Saturday Reflections

I DREAD these public transport days on occasional weekends, especially train trips. I have never enjoyed train rides, probably connected to some hostile experiences at night on trains when I was younger. Sometimes it can be quite interesting though. Recently I had with me a National Geographic that contained an article about Amelia Earhart that was fascinating, and completely absorbed me until the train trundled slowly into Flinders St Station. I found out that she once travelled in her plane during a storm in which visibility was almost non-existent. It must have taken incredible bravery. They say she wasn’t the best pilot, male or female, of her time. But maybe she was the most ambitious and most courageous.


Last weekend the trip was in mid-afternoon from Preston to the city. I read the opening chapters of Alex Miller’s novel ‘Journey To The Stone Country.’ It didn’t grab me all that much but at least the time went quickly enough, so I must have been reasonably absorbed. I have read quite a bit of Alex Miller. I once wrote to him when he lived in Carlton about ‘Conditions of Faith’, his 2000 novel which is one of the best books I have ever read. I don’t like his other books nearly as much, although several are still very good. I am partly seduced by the Chartres Cathedral sections, where some of the significant action takes place. It is my favourite cathedral in the world. I love how you can see it on your approach for miles- how it totally dominates the town. How many lives have been directly influenced by it, whether involved in building it, maintaining it, working in it, or merely visiting it? There must be people who live in Chartres or its environs who visit it every day, and know all its intricacies. I find it fascinating that writers visit places (like film people looking for film locations) obsessively so they get to know the place intimately, in order to cover it faithfully in their stories. Much like Colm Toibin visited Henry James’ Lamb house many times for the relevant sections in The Master.’ Miller knew Chartres Cathedral well to write his novel.

The purpose of my trip to the city on Saturday was to meet Alex Miller, for the first time (oh, and to get him to sign some of my books). But first there was another train journey, this time to Glenferrie Station, to take me to a book launch at Hawthorn Readings, on Glenferrie Road. I didn’t feel like reading as much, so I observed this time. Sitting diagonally opposite me was a young couple, probably both about 18. They weren’t interesting per se, just really into each other and looking out the window, and pointing a lot as if it was the first time they had caught a train ride through the inner suburbs. He had pale skin and blonde hair, good looking in a classical Rupert Brooke private school style, a bit like the boy who is the object of interest in the film version of ‘Death In Venice.’ She was also blonde and tall and thin like Twiggy. Sitting opposite them was a middle aged man, probably mid-40’s, and he found them- her in particular- fascinating, to the point of rudeness. Even though he was sitting on the adjacent seat and in close proximity, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the young couple. I couldn’t stop looking at him for his brazenness and yet they didn’t appear to even notice him.

The book launch of the new novel, Autumn Laing, was very late. I used my time though. Alex Miller was alone more or less (I was a half hour early), and he looked just like he does on book dust jackets. He wore a yellowish/ green suit jacket and looked preoccupied, maybe a bit overwhelmed. He might be one of those writers who don’t really like being the centre of attention. I walked over, very nervous myself, thinking of that beautiful, beautiful writing. Hand extended, I said ‘I have been wanting to meet you for a long time.’ I received a blank expression. I then went on to tell him I have taught ‘Conditions Of Faith’ before, and explained a couple of the passages that students have written closely on, like Emily returning to the ‘boat hire lady’ for the first time since she was a child. Again, a blank expression, when a smile was what I was expecting. Worse, I then nervously said ‘Conditions Of Faith’ was my favourite book of his. As I said earlier, it was written in 2000. So if you think about it, I am more or less saying that his eight or nine subsequent novels aren’t as good. Whoops. I didn’t get far with Alex Miller, but to his credit I was bumbling along not making a lot of sense, and he was understandably preoccupied.

