Posted by: Lisa Hill | December 10, 2025

2026 Victorian Premier’s Literary Awards Shortlists

These are the standout 2025 novels ignored by the judges of the 2025 Victorian Premier’s Literary Awards. The VPLA wastes the opportunity to showcase more authors and books by not publishing a longlist, so we don’t know if any of these fine books were even considered.



Whatever, these are their fiction shortlists and highly commended works:

  • A Piece of Red Cloth (Merrkiyawuy Ganambarr-Stubb, Leonie Norrington, Djawa Burarrwanga & Djawundil Maymuru, A&U) , see my review
  • Cannon (Lee Lai, Giramondo)
  • Fierceland (Omar Musa, Penguin)
  • The Gowkaran Tree in the Middle of Our Kitchen (Azar Shokoofeh, Europa Editions)
  • The Immigrants: Fabula Mirabilis, or A Wonderful Story (Moreno Giovannoni, Black Inc.)
  • The Sun was Electric Light (Rachel Morton, UQP)

Highly commended

  • Discipline (Randa Abdel-Fattah, UQP)
  • Desolation (Asgari Hossein, Ultimo)
  • The Slip (Miriam Webster, Aniko Press)

The winners in each category, as well as the winner of the overall Victorian Prize for Literature (worth $100,000), will be announced at a ceremony in Melbourne on Wednesday 25 February 2026.

Thanks to Tony at Messenger’s Booker for the heads-up, and for providing the information in text rather than book-cover images.

Posted by: Lisa Hill | December 8, 2025

Night of the Living Rez (2022), by Morgan Talty

Morgan Talty’s short story collection Night of the Living Rez is another book that came to my attention because it’s been longlisted for the £10,000 Gordon Burn Prize, a prize which recognises exceptional writing which has an unconventional perspective, style or subject matter and often defies easy categorisation. It celebrates literary outliers and daring and experimental work that often speaks to broader societal issues.

Talty is a citizen of the Penobscot Indian Nation in Maine, USA, and his fiction traverses issues common to First Nations fiction in Australia: dispossession, racism and economic disadvantage; loss and intergenerational trauma, and the disconnect between traditional and modern laws & customs. Sometimes First Nations fiction explores a lack of personal agency linked to unemployment, low educational attainment and substance abuse. OTOH sometimes there are stories of reclaiming identity by embracing spiritual beliefs, culture and traditions; by celebrating resilience, survival and adaptability; and by honouring language and family.

It can feel like stereotyping to list these themes and so I think it’s important to celebrate that, here in Australia at least, there are many people of First Nations who are highly educated, middle-class and successful in the professions and other fields.

Talty’s first story ‘Burn’ left me wondering if I was in the hands of an unreliable narrator.  Dee is on his way home from an unsuccessful trip to buy some marijuana.  As the transaction was almost complete, Dee acted out searching his pockets for the money, claiming it must have fallen out while he was walking.   Rab cancels the sale because he doesn’t believe this story and he’s not much convinced when Dee claims he’ll be back in half an hour with the money he’d dropped.

The reader can’t be sure that Dee really had had the money, and we can’t tell whether he can come back later with some money or not. However, what happens next shows that there’s another side to his character.

Anyway, on his way back to the reservation, he hears someone moaning.  It’s a cold night and the pavements are packed with hard snow, so it can’t be ignored.  It turns out to be his friend Fellis, who had missed his appointment at the methadone clinic, and had got drunk instead.

He’d had a bit of booze left that afternoon when he decided to go see Rab to get some pot, and on the way he’d stopped off in the swamp to feel that quiet that came with too much drinking, and when he plopped down in the snow he’d dozed right off.  When he woke up, his hair was frozen in the snow. (p.4)

He is stuck tight by his braid of hair.

Talty brings humour into this situation as the men argue about the solution. Fellis isn’t so drunk that he is indifferent to the loss of his hair, but in the end it’s the only solution since there is no else about to help.  In solidarity Dee offers to cut his braid too, and when they finally get back to Fellis’s mother’s place, he jokes ‘I never thought I’d scalp a fellow tribal member’.

The story resolves neatly as Fellis hands over some money for Dee to buy some pot, on condition that he stops en route to find the hair and bring it back.

For people who know little about First Nations life and culture in America, there is a lot to unpack in this short story of only five pages.  For a start, Dee is walking — on a bitterly cold night — to Rab’s apartment in Overton … which is outside the reservation.  There is a bus but there are other footprints in the snow so people aren’t using it. It looks as if the main trade going on is at Rab’s apartment, because there isn’t much they need outside the reservation — except a place to buy drugs.

Well, except Best Buy or Bed, Bath & Beyond, but those Natives who bought 4K Ultra DVDs or fresh white doilies had cars, wouldn’t be taking the bus like me or Fellis did each day to the methadone clinic. That was another thing the rez didn’t have: a methadone clinic.  (p.2)

So clearly there are haves and have-nots in the reservation, and whoever is responsible for managing it offers Dee a choice between hallucinatory substances with a dash of spiritual belief, or safe and effective drug rehabilitation using methadone.

But we had sacred grounds where sweats and peyote ceremonies happened once a month, except since I had chosen to take methadone, I was ineligible to participate in Native spiritual practice, according to the doc on the rez.

Natives damning Natives. (p.2)

Inclusion in the tribe, likely to make his drug problem worse, or exclusion.

