Given the overwhelmingly oral nature of aboriginal story-telling prior to the mid 1960s, the relatively recent emergence of a written/literary Aboriginal culture is of immense value,
- a particular kind of mediation of the Land Rights struggle
- a particular kind of mediation of aboriginal politics in general
- a chance for non-aboriginal people to hear stories told by aborigines
- a written inflection of a rich cultural tradition
- an artistic critique of what Cliff Watego calls whiteaustralia
Cliff Watego describes whiteaustralia in this way:
The term refers to the ideal image of Australia which had been implanted on our (blackfella) country by the invading British, encouraged by both the British and the emerging squattocracy ("landed gentry"), and firmly entrenched by the Commonwealth constitution in 1901. This construction of an ideal Australia thus militated and continues to militate against Black Australians achieving justice and therefore parity with the ruling sector....
Black Australia responds to this by writing about the conditions Blacks are forced into, such as the history of mistakes regarding Aboriginal policy throughout British invasion and consequent governments. The Black text explores ironies played out by a conflict of values and standards foisted upon an OPPRESSED INDIGENOUS SOVEREIGN people by an indecisive oppressor. Historically the dilemma manifests itself in the white sector's wish to be rid of the "Aboriginal problem," and on the other hand wanting to accept Blacks in terms of universal brotherhood. (Lecture Notes)
Yet, Aboriginal people were not the only ones to be subjugated through British imperialism. The invasion of Aboriginal land is a moment of at least two clear examples of British imperial barbarity: For Hodge and Mishra,
Australia was founded on a double guilt: the dispossession of the Aboriginal people and the excessive punishment of large numbers of British and Irish people, mainly from the poorer classes, for crimes against the property of the ruling class.
With this in mind it is worth drawing a formal link between the oral nature of Aboriginal culture and one of the imported cultures at the time of invasion.
Gillen makes the point in "Mightier than the Sword" (1988) that
an oral culture also arrived on the First Fleet. Illiterate or semi-literate convicts brought with them a tradition of folk songs and street ballads, jokes and anecdotes. Their songs developed into the bush ballads of the nineteenth century, which were eventually sanitized and admitted into the mainstream of Australian literature. The oral tradition survived into the twentieth century with the popular urban songs of the depression and the protest songs of the 1960s. (190)
Now we know enough about the history of working class literature to know that a great deal of written material came out of what was a largely oral culture.
Perhaps this forces us to accept the possibility at least that there is a great deal of valuable material written by Aboriginal people all the way back to 1788.
Consequences of the argument so far:
- Aboriginal writing takes on some of the characteristics of story-telling; Muecke's notion of oral literature
- Aboriginal writing is conscious of its own very short history as a writing but also conscious of a very deep and broad history of aboriginality
- Aboriginal writing can sometimes seem to be aggressive or angry in the way it relates the prior exclusion from literacy
- Aboriginal writing is aware of the pitfalls and the benefits of being a newly emergent literary form
Form
It is around this question of form that important issues to do with Aboriginal writing emerge.
Given the problems of previous attempts to represent Aboriginality (eg Coonardoo but plenty of others) is the problem not so much one of racist intention but of racist structure? No matter how anti-racist KSP might have been, no matter how anti-racist her intention, is there something about the ideological and generic structures that she operates within that prevents her success. Is her only practical goal to dismantle the prejudice of her own vehicles of expression?
We all operate within ideological frameworks that structure our world view.
Egs
Generic structures pre-determine particular possibilities in which a racist out come is ‘necessary'.
Egs
The solution to the misrepresentation of Aboriginal people was not to fill standard narratives with Aboriginal characters but to find new modes in which to represent Aboriginality.
Read Oodgeroo's 'Artist Son'
It is possible to read this poem as an expression of artistic individualism. However, I am tempted to read this poem allegorically or metonymically: the artist son stands for the whole of the emergent aboriginal art and literature movement. Emergent into the white world.
“striving alone to find What colour and form can say”
striving to find a form to give voice to aboriginal aspirations
“Your fathers too fashioned their art Who had but bark and wood and the cave stone”
there is a heritage or tradition of art and song to follow which used a different tehnology
“But copy none; follow no fashions”
aboriginal art is in a position to create a whole new artistic mindset and so should not be swayed by other forms
“Make us songs in colour and line: Painting is speech, painter and poet are one”
The poem unifies different artistic forms as being vehicles for the same purpose; speech and poetry are considered equivalent or identical.
When interpreted in this way the poem becomes a manifesto for aboriginal writers and artists.
(It's interesting that Aboriginal poetry and writing is often accompanied by images. Both today's poets have images illustrating their poetry. Worth discussing this.)
‘ Artist Son' also offers itself as a theoretical precursor to Stephen Muecke's idea of oral literature in which the oral and the literate are intimately entwined. He acknowledges th eapparent contradiction and makes the point that "it is through the printed word that most white Australians come to know about Aboriginal texts."
read p. 27
While the oral and the literate are analytically separate categories, practically the two are inseparable.
Lionel Fogarty is another poet whose work relates to this
Brisbane
Angry poetry/ confrontational/ spews back the english language
His 'Tired of Writing' deals with similar issues to Oodgeroo's poem -- yet departs in interesting ways.
The final six or so lines are worth focusing on.
Anger also is an interesting departure in Fogarty. Oodgeroo's poems are characterised by little anger, what anger is there is tightly restrained. Fogarty is quite happy to be angry and confrontational. It's part of his method.
And when we look at an older generation of Aboriginal writers, anger is never far from the surface -- though nor is it an overwhelming force -- much humour is on display as well.
• Jack Davis
more traditional sense of ‘yarning' to his writing.
still mediates anger
• Ruby Langford
NSW country and Sydney
trying to tell her people's stories.