There was a good hour after that before his publisher from Allen & Unwin had something to say. I was surrounded by strangers but I went up and introduced myself to some people. There were people who live in Miller’s home town of Castlemaine who were friendly. One man didn’t seem to know his novels terribly well, but he has a coffee with him every Saturday morning so I guess that’s pretty good. Another man I soon discovered is the Head of Art at La Trobe, Bendigo. He has written several books- ‘coffee table books’ he described them- and he talked about the writing process, and that writers don’t make much from their books- it’s the prize money that makes money for you, if you are good enough. Finally, and it was interesting, drifting from person to person- a man who is head of www.materialthinking.com , a website I have looked at since and can’t make a lot of sense of. I was curious to meet him because he and his partner had earlier given Alex Miller a huge hug.

But the highlight was Stephanie Miller. I introduced myself and told her how lucky she is to have a book like Conditions of Faith dedicated to her. He showed her bits and pieces as he was writing it. The beautiful Sophie, from the convent in Chantilly, evidently is based on his mother. Stephanie Miller was kind enough to write down their address in Castlemaine on a piece of paper.

I felt light headed as I caught a train back to the city around tea time. Some of the Caulfield Cup crowd was on the train. I watched a group of about five people, all around sixteen, seventeen, all dressed immaculately in suits with expensive looking jewellery. What caught my eye was a Japanese boy, with flashy, flamboyant dyed blonde hair, very sculptured, wearing black boots, black suit, very sophisticated for his age, he could have been in the new film ‘Norwegian Wood.’ His friends or associates were a bit like him as well, and the whole atmosphere of the train was a bit Caulfield Cup like, if you know what I mean.

I was walking around the city for a good hour, killing time until an engagement, walking past an amusement game shop, one of those dirty, tacky ones in Bourke Street, when lo and behold! There inside I discovered the Japanese group from on the train. And what’s more, they were really into some stupid, simulated game, stamping their feet and carrying on, and suddenly these sophisticates looked like a bunch of kids. Very amusing. I really read them wrong.

This was a great day for great conversations. I wandered into a nondescript DVD shop. There on display were all the best foreign language titles you could ever wish for. Lots of Bergman, Bertolucci, whoever it was that made ‘A Short Film About Killing’, etc and lots of Russian titles. I bought ‘Moloch’, directed by Sokurov. I got into conversation with the owner, and discovered that he too has seen almost every Bergman film. We agreed that ‘Scenes From A Marriage’ was close to our favourite.

So the night more or less finished with meeting a special friend I haven’t seen for ages. We drank outside The Elephant & Wheelbarrow. We go back quite a long way, but we only talked about current things, not much about the past. It was a lovely way to finish off a highly stimulating day.

The train ride home was dull, but safe. I continued reading Alex Miller, with fresh eyes because at last I have met him.

Following is a letter I wrote to Alex Miller back in 2005, which he kindly replied to.




December 31 2005

Dear Alex,



I felt inspired to write you a quick letter after spending the afternoon yesterday totally ignoring the cricket and reading ‘Prochownik’s Dream’ instead. I received the book as a present and took it with me to my sister-in-law’s house. We are minding their home whilst they are on holidays- she has air-conditioning. The house is around the corner from Bridge Road- this unforeseen connection with your novel enhanced my enjoyment of it.

I teach Literature at a school near Melbourne. During the past three years I have taught Conditions of Faith as one of the texts- a hugely enjoyable experience for me and my students. I am especially drawn towards it because Chartres Cathedral is one of my favourite places in the world- I love making connections between novels and places I have seen. Another example of its type is Lincoln Cathedral and its importance in The Rainbow. We have had a lovely time with Conditions of Faith as I have said, my students amused by my attraction towards Sophie. I think that some of the best passages are those involving Sophie and Emily.

Now that my wife J is pregnant, this time the novel held more meaning for me, and I am pleased to say that J is far more sensible than Emily in these matters. And as far as I know there wasn’t any clandestine meeting with strangers in her case- perhaps I will learn otherwise when the baby is born in three weeks time!



Getting back to your newest novel, this held resonance for me as well. I mentioned that I read it here in Richmond, which is where I spend a lot of time because of family connections. There were a lot of references to Mount Macedon. This is where a close friend lived until they sold their house near Waterfalls Rd in 1998, and it is where the two of us first met in 1993, at The Mountain Inn. I also enjoyed the reference to Beverley Farmer. Do you know her? She is someone that I exchange emails with- we are both members of the D H Lawrence Society, and we share an interest in lots of writers and artists.