When Dee gets out a pocketknife to cut the braid frozen in the snow, Fellis is frantic. He wants Dee to get boiling water to melt the ice, but they are too far from home.  The water would have chilled in the icy air by the time Dee got back to where Fellis was.  At the end of the story we learn the reason for this panic: it’s not just that having a braid is part of Penobscot cultural identity, Fellis wants his hair back so it can be burnt — to prevent spirits from coming after them.  This is obviously a deeply held spiritual belief.

In a collection that features a dysfunctional family with drug, alcohol and mental health issues, ‘Burn’ was less depressing than the other stories. The stories link, but not chronologically.

  • Burn
  • In a jar
  • Get me some medicine
  • Food for the common cold
  • In a field of stray caterpillars
  • The blessing tobacco
  • Safe harbour
  • Smokes last
  • Half-life
  • Earth, speak
  • Night of the living rez
  • The name means thunder

Author: Morgan Talty
Title: Night of the Living Rez
Publisher: Scribe Publishing, 2025
Cover design by Diane Chonette
ISBN:9781761381614, pbk., 285 pages
Source: Kingston Library

Wendy Erskine’s first novel The Benefactors came to my attention because it’s been longlisted for the £10,000 Gordon Burn Prize, a prize which recognises exceptional writing which has an unconventional perspective, style or subject matter and often defies easy categorisation. It celebrates literary outliers and daring and experimental work that often speaks to broader societal issues.  In other words, exactly the kind of writing I like.

The Benefactors is a confronting novel.  I am baffled by the blurber who said it was ‘a joy to read’.  It’s a book that made me feel deeply sad about the lives of vulnerable young people today, and it roused a dark feeling of anger about power and privilege. And while there are funny moments, because Erskine has a great gift for characterisation and dialogue, it’s not a funny book. It’s a modern tragedy.

This is the book description:

Meet Frankie, Miriam and Bronagh – three very different women from Belfast but all mothers to 18-year-old boys. Gorgeous Frankie, now married to a wealthy, older man, grew up in care. Miriam has recently lost her beloved husband Kahlil in ambiguous circumstances. Bronagh, the CEO of a children’s services charity, loves celebrity and prestige.

When their sons are accused of sexually assaulting a friend, Misty Johnston, the three women come together to protect their children, leveraging all the powers they possess.  But on her side, Misty has the formidable matriarch, Nan D, and her father, taxi driver Boogie: an alliance not so easily dismissed.

The novel takes a little time to get going while readers adjust to the polyphonic narration.  There are no ‘chapters’ as such, there are multiple perspectives in segments of varying length.  Very short segments with no identifiable narrator appear to be witness statements, social media chatter, gossip, the thoughts of random people who get involved like the taxi driver, and the responses of the professionals involved such as the police and lawyers. Readers piece events together from these and begin to see how judgements are formed.  Longer segments introduce the main characters, and their back stories frame their responses to what’s happened.

Misty and her half-sister Geneva (Gen) have been brought up by Boogie after their junkie mother offloaded them and walked away.  He was barely out of his teens at the time, showing some promise as an artist and playing in a band, but he rose to the responsibility.  They don’t have much money and not much ambition, and Misty’s future is clouded by the way she covertly supplements part-time work at a hotel with phone-sex work, but while it’s definitely not an idealised poor-but-loving family, theirs is a family getting by with care and consideration for each other. It makes a stark contrast with the boys’ families, and although it treads lightly on the issues surrounding kids who are not able to live with their own families, it also contrasts the outcomes of an informal ‘adoption’ with the outcomes for kids in care.

One of the short fragments features Frankie, musing about the money she spends on her step-children’s clothes.

I can see why someone would look at a pair of Yeezys for a four-year-old kid, a few hundred pounds for what, a couple of months of wear, and think that it’s madness.  I get it.  But at the same time, I’ve always made sure that my own kids have been dressed in proper gear.  Branded sportswear.  Everything has got a logo.  More than that, I take great care that the clothes are kept good.  It’s because it was never that way for me when I was younger.  It was never that way for me. (p.146)

The legacy of her experience as a child in care is that as an adult she thinks that good parenting is about how it looks.  Later we see how her kids use clothing — and even where they shop — as markers of superiority.  Frankie married her older, wealthy husband as an escape from a life that offered very little, but it hasn’t brought contentment.  And while I wondered what other scars she was carrying, it didn’t make me tolerant of her cruel judgement of Misty.

The narrative tension rises when the details of the assault emerge.

As it turns out, it’s not the phone-sex work that’s risky: it’s Misty’s friends.  She has a crush on Chris, and when things get out of hand at a party, she doesn’t overtly refuse consent at a crucial moment for reasons we must surmise.  Chris invites his pals to stay and watch, and then the others ‘prove their manhood’ because it seems to be expected of each other. This is when it’s not clear whether there was consent or not.  The trauma of the situation and the way they used her body makes Misty unsure exactly who and when and what, and if she protested or not.

Maybe she silently acquiesced to Rami because she didn’t want to lose Chris, but Rami, (who might be gay) can’t perform, so he takes this assault beyond what might be normal for young people’s ‘fun-filled sex’ and no one stops this shocking escalation and after that Misty is in no state to consent at all. What on earth has Rumi been watching to get the idea that brutality could be part of what should be an enjoyable experience?  How have none of these three ever learned that whether they’re acting out of love, affection or friendship, or just having playful or random sex, they should ensure consent and consider the girl’s feelings?  Lyness a.k.a. Line-up is one of the most awful entitled, arrogant characters in my recent reading experience, and his high-handed, dismissive attitude when he gets home from the police interview made me really angry.  But when we get to know his parents Bronagh and Donal, who are impotent after years of giving in to him, we understand why.

