By Favel Parrett
Hachette, 2012.
I shouldn’t have read this book in one go. I should have savoured it a little. I did pause now and then to reflect on the writing, how it works with such short, punchy sentences, and how the prose flows rather than comes across staccato as a result. Her economy of words is something that is raised in almost every review, and there is good reason. Parrett doesn’t use a superfluous word, doesn’t use a long word where a short one will do, and doesn’t get heavy-handed with the text at any point. As a reader, you are kept in the safe shallows. For some of us, those of us who like to set sail for darker waters and more challenging constructs, it can be a little disquieting.
Harry and his older brother Miles are making the best out of their lives since their mother died in a car accident. Their father, an abalone fisherman, is abusive and neglectful, and the book takes you along their path to escape. There is also George, a scarred, old man living alone who has secrets of his own, who plays a part in their journey.
Whilst I greatly enjoyed and admired the writing style, and the young boys wormed their way easily into my heart, there wasn’t much in this novel I found new, refreshing or exciting. Each character seemed already familiar to me, and there was a lack of twist or surprise to keep me really interested. I powered through it in one afternoon because it was so easy to read, but mainly because I was hoping there would be something at the end that would make the book last with me. I’ll be keeping an interested eye on what Favel Parrett produces next.
By M L Stedman
Vintage, 2012
I’d heard through cyberspace months ago that this book was one to watch out for, and I’ve been patiently waiting for its release. Finally secured myself a copy, and launched into it, only to wonder whether it was actually going to grab me. I started berating myself for listening to the ‘buzz’, and for again being let down by anything with hype around it … but as I went on, as I moved further into the book, the story completely pulled me in.
The story opens in 1926, people are still reeling from the horrors of war, and we meet Isabel and Tom living on an island off Western Australia, tending the lighthouse. Things aren’t perfect, as they are trying unsuccessfully to start a family. After Isabel suffers a third miscarriage, a boat washes up on shore with a dead man and a living baby on board. What follows is a mess of decisions that change their path for better and, eventually, for much, much worse.
When I ran the storyline of this book by a couple of friends today, one made the comment that it was an unrealistic premise for a book. Obviously I didn’t do the book justice in my recounting – Stedman has given the characters enough background to make their choices seem possible, even probable in the situation. What Stedman doesn’t do is provide an obvious ending, and this is where the book sinks its claws in. You just want to know how it can all possibly work out in the end.
There are a few points where the author tries to lure you off down a path to a possible alternative ending, but I don’t think they added anything to the suspense of the overall novel (which is powerful enough not to need any extras) and in fact, I was annoyed by their conspicuous attempts at distraction. This book is a page-turner – it’s not capital-L literature, but it is good. Cry? I cried my eyes out.
The all-too-familiar image of Lindy Chamberlain & her daughter Azaria at Uluru.
Penguin, 2012.
In 1980 when Azaria Chamberlain went missing to the cry of, “The dingo’s got my baby!”, I was 12 years old. The media frenzy that followed became the background to my teens, and had an enormous impact on me. I read and re-read every printed word about the case in the hope that Lindy would be found innocent, not wanting to believe that a mother could murder her own baby in such circumstances. I wrote essays about it for school assignments, and I still have my own worn copy of Azaria, the book. I was stunned when Lindy was found guilty and imprisoned. The vortex of the media hype had completely drawn me in (along with much of the rest of the world at the time).
The Mistake recreates this vortex, and to powerful effect. A young woman makes the enormously difficult decision to adopt out her unwanted baby (through an illegal arrangement) and this decision comes back to – not haunt her but – devastate her comfortable life years later. As an adoptee myself, I came to this book from the adoption angle, but this book is less about adoption and more about a missing baby and society’s need for answers as to the baby’s whereabouts. What is brought out in the novel is that the need to know what has happened to the baby is not necessarily borne out of concern for the tot, but more out of a nose for scandal. People seem endlessly poised, waiting for a juicy, newsworthy skeleton-from-a-closet to chew on, to unite them in their disgust and judgment. It’s not a flattering view of society, but it’s an honest and stark reflection. Wendy James understands people, that much is clear from this novel. She understands that people are complex, and contradictory. Walt Whitman said it: “Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.”