The two novels I have read of yours are both full of ideas, and both have left me asking lots of questions about life and of myself. I found it interesting that you have created two people who are so alike in lots of ways- I am referring here to Emily and Toni. They are both so driven by what interests them- research and painting- and their intensity means that there is a huge impact on their personal lives. Both Emily and Toni find it virtually impossible to chase their dream and be able to include and sustain their partner and their daughter. In both cases it seems their work and their dream are ultimately too important for them to compromise, even at the expense of their own family. It makes me think of all those writers and musicians and artists out there who don’t forsake their relationships, thereby compromising, and becoming mediocre as a result. Living alone and apart, like Vincent Van Gogh, means you can thrive in your work because your work has priority, and yet you miss out on other good things so much, too, as he acknowledges so much.

A great contrast in your two novels lies in the characters of Georges and Teresa. Both these people are frustrated and are scared to death that their respective marriage is going to collapse. They make little concessions of their own to try and ride out the time during their partner’s obsession. The way in which they deal with the ultimate collapse is so different. I am glad that you didn’t make Teresa passive, like Georges. It gave me an opportunity to see what you are like when you are writing about someone with anger and violence in them, and it was so melodramatic compared to Georges’ quiet acceptance of discovering that Emily is leaving him around the time of the jazz concert.

Well I am sweltering in the backyard in my little study/ bungalow surrounded by all my books and pictures and posters. I will finish now and say that I hope this letter has somehow reached you. Prochownik’s Dream will stay with me for a long time like Conditions of Faith has. I can see that Toni, like Emily, has great ambition and hope for his work, and that it goes beyond what his friend, Andy wants, and that is making lots of money.



I will finish with a couple of little questions-



a) Where can I get a book or a poster of Chartres Cathedral for my study?

b) Does The Red Hat really exist?

c) Have you spent time yourself in Mt Macedon and is ‘Plovers’ there?

If you get time to respond I would love to hear from you.



Yours, Darren Harrison

Alex Miller: Comparing 2 Novels

ALEX Miller’s newest novel, Lovesong, (Allen & Unwin 2009), has been compared by a number of critics with his earlier Conditions of Faith (Allen & Unwin 2000). It’s not difficult to see why. Both books have a strong Tunisian connection. In COF, the female protagonist leaves Australia for a married life in Paris, and travels for respite from personal problems to Tunisia for holidays. In L the male protagonist is Australian and falls in love with a Tunisian woman whilst in Paris and longs to come back to Australia with her. Longing is a major theme in both novels. Emily in COF longs for the opportunity to study history and fulfil the expectations she places upon herself to achieve some extraordinary things in research. The Tunisian woman, Sabiha, in L, meanwhile, longs to raise a family and to fulfil a savagely strong maternal urge. In COF Emily is frightened to death at the prospect of motherhood, whilst in L, the barren Sabiha almost goes insane in her desperate attempts to become a mother. The urge to create, in different ways, therefore engulfs both women. And the men in both novels have their own obsessions that predictably conflict with the desires of their wives. In COF Georges wants to start a family and live in Australia and become a first class engineer and build bridges. John, in L, wants to live in Australia too, and fulfil his ambition of working in a cafe or a restaurant with his wife. Finally, the couples in both stories experience an important event in the beautiful French cathedral town of Chartres- although Emily’s experience is by far the more significant.

Lovesong has a more complex narrative in some ways in that there is a significant third person in the story who happens to be the narrator. John and Sabiha’s story is told by Ken, a Melbourne man who is a retired writer. He has met John at a coffee shop on numerous occasions, and has decided to write John and Sabiha’s story, as told to him by Ken. We are reminded from time to time that it is a story told to us via Ken, however most of the time John and Sabiha’s story sounds like a regular third person narrative.