It’s the responses of the adults in this tragedy that is the most confronting, especially since it’s Gen, a kid still in primary school, who is Misty’s first responder because Boogie is on a very rare night out with a friend. She insists on an explanation for Misty’s distress, tends to the obvious signs of injury, and orchestrates reporting the assault to police.  Gen has a very clear idea of right and wrong, and she has faith in the police as the people to deal with this, though her determination is partly provoked by Line-up’s confidence that Misty will keep quiet about it.  When Boogie finally charges his phone and sees Gen’s frantic messages, he tries to anticipate Misty’s need for tenderness: he buys comfort food and a soft dressing gown.  Feisty Nan D is combative, and clear-headed too.  Aware of the privilege and power of the boys’ middle-class families, she predicts how any court case might go, and suggests an alternative.

Of the three parents of the perpetrators, only Miriam reacts with humanity.  Like the other women, she wants to protect her son from having his life ruined, but she cannot fathom what he has done or why he did it.  She is horrified by his brutality, and when he sinks into a paroxysm of remorse, she understands why.  Because whatever happens, and whether this is ‘resolved’ with police or lawyerly intervention,  all four of these teenagers will be scarred by the experience.  It’s not just that everybody knows about it, which will affect future relationships, it’s that the betrayal of trust takes a long, long time to heal, if ever.

Author: Wendy Erskine
Title: The Benefactors
Publisher: Sceptre (Hodder & Stoughton), 2025
Cover design by Lucy Scholes
ISBN: 9781399741675, pbk., 328 pages
Source: Kingston Library


This is the Gordon Burns longlist and I’ve got most of them on reserve at the library though it’s unlikely I’ll have read more than one or two before they announce the shortlist in January

  • TonyInterruptor, Nicola Barker (Granta), see my review
  • Deviants, Santanu Bhattacharya (Fig Tree)
  • We Pretty Pieces of Flesh, Colwill Brown (Chatto & Windus), abandoned, see my brief thoughts at Goodreads. 
  • One Day, Everyone Will Have Always Been Against This, Omar El Akkad (Canongate)
  • The Benefactors, Wendy Erskine (Sceptre), see my review
  • Helm, Sarah Hall (Faber & Faber)
  • This Part Is Silent: A Life Between Cultures, SJ Kim (&Other Stories)
  • Thank You for Calling the Lesbian Line, Elizabeth Lovatt (Dialogue Books)
  • Death of an Ordinary Man, Sarah Perry (Jonathan Cape)
  • Endling, Maria Reva (Virago)
  • A Room Above a Shop, Anthony Shapland (Granta), see my review
  • Night of the Living Rez, Morgan Talty (&Other Stories), see my review

Following on from my previous posts about the Purgatorio, we continue on from Canto 9…

Canto IX

Dante wakes from a nightmare in which he dreamt he was carried into a blaze by an eagle. In a daze, he remembers Achilles:

when he, asleep, was taken by his mother,
borne in her arms, from Chiron’s care to Skyros
from where the Greeks would lure him finally— (Canto IX, lines 37-29)

But his ‘Comfort’ Virgil, is there to reassure him.  Two hours have passed and now they have progressed from the Antepurgatory to Purgatory.  It was a lady called Lucia (Saint Lucy) who took the sleeping Dante in her arms and brought him here to the gates.  (Dante doesn’t mention how Virgil got there!) They press on…

… there were three steps,
each one a different colour; and I saw
the silent figure on someone on guard.  (Canto IX Lines 76-78).

Musa tells us that this guardian’s naked sword is a symbol of divine authority, reflecting the rays of the sun, the symbol of God. The three steps represent the stages of repentance…:

…the first step, which is white and mirrorlike, stands for self-examination; the second, black, rough step stands for sorrow for sin, or contrition; the third, flaming-red step signifies satisfaction of the sinner’s debt, or penance. (p.105)

Virgil counsels Dante to humbly ask this stern figure of authority to be let in, and in response the angel traces seven Ps (‘peccatum‘ is Latin for sin) on his brow, which Dante must cleanse away once inside, and then produces the keys to the gate:

One key was silver and the other gold;
first he applied the white one, then the yellow—
with that the gate responded to my wish.

‘Whenever either one of these two keys
fails to turn properly inside the lock,’
the angel said, ‘the road ahead stays closed.

One is more precious, but the other needs
wisdom and skill before it will unlock,
for it is that one which unties the knot.

I hold these keys from Peter, who advised:
‘Admit too many, rather than too few,
if they but cast themselves before your feet.’ (Canto IX, Lines 118-129)

Musa has a lot to say about four theories about the significance of the  dream, and then about Dante’s dream of the pagan mythological tale with sensual overtones.  I’ll save that for a re-reading.

The canto concludes with the sound of the gates grinding open to the accompaniment of voices chanting Te Deum Laudamus.

Canto X

As Virgil and Dante enter the first of seven Terraces of the Purgation, they see marble carvings representing humility.  The first, the scene of the Annunciation, is as Musa notes, an example of virtue and these exemplars are always taken from the life of the Virgin Mary.  Second is King David the psalmist dancing in humility before the Lord, and the last is the Emperor Trajan halting his mighty army to listen to a wretched widow’s plea:

The trampled space surrounding him was packed
with knights on horseback—eagles, flying high,
threaded in gold of banners in the wind.

