Rural fiction with soundtrack. Take two minutes to listen to Dimming of the Day.

https://m.youtube.com/channel/UC-mwZmMkVzpXQua35mGfrQg

Fever of Animals

Miles Allinson raises some interesting ideas in his novel, Fever of Animals. I particularly liked the theme of art and the artist and for me the strongest scene was when the young artist realises his own art is just not good enough and he will never make the grade. The low point of the story was the repeated denigration of landscape art, as though it is a lesser form. But I guess this was also a comment on the egotistical nature of some artists. He shows how pretentious and insecure creatives can be.

The story held my interest most of the time, but I did start to drift away from the middle chapter and his travels in search of Emil Bafdescu. This is where I felt the writer was trying too hard to create "meaning" rather than letting the prose work alone. It just felt too forced.

There is the potential for two separate novels, the Bafdescu/Romania story and the other, first love/artist's struggle etc, though the character of Alice was very unappealing. As is, combining the two didn't work for me.

Miles Allinson clearly has talent as a writer and hopefully will reach full potential if he refrains from trying to inject literary significance, but instead lets it develop naturally. 

Writing as compulsion

    Writing is a compulsion for me, but where does that force within come from, I wonder. I’ve never tried to explain it before, but perhaps it stems from reading. Librarians and teachers of literacy often express a desire for youngsters to “discover the joys of reading”. I’m guessing that joy of reading is behind my urge to write. 

An adventure into another world.

     It is not a desire to recreate the great writers (as if) but to recreate the feeling reading those writers gave me, of entering a different world, a subconscious world, an imaginary world . From those earliest days of my own literacy, I was able to enter other lives, whether it be from the simple story lines and characters of school books to my mother’s magazines which seemed always to feature stories about exotic lives lived on tea plantations in Ceylon or India. Reading was mind expanding and other worldly. Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, read as a child in Australia, opened a door to the world that has never been shut, as did Heidi, the story of the little girl who lives with her grandfather in the Swiss Alps. 

The Swiss mountains were a long
way from the Australian bush.

     In retrospect, the revelation of the inner lives of those and other characters, had a profound impact and influences the way I write and what I write about.

     Then there is inspiration. When I first read Faulkner’s, The Sound and the Fury, I remember closing the last page and thinking, wow, how did he do that. It was one of those profoundly moving novels that imprint themselves on the psyche; long after you have forgotten the plot details, you remember that moment of revelation; this writer is different to everyone I have read before. I think it inspired me in many ways to want to be a writer. Not so much to “write” like Faulkner, but to recreate the moment. It’s hard to explain.

     Writers come fairly quickly to the realisation they will not reach parity with the great writers of literature, but that does not stop them persisting, perhaps in a desire to find “the moment” or in an attempt to clarify their thoughts. As Faulkner said, ”I never know what I think about something until I read what I’ve written on it.”

This post was first published at http://booksbywomen.org/writing-as-compulsion/

May Gibbs imagery creates a Stella Spark

     When writing a short story about a family in Australia during the Great Depression, I recently found myself referencing, almost subconsciously, books I’d read in early childhood. Beatrix Potter, author of The Tale of Peter Rabbit and May Gibbs, author of Snugglepot and Cuddlepie both came to mind as I related the differences between a childhood set against an English landscape to that of an Australian childhood spent in the bush. Thinking about those influences a little harder, I realised many of those early experiences of storytelling are still informing my writing now.

     I didn’t notice these were female writers at the time; that came later, and when these classics were published, many females wrote under male pseudonyms, even when writing specifically about and for girls. But women write differently to men and though I read many books by male writers too, the ones who really reached me were the female voices.

     Intertextuality has been an aspect of writing and reading I really enjoy, so when I was describing in Place of Many Birds, a scene at Sandringham beach, in which two children find a seahorse, May Gibbs’ imagery leapt into the picture as if conjured from another sphere.

