the mud of the holding cell at Cape Coast Castle, while the other stone was handed from generation to generation. I was dreading a rather mawkish resolution of the two stones at the end of the book but fortunately Gyasi was an astute enough writer not to fall to such an easy trope.

I enjoyed the book, with the equal weight given to the Ghanan and American experience, a weight judiciously and scrupulously meted out. I did find myself thinking of Alex Haley’s Roots which took a similar generational approach but from memory, there was not the bifocal approach of both African and American stories in that book.

It is particularly impressive that this is a debut novel, as the author has such control of a tightly structured dual narrative. The structure did feel a bit like a straitjacket at times, and not all characters were as fully developed as others. But it is a good exploration of slavery, colonialism, inter-generational trauma and the intersection of colour, class and gender- in many ways a book of its time, despite its historical focus.

My rating: 8/10

Read because: Ivanhoe Reading Circle selection. I wish that I had written this review soon after reading the book, instead of waiting weeks. You’d think that I’d know by now.

Sourced from: Readings paperback.

I hear with my little ear: Podcasts 8-15 September 2025

The Rest is History Episode 576 The Irish War of Independence Part I. The Rise of the IRA Between 1909-11 Britain wanted to give Home Rule, but the Northern Irish unionists didn’t want it. World War I froze any progress on the question. Then, during the war, in 1916 the Easter Uprising took advantage of the opportunity of Britain being otherwise distracted, but it was quickly crushed, leading to the arrests of between 1000-1500 people. 187 were imprisoned, and 14 were executed, including Roger Casement. The Nationalists used the deaths for propaganda purposes in the midst of UK apathy. The Unionists, who constituted about 30% had influence in the British cabinet butBritain was taking an each-way bet as Sinn Fein became more prominent. Arthur Griffith, the founder of Sinn Fein, worked as a printer, and organized boycotts and agitation and stood for by-election. Michael Collins was a military organizer within Sinn Fein, not just a gun runner. He emerged when the other leaders were jailed in 1917. De Vallera was the President, and Griffith was the Vice-President of Sinn Fein and they accepted the aim of an independent Irish Republic. In December 1918 there were elections held in the UK and Ireland with an enlarged electorate, with 70% of electors voting for the first time. It yielded a Sinn Fein victory.

The Human Subject The Man With the Artificial Windpipe was Andemariam Beyene, an engineering student from Eritrea studying in Iceland. In 2011 he was desperate for a cure for the large tumour that had been discovered in his trachea. He had tried surgery and radiotherapy and nothing had worked.Dr Paolo Macchiarini, Karolinska Institute’s star surgeon presented himself as Andemarian’s best and last option. He proposed an experimental treatment – but one that had never been done before on a human being. Andemariam would be the first. Unfortunately, he agreed to it. Macchiarini was a good publicist, and published the results of the surgery soon afterwards- too soon, because Andemarian died, as did all three patients who had this surgery. Macchiarini ended up being jailed for 2 1/2 years, and his papers were retracted.

‘No Dancing in the Lift: A Memoir’ by Mandy Sayer

2025, 227 p.

I feel a bit as if I’ve come half-way into a conversation with this book, because this memoir by Mandy Sayer is in fact her fourth (no fear of an unexamined life, here). But although it is discussing her life, it is more a love letter to her father, Gerry, addressed to him in the second person.

At my age, one attends an increasing number of funerals. I’ve often been struck by the practice in giving eulogies where the deceased person is addressed as “you”, as if they are present and listening. This is how Sayer speaks to her father, as she revisits their shared life and describes the last months of his life as she visits him daily as he moves between hospice care and her own apartment.

Her father had not been a constant presence in her life. Her parents, Gerry and Betty, separated when she was ten years old. It was an erratic, bohemian, drug-and-alcohol fuelled upbringing, and when she went to live with her mother, along with her siblings Lisa and Gene, her mother subsided further into alcoholism and toxic relationships. There were reconciliations, and further falling aparts. Her father came back into her life when, at the age of 20 she travelled with him to the United States to busk on the streets and parks of New York City, New Orleans and Colorado, he on drum, she tap-dancing. Now, in No Dancing in the Lift her own marriage has ended and she is a published author circulating in the literary scene in Sydney, and her father is dying of cancer.

Her father had been a noted jazz drummer in Sydney, playing with both local and international acts. He had a cleft lip and palate, which affected his speech badly. As I have a cleft myself, I was interested to see the child’s-eye view of the parent’s condition. It was accepted completely, and she knew that he had spent years at Westmead Children’s Hospital having surgery. (Actually, having experienced it myself, I know that surgery was more a recurrent than ongoing event, often with years in between surgeries- although it might not have been remembered that way). At one stage, her father falls asleep open-mouthed, and for the first time, she could see into his mouth and was appalled to see how incompletely the palate had been repaired.

As her father’s cancer progresses, he becomes hostile and belligerent, although this subsides after further health conditions emerge. Her siblings, having survived the same childhood that she did, are troubled people as well: either distant in the case of her sister, or manipulative in the case of her brother. Both parents had embarked on complicated relationships after the marriage breakup, and as Gerry becomes sicker, people and situations emerge from his past. But fellow musicians and writers emerge as well, and the reefers and drinks flow in what must have seemed a racketty lifestyle in the midst of the inflexibility and judgement of hospitals and institutions.

In the midst of this, Sayer meets fellow author Louis Nowra, who was married at the time and their relationship deepens from initial attraction, to a chaste and tentative friendship, then to a full-blown love affair, observed and encouraged by her father Gerry. Death and love, both becoming stronger at the same time: it is a confronting, and yet in many ways, perfectly natural conjunction.