That poor widow amid the mass of shapes
Seemed to be saying: ‘Lord, avenge my son
who has been killed; my heart is cut with grief.’ (Canto X, Lines 79-84)

Trajan demurs, he must do his duty first. But what if he does not return? she wails, to which he replies that it can be done by whoever replaces him.  ‘How can you let another’s virtue take the place of yours?’ she says… to which he replies:

…’Take comfort, for I see I must
perform my duty, now, before I leave:
Justice so wills, and pity holds me here.’ (Canto X, Lines 91-93)

We have a painting of this scene on a panel of a cassone (a chest) in the NGV but it is a common theme in medieval and Renaissance art, and I love the colours in the episode depicted on this 16th century maiolica plate, from Urbino. Blue was an expensive colour in that era, so the plate must have been made for a wealthy patron.  Perhaps one who needed a reminder not to be proud, for this first Terrace of the Purgation is for the Proud. Dante the poet doesn’t mince his words with his exhortation:

O haughty Christians, wretched, sluggish souls,
all you whose inner vision is diseased,
putting your trust in things that pull you back,

do you not understand that we are worms,
each born to form the angelic butterfly,
that flies defenceless to the Final Judge? (Canto X, Lines 121-126)

Musa reminds us that:

The image of the changing of caterpillar into angelic butterfly, one of transformation and flight, is central to the action of the Purgatory. (p.116)

Canto XI

Canto XI begins with the prayer of the Proud, which Christians will recognise as a version of the Lord’s Prayer, which in Musa’s translation is rendered in a beautifully styled Old English:

‘Our Father Who in Heaven dost abide,
not there constrained but dwelling there because
Thou lovest more Thy lofty first effects,

hallowed be Thy name, hallowed Thy Power,
by Thy creatures as it behooves us all
to render thanks for Thy sweet effluence.’ (Canto XI, Lines 1-6).

(I looked this up in Clive James’ translation to see what he made of it… and let’s just say it confirmed my decision to abandon his translation altogether.)

The soul of Omberto Aldobrandesco whose pride ruined his entire family, shows them the opening through which they can ascend.  He would go with them if not prevented by this stone/ that curbs the movement of my haughty neck/ and makes me keep my face bent to the ground.

So we are not done with the gruesome punishments yet.  Musa notes also that Dante’s body language shares the purgation of the proud:I had my head bent low, to hear his words. (Canto XI Line 73).

Next they meet up with the soul of Oderisi of Gubbio, whose brother now carries on his fame as an artist and who now recognises the empty glory of human talent which passes from one to another, from Cimabue to Giotto who now is all the rage. (The expression ‘all the rage’ IMHO is a rare example of an anachronism in the translation.)

#Digression: BTW I found this super YouTube video about Anachronisms in Art History, intentional and otherwise.  I am going to watch it later and I have put it here so that I don’t lose it.  Plus it is relevant to what C S Lewis says about the way the Medieval Model of the Universe influenced their artworks.

Finally they meet Provensan Salvani, who Musa tells us is the presumptuous dictator of Siena. Salvani was a traitor too, because he abandoned the Ghibelline cause and went over to the Guelphs.  He must have repented just as he died in battle or was murdered by hired killers.

Canto XII

Nimrod defying God, by David Scott (1832)

As they leave these prideful sinners behind, Dante stands straight the way a man should.  There are more marble carvings here: beneath their feet are examples of Pride, quite a few of whom are women.  They include Satan (of course), the giant Briareus, Nimrod, Niobe, Saul (the Hebrew one, not the one who was converted on the road to Damascus), Arachne, Rehoboam, plus depictions of slaying, murder, slaughter, lost battles and the Fall of Troy.

(I would have thought that Niobe was punished enough by having her children killed because of her hubris, but she was a pagan anyway so a deathbed repentance wouldn’t have helped her much.)

BTW Musa’s notes tell us what we who read in translation could not otherwise know:

The first twelve tercets (in Italian) begin respectively with the letters UUUU, OOOO, MMMM, forming an acrostic, which is resumed in the three lines of the thirteenth tercet: uom (the Italian word for ‘man’).  Dante’s obvious message here is that Pride is a sin so common and so basic as to be basically synonymous with man. (p.133)

Virgil tells Dante to lift his head as the angel approaches to remove the first P (i.e. the first sin) from his forehead, and Dante feels a little lighter.  The climbing up the sacred steps is thus easier, especially since it’s accompanied by the haunting music of Beati pauperes spiritu, in a version here by Jan Pieterszoon Sweelinck (1562-1621):

Canto XIII

Here we are in the Terrace of the Envious, signalled by a disembodied voice crying out examples of Generosity, the virtue opposite to the vice of Envy. These are only fragments of words flying past, but all who read TDC in the medieval era would have recognised them:

The first voice that came flying past us sang
out loud and clear the words Vinum non habent;
then we could hear them echoing behind.

Before the notes had faded quietly
into distance, another voice cried out:
‘I am Orestes!’ And that voice too swept by.

‘Oh,’ I said, Father what voices are these?’
And just as I was asking this, a third
said, passing by: “Love those who do you harm!’ (Canto XIII, Lines 28-36)

Again the first example is from the life of the Virgin Mary, this time at the wedding feast of Cana. This virtue is most perfectly illustrated in this fresco showing Mary tapping Jesus on the shoulder to bring to his attention that the hosts have run out of wine.