James has not made sentimental slop of this narrative (though the cover might suggest this). She keeps it sharp, and cleverly avoids any emotional quicksand. The same can be said of Jodie Garrow, the woman at the heart of her novel. James ensures we don’t become too attached to Jodie. She is cool. She is aloof. She’s almost bizarrely unresponsive to her husband’s adultery. But everyone has their reasons, and as you read this novel you remind yourself that this woman has given away her baby. She has had to harden her heart to continue. Jodie’s character is complex, and a little out of reach, and this should be said of all characters in novels. For who, ever, really knows anyone?
This novel, described by Penguin as a ‘domestic thriller’, has much in it to reflect on, and will leave you thinking. I’m still trying to pinpoint the “mistake”. ’Mistake’ doesn’t come near to defining some points in the novel, and at other points it is completely the wrong word. I’d be curious to hear where other readers find the ‘mistake’.
For the record, Lindy Chamberlain has been exonerated. And Wendy James, thank you for the Dorothy Parker quote at the beginning of the novel! So very apt. ”It’s not the tragedies that kill us, it’s the messes.”
Text publishing, 2011 
Throughout this book, I could not shake the image of the 2011 Archibald prizewinning portrait by artist Vincent Fantauzzo of TV chef Matt Moran, in his chef’s whites, with a devilish grin on his dial and a glint in his eye reflecting the glint of the sharp scythe-like blade in his hand, whilst surrounded by slaughtered and skinned animals. The artist, it is claimed, is a friend of Matt Moran’s. I’m wondering if Wayne Macauley had Chef Moran in his mind, and if they are friends, because quite frankly, I’m not sure who has drawn the better picture of the manic chef!
Matt by Vincent Fantauzzo (winner 2011 Archibald portrait prize)
A dark novel, and darkly comic, it centres around Zac, an errant juvenile who is given an opportunity to refocus and gain new skills through Cook School, in rural Victoria. The novel is written in Zac’s voice, and the sentences and paragraphs run on into each other, without a lot in the way of punctuation. It takes a few pages to get used to, but it works well. Zac’s chance to improve himself becomes an obsession. The madness seeps in early and you get the feeling it’s not going to go well, even as Zac’s star rises through his hard work and his all-consuming focus. There are pages of details about food prep, about cooking with seasonal produce, about farming, but this is not dull detail, oh no! It is completely fascinating, and often, downright shocking (disgusting). For those of you out there who are teetering on the edge of vegetarianism, this book will give you that final big shove. I could not mindfully eat another grain-fed piece of freshly slaughtered lamb again.
This book is Thorstein Veblen’s Theory of the Leisure Class revisited, and like Veblen, it maintains a humourous stance throughout. Zac is more than aware of his place in the world, and is almost gleeful that he has found the key to his future – that is, if he kisses the right arses, serves the right people exactly what they want, is able to predict and serve what they want, then his future success will be guaranteed. He is eventually hired by a wealthy Melbourne family, and is given a room in their mansion, the keys to a car, his own phone, his own gold card, and free rein with their kitchen. His plan has worked to great effect. In the family are two daughters, and one is upset at her parents for hiring a cook (the reason he is hired is so the mother can spend quality time with her family at the table, not in itself a bad ideal) and believes her parents are causing Zac’s oppression. She, meanwhile, is heading off to Cambodia to do volunteer work (on daddy’s sharetrader earnings, and there is a wonderful scene when the whole shebang is going down the gurgler and she is begging her father to send her still more money).
Now said Nick correct me if I’m wrong but I reckon you probably come from a crap-poor family from the wrong side of the tracks you can see it in you even while you’re bowing all that jealousy and resentment but listen Chef let’s be honest where would you rather be in your little outer suburban crap-hole or in a mansion like this in one of the best streets in Melbourne? That’s what Melody doesn’t understand she got infected at uni doing soft-cock arts subjects but you and I know the real world’s got nothing to do with nanny-state socialism looking after those worse off than us by giving them just enough to make them happy and keep them where they are.
Things go from bad to worse, as the economic downturn forces people to get out of their businesses and make dramatic changes to their lifestyles, and Zac is caught in the downward spiral like a fly being washed down the sink. He makes a series of moves that will amuse (effectively setting up a hobby farm in the backyard of the mansion) and then finally shock. I’d recommend this book for any book groups out there – there will be lively discussion! I read it until the small hours of the night, because I had to find out where it was all leading. At the risk of spoiling anything, I’ll leave it there. Read it. You’ll be appalled.