“We look at the big belly of the sea horse in the palm of my hand, turning it over and over and holding it to the sun to see inside. The sea horse’s body, yellowish and leathery beneath my fingertips, is dry and hard, blending a thick neck and curving tail encased in bony rings. At the end of its horse-like tubular snout, the dead eye of the sea horse stares back at us. I think of the dead seahorse, ridden by a sea fairy, floating gracefully through the waves. Reins made of seaweed hang from its mouth. The fairy escapes just in time from the mouth of a giant fish.” Place of Many Birds

     Even that fish has its roots in the Gibbs’ stories. The giant fish, John Dory, puts Snugglepot’s head in his mouth. Those vivid images, whether of terrifying Banksia Men or sweet little Ragged Blossom in her fraying blossom skirt, are imprinted so deeply, they are still able to appear unannounced.  Rather than lighting a spark, they ignited a love of literature that continues to burn. Can anyone walk past eucalypts drooping with pink blossom at this time of year, without recalling Gibbs.

New 5* review for Place of Many Birds

“Place of Many Birds” by Jan Merry is an exquisitely-written collection of short stories that takes place in a span of time from the late 1800s into the mid-20th century in Australia. The landscape of Australia becomes the primary “character” and common link among all of the short stories: the danger and struggle it imposes on its inhabitants as well as the vast beauty in which birds provide the soundtrack that become an integral part of the characters.
The core family plays a large part in many of the stories—“Before Winter Comes” is a particularly poignant tale of the delight an unexpected sponge cake brings to a sister and her two younger brothers whose mother has passed away. Loneliness is another theme found throughout: In “Killing Time,” Maurice piddles away his days, stretching out tasks, and taking long bike rides. He feels like he’s in the way of his son and daughter-in-law who live with him.
The title story, “Place of Many Birds,” reads almost like a stream of consciousness in which the narrator takes us through his family’s life out in the country, where he, his brother and mom stayed behind while their dad and older brother go to the city to prepare a life for the whole family there. His mother misses city life as she grew up in a quaint town in England with cobblestone paths and busy shops. The narrator becomes intricately tied to the land. As inconvenient as the dust, heat and flies can be, it’s something that will always stay with him. “All along the dusty edges of the road, we pass wattle trees, bottle brush and flowering gums where tiny creatures dressed in gamnut hats and ragged blossom clothes live.”
“Place of Many Birds” is an excellent collection of short stories. I highly recommend it for someone who wants to take his or her time and delve deeply into the characters’ thoughts as well as the vast landscape of Australia.
http://www.amazon.com/Place-Many-Birds-Australian-Stories-ebook/dp/B00BZ4O9MK/ref=cm_cr-mr-title#customerReviews

The Break Away an extract from Place of Many Birds short stories

     When writing about the past, about family, about true events, what does one leave in and what should be kept for posterity? The Break Away is based on a true event which resulted in the death of John Ickeringill in Australia, in 1891. I don't know about his personality, nor that of the others who witnessed the incident, so their characters are fictional.  What I could comment on truthfully was the 1838 Battle of Broken River which forms part of the narrative.

 
         “Eight men were slaughtered in the skirmish. In revenge, a hundred Aborigines were killed. There were many reprisal killings, a long time ago, nearly fifty years ago. It’s known as the Faithfull Massacre because the Faithfull brothers owned the sheep. Some call it the Battle of Broken River.”

Firelight flickers on the smooth trunks and writhing branches illuminating the ghostly whiteness of the trees in the moonlight. Long ribbons of shedding bark dangle in the soft wind coming off the river. Trees sway in a stealthy dance, like spirits from another world. How long does it take for ghosts to be laid to rest, I wonder. Is fifty years long enough?

“Their bodies are buried out here, but no one knows exactly where,” says Berry, the cool wind at our back and the warm glow of the fire in front.

“They didn’t attack because it was a hunting ground, but because it was ceremonial ground, a kangaroo ground.”

A coroner's inquest was held into the incident involving Ickeringill and his friends who set out one Saturday afternoon on a hunting expedition. 
 Place of Many Birds is available on Amazonhttp://www.amazon.com/Place-Many-Birds-Jan-Merry/dp/1500608947/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8 and http://www.amazon.com.au/Place-Many-Birds-Jan-Merry-ebook/dp/B00BZ4O9MK

Quiggan Brothers store Shepparton 1890s

Time for a Highland Fling

     Scotland and England are so different it is a wonder they have been joined together at all. Hadrian's Wall says a lot about the relationship and explains some of the resentment Scots hold towards England. The remains are not nearly as impressive as the original which was six meters high and three meters wide and stretched across the country for 117 kilometres. Designed to keep out the Picts (a kingdom of northern tribes occupying eastern and northern parts of Scotland) and built by the Romans, in many ways it defined the relationship. The wall was guarded and patrolled for almost 250 years and though the Romans upped and left, the wall remained; a dividing line reminding those in the north they didn't belong in the south unless they left their tartans and chiefs behind.