• Sam Watson
Brisbane writer
mixture of urban realism and magic realism -- mudrooroo sees this as a particularly valuable form of writing
Alexis Wright
Born in Cloncurry. She is of the Waanji people from the highlands of the southern Gulf of Carpentaria .
In Carpentaria she has written one of the most ambitious novels in Australian literary history. It's a book that has generated much positive critical comment and many literary awards.
My review of Carpentaria from Overland
Phew! I'm glad I finished Carpentaria : a remarkable and huge dreamscape novel that begs and mostly deserves all the high praise and literary prizes thrown its way. The range and diversity of form, content and influences crammed into its bulky frame is astounding. Nonetheless, I am left uncertain as to what to think of Carpentaria . Is it a rambling showing-off of Wright's undoubted literary skills? Is it a mere pastiche of good ideas? Is it a book that, despite what can be taken for flaws and impasses, ends up a pleasing and important document of our time? I just don't know. The fact that when reading I kept drawing comparisons with Patrick White's Tree of Man – especially in relation to the sense of satisfaction in having finished what felt like an Australian epic – leads me to believe the latter . . . perhaps.
Set in Desperance, an imaginary town inland from the southern shore of the Gulf of Carpentaria, the novel tells the story of a community of Aboriginal and white characters, many of whom are drawn larger and deeper than life and reason. They include preserver of fish, Normal Phantom (whose name suggests that Desperance is based upon the Gulf town of Normanton), and his estranged son Will (a character seemingly based on Murrandoo Yanner), Norm's wife Angel Day, Mozzie Fishman, Mayor Bruiser, the town cop Truthful E'Strange and a number of others. In the very naming of places and characters some will rightfully hear echoes of Dickens' grotesqueries; others will detect the culturally closer influences of Xavier Herbert and Frank Hardy. And there is something distinctly Joycean about the lilting rhythm of the section focused on the bohemian Catholic priest – even while Beckett supplies the causal logic.
In the book's method some will observe the presence of magic realism and see Carpentaria as a major Australian landmark in that genre. Writers like Peter Carey and Richard Flanagan (who wrote the other book of fish) made the early going but Wright might well have perfected the art for Australia – giving the magic more indigenous and Indigenous sources. The novel has a plot; one is there lurking, unfolding its intricacies, but at a secondary level. Wright seems more concerned with the pyrotechnics that explode out of her storyline; more concerned to weave dreamscapes out of conflict and love and desire than to generate a plot.
There is nonetheless a strong plot: generations-old small-town racism; police brutality towards Aboriginal people; the impact all this has on one Aboriginal family that splits into spiritual/activist factions; the nearby mining settlement that has a disturbing and corrupting economic and spiritual influence on the whole region; a climax during which Aboriginal activists destroy the mine in a violent act of political vengeance; and an ending which gestures towards social and familial forgiveness and reconciliation. Indeed, these are the bones of a contemporary realist political novel – like Steven Lang's Accidental Terrorist – but they are bones that do not get fleshed out. Wright has other, more magical, skeletons to present.
It seems clear that Wright is not interested in writing a realist novel. The narrative is sometimes blatantly anti-realist, as in the following sarcastic comment: “Desperance being what it was, a modest place, humble people believed in real facts. Only real facts created perfection. So it was. People were not fools.” Yet there are points in this book where, tellingly, Wright drops all ornament and tells it straight. In a four-page section dealing with the bashing of three Aboriginal boys in a police cell, Wright's rage is almost palpable through the absence of symbol and dream and metaphor. The bashing complete, the book returns to its more ornamental, magic-enabling mode.
While Wright will write in whatever mode she chooses, does she have a sense of audience? Who will read Carpentaria ? Does she expect it to sell well in Cloncurry, her home town? I don't think so, because it is frankly just too difficult to be read by non-professional or non-literary readers.
I mostly enjoyed reading Carpentaria but have to admit to sometimes soldiering on for ‘professional' reasons. Another of the things that kept me soldiering was my recognition of the truths at this book's heart. It is set in a real part of the world and deals with very real contemporary political issues. Having grown up in the region, I felt connected to the geographical and political truth that Wright articulates. I felt the power of the submerged layer of realism that will not be available to the many who don't read this extraordinary book.
On Writing Carpentaria http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/story/0,20867,21853571-5001986,00.html
The book needed the right voice and rhythm. I wanted the reader to believe in the energy of the Gulf country, to stay with the story as a welcomed stranger, as if the land was telling a story about itself as much as the narrator is telling stories to the land .
From the start, I knew Carpentaria would not be a book suited to a tourist reader, someone easily satisfied by a cheap day out. I wrote most of the novel while listening to music -- I have an eclectic taste that roams around the world collecting a mixture of traditional, classical, new world, blues and country. One of my intentions was to write the novel as though it was a very long melody made of different forms of music, mixed somehow with the voices of the Gulf. The image that explains this style is that of watching an orchestra while listening to the music. Within the whole spectacle of the performance fleeting moments occur, in which your attention will focus on the sudden rise in the massiveness of the strings, horns, or percussion.
This is what happens with this story as it moves through all of the diversity in the mind-world of the water people who are its main characters, descendants of Australia 's original inhabitants. At this level the novel is about the movements of human endeavour, water, weather, fish and plants, while all around the orchestra is surrounded and attacked by wild stories that have been provoked by its symphonies, which is the sound of the music made by the very thought of placing you in their domain.
I wonder if there's something of what Melissa Lucashenko calls 'earthspeaking' in all of this. The idea that we need to be telling and reading and hearing stories that allow the earth or the land to speak for both spiritiual and immediately practical reasons.
I wonder if Carpentaria then represents the great connection between form and content for which Aboriginal writing has been striving and indeed is its great gift to Australian literature.
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