She has not changed names in this book, and so you meet authors Louis Nowra and Linda Jaivan, musician Jeff Duff, and actors Geoffrey Rush and Cate Blanchett move in and out of the pages. It is an intensely local book, with the landscapes of Sydney and Darlinghurst described evocatively.

From the start of the book, you know as a reader how the book is going to end. What did surprise me was that these events took place twenty five years ago, as the rawness and the hollowness seemed so recent. Although I shouldn’t really be surprised because, as the child, you are always the child. Although, as she says, her father has taught her how to grow old- and in his case, unrepentantly and without necessarily growing up.

My rating: 8.5/10

Sourced from: review copy from Transit Lounge, via Scott Eathorne.

I hear with my little ear: Podcasts 1-7 September 2025

History Hit The Surrender of Japan In the broadcast to mark the surrender of Japan on August 15th, 1945 Emperor Hirohito’s voice crackled over Japanese airwaves to announce the unthinkable – the surrender of Japan. It was the first voice recording of him, and there would be many Japanese who had never heard him before. This episode, featuring Dr. Evan Mawdsley, points out the Allies wanted regime change because they distrusted the deepseated militarism of Japanese society. Technically, there was a neutrality pact between Japan and USSR signed in 1941, but on 9 August 1945 Russia entered into the Japanese arena, which meant that Japan could no longer defend Manchuria. Days later, the nuclear bombs were dropped. In a bit of what-if history, the podcast goes on to explore what would have happened had Japan not surrendered.

In the Shadows of Utopia Season 2 Episode 12 The Cambodian Civil War Begins Part 2: A Revolution Waged with Empty Hands Time Period Covered 1967-1968. In November 1967 Jackie Kennedy visited Sihanouk (in fact, I saw photos of her at the Raffles Hotel in Phnom Penh when I dropped by there one day). Sihankouk was convinced that there was a communist insurgency in his own country, surrounded by Communist countries, so he began looking increasingly to the United States.

Meanwhile, in November 1967 Pol Pot went to the north eastern base of the CPK (Communist Party of Kampuchea), which was supported by local tribespeople, but poorly armed. Both Vietnam and the CPK planned to have uprisings at New Year in 1968, but there was little support from the Communist parties in other countries: China discouraged the uprising because it was preoccupied with its own cultural revolution, and Vietnam ignored the Khmer pleas for help when skirmishes were being quashed. On January 17th and 18th the CPK attacked army and police depots in order to seize their arms, and the uprising began. It started in Battambang (over near the Thai border), where 10,000 villagers joined in, and moved into the jungles. With no support from China or Vietnam, the CPK went it alone, identifying itself as the vanguard of the revolution, and Pol Pot set himself up as leader. He lavished high praise on China, especially the Cultural Revolution and the Great Leap Forward (despite the reality) and the Chinese Student Association emulated the Big Character posters of the Cultural Revolution. All this pro-China action was too much for Sihanouk, who withdrew his ambassador from China. In January 1968 Sihanouk cracked down on the Battambang uprising, blaming everyone. He brought back Lon Nol, who undertook a scorched-earth approach against the uprising. Yet Sihanouk continued to support the Viet Cong and the Vietnamese communists who were in Cambodia, just not the home-grown ones. The United States was aware of the border camps and the Pentagon was even considering invading Cambodia, which was officially neutral, but the State Department put the kibosh on the plan. Sihanouk said that he couldn’t prevent crossings from Vietnam over the border, so he couldn’t object to the US engaging with them. He said he would shut his eyes to any American bombing. Did he know? Did the bombing start under LBJ? Meanwhile, the Tet offensive was under way in Vietnam.

‘Jose “Pepe” Mujica: The Labyrinths of Life’ Dialogue with Kintto Lucas

2020, 119 p.

This is a dialogue between the ex-president of Uruguay, Jose Mujica, and Kintto Lucas, a journalist, writer and Vice-Chancellor and Ambassador for Uruguay under Mujica’s government. As Lucas explains in the introduction, he first met Mujica in the Punta Carretas prison in 1971, when Lucas was just eight years old. He visited his older brother, who like Mujica was a member of the National Liberation Movement – Tupamaros (MLN-T) every Saturday. This was the prison from which 106 Tupamaros escaped in 1971 by tunnelling out of the prison, but Lucas’ brother was not among them. His cell had been changed at the last minute, and he no longer had access to the tunnel. However, by 1972 he was released and exiled to Chile. Kintto left Uruguay in 1980 and lived in Brazil until he returned after the withdrawal of the military in 1985. On his return he joined the MLN as a militant and worked as a journalist on a Mate Amargo bi-weekly Tupumaro newspaper, which became the best-selling newspaper in Uruguay.

Why am I talking so much about the author, and not Mujica himself? That’s because Lucas himself is front and centre in this book, with a 54 page introduction and he certainly doesn’t take a backward step in the interview, either. I didn’t bother counting the words, but I suspect that Lucas talks as much as Mujica does, and at times I just wanted him to shut up.

There’s lots of internal Uruguayan politics in here, which went right over my head. Still, it was good to get beyond the aphorisms and homespun wisdom that Mujica repeated over and over in his many interviews with Western journalists. I’m not sure whether this book was written in English or Spanish- an editor is credited, but not a translator- but it is rather strangled English and not particularly pleasant to read. As Mujica rarely spoke English, I think that this is a transcript of a Spanish conversation translated by the author, but it does not read particularly well.

Apparently when the Tupamaros held up a bank or a cinema, they would harangue the literally captive audience about politics and justice, before letting most of them leave. Reading this, you go away feeling rather ear-bashed by both of them too.

My rating: 6/10

Sourced from: Kindle e-book.