Hadrian's Wall near Birdoswald

Ancestors of David Cameron, British Prime Minister, are descendants of Clan Cameron from the Western Highlands, a spectacular place for walking and getting away from it all. On Knoydart peninsula the Old Forge pub is the most remote in the British Isles. Expect to find lots of music and rowdy locals enjoying the long summer evening on Inverie Ho. Reached only on foot, or by boat you can't ask for a more special destination. If you are looking for somewhere to stay, The Old Byre is highly recommended. Once a dairy, and now described as a bunkhouse, it has very comfortable with stylish accommodation.

The Old Byre Inverie on the Knoydart peninsula

Wild and remote, Inverie is reached by boat from Mallaig or a two day walk from Kinlochhourn. 

Cats of Montenegro

Icelandic World of Ice and Fire

Witness the tectonic plates being slowly torn apart

     It’s easy to see why scenes from Game of Thrones were filmed in Iceland. The land is a spectacular backdrop for any film location and for any holiday adventure. Iceland is Europe without the dainty, without the Baroque, without the castles and without the touts and queues. What it does have is mind blowing scenery, big open spaces, empty roads and a fascinating history that is well documented and presented for your entertainment and information.

      Reykjavik serves as a perfect base from where to start your exploration of a land that lies on the tectonic plate, the Mid-Atlantic Ridge. You can actually see where the Eurasian Plate and the North American Plate are slowly separating at 2.5cm a year. How cool is that!

      Based in Reykjavic, you are nicely positioned to take day trips along the Golden Circle which takes in the national park of Pingvellir, Gullfloss waterfall and the sites of Geysir and Stokkur. Geysir must be where we learned the name of geyser which we have attributed to all sorts of water spouts. It comes from the Norse verb geysa, to gush. In fact, many of our words and customs stem from this Norse culture.

Geysir is not as strong a Stokkur which regularly bursts forth

Summer wildflowers brief appearance

      Did you know law is Norse as are the concepts of Commonwealth and Parliament. The site of the very first parliament or assembly, the Althing in Norse, established in 930, is in Pingvellir National Park and you too can stand on the rock where gatherings of lawmakers and clans set about keeping warring factions apart and ensuring all Icelanders had a share of the pie. The mediaeval Icelandic state had a unique judicial structure based on the principal of consensus, so way back then, they had a uniquely democratic structure of governance and law making.

      My visit is in summer, so I don’t see the Northern Lights, but the long, long days make up for that. During August it doesn’t really get dark at all, so you have extra time for sightseeing and road trips. Tour companies offer many pricey treats, but if you are a driver, it’s far better to hire your own car and do your own thing. Beware the speed limit though...just 90k. If you are caught speeding a hefty fine will arrive in the post a few weeks later. Highways tend to be single carriageways and there aren’t many freeways, but the bonus is, traffic is minimal.

Blue Lagoon bathing

      The Blue Lagoon thermal springs and spa are just about the most popular item on most tourist’s agenda. You won’t be alone in the warm bath of geothermal seawater, silica, algae and minerals but you will emerge feeling simultaneously calm and energized. There’s a mid-pool bar and plenty of silica to baste and exfoliate your skin. At 40 euros it’s not a cheap experience but it is a unique one for most.

Skogafoss wall of water

View Seljalandfoss from the road

Then there are the dozens of waterfalls across Iceland. From Reykjavic be sure to make the effort to reach Gullfoss, a spectacular force of nature and Skogafoss in the south, which is very easy to access. In fact you can walk right up to its thundering wall of water. Also in the south is Seljalandfoss which you can walk behind.

Gullfoss in winter

      If you visit in summer, you will understand why Game of Thrones took inspiration from such a unique environment and want to return in winter to enjoy the experience in a different season when glaciers grow every larger and rivers and falls are transformed into walls of ice. Or should that be Beyond the Wall.