Next is Orestes whose friend Pylades had tried to save his friend’s life by taking his identity, and both then tried to save the life of the other.  The third is the gospel commandment to ‘Love thine enemy’.

Sinners here huddle against the cliff reciting the Litany of Saints.

#Digression: Gosh, there are a LOT of saints, though presumably not quite so many as in today’s Litany. They keep adding to them, another nine this year by this latest Pope (see Wikipedia) though I haven’t heard anything about the miracles they’re supposed to have performed — and you’d think we would, wouldn’t you? Maybe I’m not following social media enough.  Perhaps the Pope is on Twitter, which I’m not.

Anyway, the sinners are dressed in loincloths in the colour of stone and ugh! their eyelids have been stitched shut with iron thread. Well might Dante say:

I do not think there is a man on earth
with heart so hard that it would not be pierced
with pity if he saw what I saw then. (Canto XIII, Lines 52-54)

Next, there is a long conversation with Sapìa of Siena… that’s right, a woman!  Musa reminds me that there was only one woman who spoke in Inferno, i.e. Francesca da Rimini in Canto V, but there are two in the Purgatorio, Pia who barely said a word in Canto V and now the comparatively loquacious Sapìa who admits that she enjoyed seeing the defeat of her townsmen at the battle of Colle. This was a battle between the Ghibellines and Guelphs, an example of schadenfreude before the word was invented. This image is from Wikipedia in its series on this conflict but it doesn’t say where the woodcut(?) is held today: The Guelph is carrying the head of Provenzan Salvani on a spear.

Canto XIV

This Canto begins with two nasty fellows sniping about Dante:

‘Who is this roaming round our mountainside
before his soul is given wings by Death—
opening his eyes and closing them at will?’

‘Who knows? All I know is he’s not alone.
Why don’t you ask him, you are nearer him:
speak nicely to him so he’ll answer you.’ (Canto XIV Lines 1-6.

Well, ok, these two may perhaps know that a stranger is present because they heard Dante breathing after the exertions of his climb, but how do they know there are two of them?  Does Virgil (who is dead) breathe?  And how can shades with their eyes sewn shut know that Dante is opening and closing his?

Whatever about that, when Dante says he’s from the valley of the Arno, this sparks a tirade about Tuscan infamy, and after they identify themselves as Guido del Duca and Rinier da Calboli, there’s another rant about the degeneracy of Romagna. Let’s not hang about in this canto, suffice to say that voices scream out more examples of envy: Cain, and the Athenian princess Aglauros, turned to stone because she envied Mercury’s love for her sister.  (Unsurprisingly, though there are plenty of paintings of Cain and Abel, I can’t find an image for Aglauros.  How could a painter depict someone turned to stone, eh?)

Canto XV

This canto brings us the shining light of the Angel of Generosity and the singing of the beatitude ‘Blessed are the Merciful’ — and though I couldn’t find a nice classical version of this, I rather like this multilingual version from World Youth Day 2016.

In response to Dante’s query about the rant about the degeneracy of Romagna in the previous canto, Virgil explains the difference between earthly and heavenly possessions. It’s not unlike aspects of Buddhism, which I don’t suppose Dante had ever heard of, though Buddhism originated in India in the 6th century and reliefs celebrating the virtues of the Buddha were carved at Borobodur in Java the 9th century. If Europeans did once know about Buddhism from Alexander the Great’s expedition to India, the church would have suppressed any knowledge of it with the usual burnings at the stake for heresy.

Because you make things of this world your goal,
which are diminished as each shares in them,
Envy pumps hard the bellows for your sighs.

But if your love were for the lofty sphere,
your cravings would aspire for the heights,
and fear of loss would not oppress your heart; (Canto XV, Lines 49-54.)

Now they arrive at the Terrace of Wrath, and as exemplars of mercy, (the opposite of Wrath), Dante experiences visions, sent so that he might learn to let his heart be flooded by the peace that flows eternally from that High Fount. Musa reminds us that on the first terrace, the carvings appeal to the sense of vision; the voices on the second terrace appeal to the sense of hearing, and here on the third terrace, there are inner visions.

Once again, the first enlightening vision is from the life of the Virgin Mary, this time asking Jesus why he stayed behind in the temple and she had thought he was lost.  They had spent a whole day travelling from Jerusalem and then realised that Jesus wasn’t with them.  They went back to Jerusalem, only to find him in discussion with the learned men in the temple.  She doesn’t tick him off for causing such distress as most mothers would, she asks him gently.  I like the way this painting by Carl Bloch (1834-1890) uses that vivid ‘Marian Blue’ (i.e. ultramarine derived from very expensive lapis-lazuli) to put the focus on her, even though we can’t see her face.

The next vision, from classical antiquity, is of Pisistratus (560-527BC) , who was, according to Musa, the benevolent tyrant of Athens, famous for turning away wrath with mercy.  Despite his wife demanding that he avenge his daughter’s honour after an embrace unsanctioned by parental approval, Pisistratus showed mercy instead, with the words ‘If we slay those who love us, what shall we do with those who hate us?’

The last example is of St Stephen (5-34AD), the martyr stoned to death by a mob.  His death is depicted in many paintings but I like this one attributed to Luigi Garzi (1638–1721) because you can clearly see the saint appealing to the angel for mercy for his assailants.