After we are introduced to Ken and his daughter, the heart of the story begins in a Parisian restaurant, run by Sabiha and her aunt. On page 47 John, the wandering Australian traveller, comes into the story as he dines for the first time at the restaurant. After the mutual attraction of John and Sabiha is established, he moves in and helps run the place and becomes Sabiha’s partner. Once the aunt dies it is just the two of them and they live a very happy, simple life.
The narrative flies forward a couple of years and there is restlessness in the couple, particularly Sabiha. Her obsession with wanting to have children is well and truly cemented, which places huge pressure on her relationship. Sabiha even insists that any thought of living in Melbourne is impossible without her ageing father meeting her first born. The major tension in the novel, therefore, is borne out then in Sabiha’s sadness and desperation to conceive. She goes to extraordinary lengths to become pregnant- even secretly seducing an associate of the family on several occasions- chosen because he has eleven kids. The tragedy for Sabiha is that at first she continues to menstruate thereafter and the man she chooses, Bruno, threatens to reveal their secret because he is in love with her.

The major drama in COF, meanwhile, lies with Emily and her desperate need NOT to conceive. Like Georges, she is deeply ambitious, and she sees the onset of children as a serious threat to her ambitions to research a book she wants to write. Emily becomes inadvertently pregnant (like Sabiha, eventually), and like Sabiha, the father is not her partner. The drama plays itself out as Emily seems to be ignoring the fact that she is heavily pregnant, and despite the cold winter, quietly creeps out of bed day after day to go to the Paris Bibliotheque to continue her research. Much to the dismay of Georges, the baby is not Emily’s chief concern.
There are beautiful passages in Lovesong. Sabiha’s encounters with Bruno are well written. There is great tension when we wait with bated breath to see if Emily’s deceit will be uncovered. Bruno continues to visit John and Sabiha’s eating house after each betrayal, and the tension in the air is incredibly thick. I found myself becoming mildly absorbed in Sabiha’s desperate quest to become pregnant at any cost, and the music and the food described in great detail in the restaurant is captivating and appealing.

I can’t help thinking that Lovesong pales in comparison with COF, however. Emily is a much better drawn character than Sabiha and her longing seems more moving. Georges is hugely significant in his own right. His fierce desire to become one of the world’s great engineers is equal to any ambition of Emily’s, and this is touchingly illustrated in a long passage in which Georges adoringly details the kind of work that is involved in the tendering process to build the Sydney Harbour Bridge. John is simply not as intricate or interesting as Georges.

The peripheral characters in Lovesong, with the exception of Bruno, are unremarkable. This is true of the ‘retired’ narrator, Ken, as well, despite efforts to make him more complex by introducing passages with his disaffected daughter. It seems that Ken is, in fact, unnecessary. Perhaps Miller placed him in the narrative in a vain attempt to make his story more complex. With COF, this was unnecessary because the story was divergent and captivating enough. In COF we meet the extraordinarily gay friend Antoine, the complex priest, the austere matriarch in Georges’ family, and the beautiful and loyal servant girl, Sophie, who keeps Emily’s secrets from Georges, but is sadly compromised by doing so.

In terms of quests, I found Emily and Georges’ quests to be much more convincing and significant than that of Sabiha’s and John’s. Of course the desperate desire in a woman to bear a child can be tragic and as a subject matter very moving. However, the potential tragedy for a woman who is pregnant and at the same time deeply ambitious and trying to restrict her femininity is for me more intriguing. The denouement, in which Emily abandons her new born daughter and chooses academia in Tunisia instead is breathtaking and some would say outrageous. The train leaves Paris with little Marie and Georges on it, and Emily remains on the platform:

The guard slammed the door and turned the handle. Georges let down the window and leaned out. The train lurched and began to move. Emily and Georges looked at each other. “Goodbye,” she said.
The train gathered speed and rolled away along the platform. Georges leaned from the window, his hand raised, “You can still change your mind,” he called.
They watched him until the curves of the tracks took him from their sight.
Emily leaned against Antoine. They turned and walked away toward the barrier.
“What have I done? I am a monster.” Her voice was stricken with disbelief, regret, bewilderment, sorrow. (p.p. 399-400).

The desperate desire to find contentment is at the heart of both novels and both Sabiha and Emily go to great lengths and take great risks in their attempts to achieve it.