Spectacular force of nature Gullfoss

Songs for the Road

     Music, an essential ingredient of any road trip, has the knack of crystallizing the mood of the moment and transporting us, even years later, to another time and place.

Open top driving in Hawaii accompanied by Tears for Fears

      While living the experience of your journey across the Nullarbor, to the back of Bourke, along the Birdsville Track or beyond the black stump, the car stereo pumps out the accompanying soundtrack. Whether going up the highway, along the coast, over the mountain pass or down through the valleys, the sing-along, the radio, the cassette and now the CD fills lulls in conversation, quiets the too talkative or acts as lyrical companion to the lone driver.

     Some songs, seemingly disconnected but somehow integral to the trip, are able to reach into a past we think we’ve forgotten. In the 70s, the guitars of the Allman Brothers and Derek and the Dominoes filled the sandy campgrounds of the Greek Islands. Olive groves wavered to the clatter and splutter of Volkswagen combi vans and Layla’s entwining guitars. In Spain, the single lane country road between Barcelona and Sitges, now a six-lane highway, strummed and hummed with Cat Stevens and on Mediterranean shores, young people got drunk, fell in love and danced in the moon’s shadow.

     As our open topped convertible circumnavigated the Hawaiian island of Oahu in the 80s, the palm trees swayed, the surf rolled in and the sun shone to Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fears who topped the charts and chimed out of every doorway on Waikiki.

     Not that all road trips have to be exotic. Elvis Costello accompanied my sons and me on our drives to school in the 90s. During that 15 or 20 minute trip, depending on traffic, I listened to his quirky lyrics, instead of adolescent bickering. The man who sang, What a good year for the roses, many blooms still linger there, made for a little more harmony and soothed fragile morning tempers. Whenever I hear that funny old voice, dispensing one of his ironic narratives, I still see two stroppy teenagers, all insolence and spots, arguing over whose turn it is to have the front seat.

     When I left London for the Continent recently, my son thrust an eclectic collection of CDs through the window. Here, he said, you’ll need these. He was right. By the outskirts of Calais, Europop made station-flipping tiresome. The CDs became travelling companions and over the following thousands of kilometres, we rotated through them, testing and getting to know them until the songs and voices became inextricably entwined with place and experience.

Elvis' baritone is a wonderful driving companion

     That other Elvis, boyish and exuberant in his first Sun sessions, rocked us around Amiens and the Somme battlefields. Raw and untrained, his youthful and vigorous, That’s all right, Mama, could have been the poignant cry of any soldier buried in the cemeteries dotting the landscape. Instead of evoking connections with a swivel- hipped love hound with bouffy quiff, his molasses-dripping baritone now suggests the rumble of war and poppy strewn French meadows.

     The southwest corner of France meets Spain where the long black ribbon of the 

Poppy fields of the Somme Northern France 

tollway penetrates the mountains in a series of tunnels. Australia’s, The Dirty Three fits the mood of the Pyrenees perfectly.  Indian Love Song, quietly intense as we enter the gaping mouth of the tunnel, builds with energetic passion as the mountain consumes us. The soaring violins start to race with the traffic…150kph…170kph. It’s adrenalin-pumping music to accompany a fierce contest of who will reach Spain first, you or the monstrous Mercedes throbbing at your bumper daring you to go faster. Cars race by, big, black and powerful. The violins play a rousing accompaniment to the startling pace. A BMW races into the rear vision mirror, braking at the last minute before swerving to the outside lane and sweeping past in a dramatic overtake.

Serge Gainsbourg accompanied us along the Riviera

     All the way through Spain and Portugal we played the collection. From Lisbon to the Algarve, Johnny Cash played dry and mean. Tom Waits’ growled all the way from Valencia to Avignon. Serge Gainsbourg rode with us along the Riviera to Nice, Cannes and Monte Carlo. Jane Birkin panting en duo avec Serge seems apt as we negotiate the cliffs leading to the playground of the decadent and infamous. Je t’aime, she gasps as Serge brings her skillfully to a breathless crescendo while below the fabulous yachts flaunt themselves on the azure sea.

     Ahhh…places in the heart made all the more memorable by the backbeat of songs. These are the road trips that live on in our memories. These are the places we remember all our lives.