Virgil understands that Dante’s sleepiness is due to the visions, but he now urges Dante to get cracking… and the Canto ends ominously…

Then gradually a cloud of smoke took shape;
slowly it drifted towards us, dark as night;
we were not able to escape its grip:

it took away our sight, and the pure air. (Canto XV, Lines 142-145)

Canto XVI

Blinded by the smoke, Dante is guided by Virgil (who presumably can see, why?) to the music of the Agnus Dei sung by the shades in perfect harmony. Virgil tells him that they are loosening the knot of Wrath — what perfect imagery for the feeling we have when fury subsides and we decide to let anger lapse!

Just think, Dante the poet could not have heard this exquisite version from Mozart’s Requiem — the world had to wait until 1791 for it to be composed, and much longer than that before the magic of recorded music made it available to everyone.

Marco the Lombard approaches and walks with them to the end of the smoke-filled space, while they discuss the corruption of society.  Here Dante engages with the issue of astrology and has Marco decry the influence of the stars on human behaviour and asserts the importance of Free Will.  (See my post about the medieval attitude to astrology in C S Lewis’s The Discarded Image, Chapter 5, Part B for church disapproval of it.) Marco also deplores poor church and state leadership of their era.  Before departing, he asks Dante to tell the world:

… The church of Rome, which fused
two powers into one, has sunk in muck,
defiling both herself and her true role. (Canto XVI, Lines 127-129)

Dante pulls no punches!


You can see Scott-Giles’ visual representation of Purgatory here.

Next week, Purgatorio Cantos 17-23..

 Progress so far:

See also

References:

  • The Divine Comedy: Translation, Notes and Commentary by Mark Musa,
    • Vol 1, Inferno, 2003 new edition of the 1984 Penguin Classics edition, first published 1971 by Indiana University Press, ISBN 9780142437223
    • Vol 2, Purgatory, 1985 Penguin Classics edition, first published 1981 by Indiana University Press, ISBN: 9780140444421
  • The Divine Comedy translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, with illustrations by Gustave Doré and an Introduction by Melinda Corey; Barnes and Noble edition 2008, ISBN: 9781435103849
  • The Divine Comedy translated and with an Introduction by Clive James, Picador Poetry edition, 2013, ISBN 9781447244219
  • A Beginners Guide to Dante’s Divine Comedy by Jason M Baxter, Baker Academic, 2018, ISBN: 9781493413102, Kindle edition  ASIN: B0752RVZ6R
  • The Discarded Image: An Introduction to Medieval and Renaissance Literature by C S Lewis, Kindle edition ASIN B08TCJZP5N
  • The Sleepwalkers, by Arthur Koestler, The Danube Edition, Hutchinson, 1968 first published 1959 ISN: 090502515
  • The Essential Plato, translated by Benjamin Jowett, The Softback Preview, 1999, first published in this translation in 1871, ISBN: 9781582880129
  • The Dante Course, a series of lectures presented by Prof. Teodolinda Barolini, Lorenzo da Ponte Professor of Italian at Columbia University, 2015-6 online

Image credits:

Posted by: Lisa Hill | December 6, 2025

Six Degrees of Separation, from Seascraper…

This month’s #6Degrees, hosted by Kate from Books Are My Favourite and Best, begins with the starter book Seascraper by Benjamin Wood.  I have it on reserve at the library, but it hasn’t come in yet.

But there are umpteen books on my shelves with ‘sea’ in the title. As a shout out to Kim’s Year of Reading Iris Murdoch, I’m choosing The Sea, The Sea, which I read back in 2003.  I read it with one of those Yahoo reading groups that flourished about 20 years ago, and I remember really liking it but disagreeing about what Murdoch was on about, with people much more erudite than me.  FWIW you can read my thoughts at Goodreads.

That was before I got the idea of publishing ‘Reviews from the Archive’, harvested from my journals. It’s been an interesting thing to do, revisiting my often naïve thoughts about a book or having to prune pages and pages of ramblings into something coherent.  Sometimes I do this when I’ve read a previous book by an author but don’t remember much about it, and then decide to share the reviews.  I did this with Miss Chopsticks (2007), by Xinran, translated by Esther Tyldesley and The Good Women of China (2002), by Xinran, translated by Esther Tyldesley.

And sometimes I do it to round out my reviews of Booker winners: The Blind Assassin (2020), by Margaret Atwood, winner of the Booker Prize in 2000. I never did get round to reading The Testaments which won the Booker in 2019 and I’ve got the co-winner Bernardine Evaristo’s Girl, Woman, Other on the TBR too.

No prizes for guessing the author who figures most in my Reviews from the Archive featuring Nobel Prize winners: it’s Patrick White, of course, and I began with A Fringe of Leaves (1976), by Patrick White, winner of the Nobel Prize in 1973. It’s a good example of how much my ideas about certain books has changed over time.  

The book that most influenced my current view of A Fringe of Leaves is Larissa Behrendt’s Finding Eliza, Power and Colonial Storytellingwhich interrogates the novel from an Indigenous point-of-view.  This is one of those rare books that I think all Australians should read, especially if they are interested in books and writing.

And, as readers who’ve been following my project to read Dante’s The Divine Comedy might have guessed, the book that has changed my ideas about C S Lewis is The Discarded Image from 1964.  Since I don’t review children’s books here, I am unlikely to write a review of the Chronicles of Narnia, but I intend to re-read them.  I’ll have to borrow them from the library because I donated all my children’s novels to my last school when I retired.  I expect they all went to the skip when they ditched the library program not long afterwards. (The sports program is still intact, of course.)

So, that’s my #6Degrees for this month, from a moody book about a man who dreams of being an artist, to a book by one of the greatest intellectuals of my lifetime.

Next month (December, 2025), the starter book is a wildcard to begin the year. Kate says we should start with the book we finished this month’s chain with. That will be a pleasure!

Posted by: Lisa Hill | December 4, 2025

One Small Voice (2023) by Santanu Bhattacharya

One Small Voice is the debut novel of prize-winning author Santanu Bhattacharya, who grew up in India and now lives in England. The novel interested me because it tackles the issue of contemporary nationalism in India through the lens of a child witness to mob violence who struggles to understand his future and that of his homeland. The story is told in alternating time frames of the 1990s and the 2000s, and its parts are named according Hindu mythology.

(The narrative includes many words in what I assume is Hindi though sometimes it is Marathi, which the main character doesn’t always understand.  Most of the time meaning can be deduced from context or (what I assume is) repetition of the Hindi words in English. Sometimes, however, meaning remains opaque, which I presume is meant to mirror the way people in India do not always understand each other.)

Shubhankar’s childhood in Lucknow is marked by a constant struggle to meet the expectations of his parents.  Unlike his younger brother Chintoo who has a more carefree attitude and gets away with it because he has a charming personality, Shubankar a.k.a. Shabby, has a reticent manner and he doesn’t dare challenge his parents’ ambitions.  For them, India’s transition to independence has not improved their circumstances much, and like many, they believe that a good school and a good degree in engineering, will lead to good job, with a better standard of living than his lower middle-class parents.

Papa, who feels the pain of his inability to give his children an inheritance, connections or even their talents, wants to empower his boys to have a voice, through the only weapon they have: education.

‘You know what’s unique about the Indian middle class?’ Papa didn’t wait for an answer.  ‘We have no fallback option.  The poor can give up.  The rich can pay their way through things, escape the country, go on a retreat.  But we middle-class people… we have to keep going. We have to work every day to hold onto the little things we’ve acquired.  And we fear that politicians will take even those away.’ (p.114)

One extraordinary sequence has Shabby and his father travelling by train to multiple colleges on one day, competing in exams with thousands of other young boys to gain entry to a good secondary school.

The travails of Shabby’s childhood alternate with his young adulthood after he has made his escape from Lucknow to big city Mumbai, both before and after ‘the incident’.  In the text, ‘the incident’ is always in Italics, signalling the way his family may mention it but never talk about it.  Withholding an explanation of this catastrophic event which maims Shabby becomes a bit tedious because the reader doesn’t learn what happened until very late in what is an overlong novel.

It is not the ‘incident’ which Shabby witnesses as a ten-year-old at a wedding during the 1992 riots. His Hindu parents live side-by-side with the Muslim community in Lucknow, and though they never socialise, his mother uses the services of a Muslim tailor.  On the day of the wedding when some last minute alterations are needed for the bridal outfit, they call for this tailor despite the warnings that everyone should stay indoors because of the tensions between Hindus and Muslims.  The tailor’s assistant is sent out into this tense atmosphere and Shabby sees what is done to him by Hindu nationalists.  Shocked and inarticulate, he doesn’t tell anyone what he saw, and he carries the shame of his family’s silence and the burden of his own failure to call for help into adulthood.

After his initial failure to pass the all-important exam, Shabby — suppressing his trauma — retreats into obsessive study and achieves his parents’ ambition when this leads to a ‘good job’ in Mumbai.  Independent at last, in his twenties he has a great time with his friends Syed and Shruti and the US ‘foreigners’ from the next door apartment, proving that in their circle, skin colour and religious or class differences do not matter.

Until ‘the incident’. I suppose it would spoil the trajectory of the novel to reveal it here, so let’s just say that violence at a train station is the catalyst for Shabby to re-evaluate his life.  He envies Chintoo’s refusal to comply with parental  expectations and he yearns for a creative life too.  In a series of fortuitous events his volunteer work teaching art to slum children leads to a different future.

Though the focus of the story is always on Shabby’s somewhat sentimentalised coming-of-age, One Small Voice is a political novel and the author’s voice occasionally breaks through to express his contempt for what is obviously the Narendra Modi government.

Like the history textbooks in school, nothing after independence matters. The sovereign socialist secular democratic republic, for which Dada-ji fought and Nana-ji  built bridges, is wiped clean.  The project of hate is now complete, sitting pretty at its pinnacle.

And the politicians are its new gods.  They will decide where people pray, who can be friends, who can be neighbours, who can marry.

The common people are nimittra-matra, little specks of dust, blips on the timeline that carry them from election to election.  They will never be anything more, and there is nothing lesser left for them to be. (p.304)

That pessimistic outlook is only partially countered by Shruti’s letter from America:

But I’m confident we’ll emerge on the other side of this with dignity.  There’s something unique about our generation, in the way we understand the world, our own culture and others’.  We can speak many languages, sing songs, dance dances, read books, chant prayers, wear clothes that are ours and others’.  We’re too rooted to uproot, and too spread out to cage.  Our voices will find their way out into the world.  I know this in my heart. (p. 329)

That seems to me like a naiveté which heroicises a generation whose strategies are not much different to the hippies of the 1970s. The only solution to nationalistic tensions is tolerance, and Shabby and Shruti are the only two characters who exemplify tolerance — and they both leave India.

Author: Santanu Bhattacharya
Title: One Small Voice
Publisher: Fig Tree, an imprint of Penguin Books (Penguin Random House), 2023
Cover design by gray318
ISBN: 9780241582343, pbk., 384 pages
Source: Kingston Library

Posted by: Lisa Hill | December 2, 2025

Konkretion (2013), by Marion May Campbell

I have had this book on my TBR for over a decade, and I’ve had it in my pile of books to read for #NovNov, so why the delay?

Well, it’s not a book for bedtime reading.  It’s a challenging work of experimental fiction that demands a reader’s fully engaged attention.  Today’s the day!

This is the book description from the UWAP website (where you can buy it for $24.99, 20% off at the moment.)

konkretion, in turns funny and moving, stages a dialogue around the romance of the Baader-Meinhof gang’s revolutionary aspirations.

Ex-commo Monique Piquet meets up in Paris with a former student, Angel Beigesang, who has just published a dramatic re-imagining of Ulrike Meinhof and Gudrun Ensslin of the Red Army Faction. In her wanderings through revolutionary and repressive Paris, the old birdie’s breakdown goes into freefall, as she recalls her earlier radicalism and its part in the younger woman’s dangerous identification with revolutionaries.

This work of ‘loiterature’ considers Meinhof’s 1970 tripwire leap into illegality and follows her flight underground, crimes committed in the name of ‘armed struggle’, and her conflict-blighted incarceration. With this stunning novella, Marion May Campbell questions whether a more playful use of language by Meinhof and Ensslin might have resulted in less tragically murderous outcomes and considers how, in commemoration, we might avoid romancing the outlaw.

So obviously, a reader needs to begin by knowing something about the Baader-Meinhof gang a.k.a. The Red Army Faction, of which Ulrike and Gudrun were members.  Some of us are old enough to remember their terrorist activities in Germany but also old enough to have forgotten about them once we stopped hearing about the gang’s activities from the media.

Gudrun Ensslin (1940-1977) and Ulrike Meinhof were founding members of the Baader-Meinhof gang, which according to Wikipedia 

…was a West German far-left militant group founded in 1970 and active until 1998, considered a terrorist organisation by the West German government. The RAF described itself as a communist and anti-imperialist urban guerrilla group. It was engaged in armed resistance against what it considered a fascist state. Members of the RAF generally used the Marxist–Leninist term “faction” when they wrote in English. Early leadership included Andreas BaaderUlrike MeinhofGudrun Ensslin, and Horst Mahler.

The RAF engaged in a series of bombings, assassinations, kidnappings, bank robberies, and shootouts with police over the course of three decades. Its activities peaked in late 1977, which led to a national crisis that became known as the “German Autumn“. The RAF has been held responsible for 34 deaths, including industrialist and former Nazi SS officer Hanns Martin Schleyer, the Dresdner Bank head Jürgen Ponto, federal prosecutor Siegfried Buback, police officers, American servicemen stationed in Germany, as well as many cases of collateral damage, such as chauffeurs and bodyguards, with many others injured throughout its almost thirty years of activity. (Wikipedia Red Army Faction page, lightly edited to remove unnecessary links and footnotes.)

Sooo… this is an unusual pair of real-life people to fictionalise in a novel, eh?

After a droll introduction to an ageing author-lecturer called Monique Piquet, which includes some hilariously catty gossip about Violette Leduc (see my review of her novella The Lady and the Little Fox Fur (1965), translated by Derek Coltman — we learn that we are in fiction about a fiction:

Monique gets a phone call advising her that she was named by Angel Beigesang as a provocatrice, a trigger for the recently published konkretion. This former student from the 1970s was the subject of a literature show called Cata/Strophe and they are eventually to meet up in Paris where Monique is reminded of her radical youth.

…you used to joke about the attractions of the rough trade boy.  You mocked your middle-class students for not challenging authority.  She said you were, like, ‘What are you doing lounging back there in your expensive flares? If you don’t put everything at risk at eighteen there’s no hope for you. (p,25)

The text then segues to Andreas Baader’s first appearance.  He is depicted as a sixteen-year-old poseur. He serves

his apprenticeship stealing Ducati and BMW super bikes while his future comrade, Ulrike Meinhof, says grace before each meal at her Marburg college and gives ardent disarmament speeches, signalling that she might be the next Rosa Luxemburg [the Polish-German Marxist revolutionary]. (p.25)

The narrative perspective constantly shifts in time and place… to and from Monique as a young woman and later, and to and from the sardonic narrator, so the reader needs to be on her toes to know what’s going on, and when.  The review at Overland describes the poetry in the central fiction-within-the-fiction sections as

…fictionalized, free-verse dialogue between Meinhof and Ensslin, two celebrity-terrorists at the centre of what they imagined was a guerilla war waged in the metropole on behalf of the oppressed peoples beyond it.

Konkretion was written over a decade ago, but aspects of it are still relevant today. Warned of the risk of romanticising Baader, Meinhof and their associates who were nonetheless considered charismatic by people who had no empathy for their victims, we read that Monique’s mind is right now hostage to the insolent Andreas Baader  and his lover, the radiant, wolf-eyed Gudrun Ensslin.  

Here they are sipping café exprès and chain-smoking Gitanes at Café de Flore and Les Deux Magots. These department store arsonists runaways, reared on Nietzsche and Sartre, pose for fellow department store arsonist, Astrid Proll.  They are taking a break from their Latin Quarter hideaway, courtesy of revolutionary Régis Debray, comrade of Che Guevara, and soon to be saved by his influential family from a thirty-year sentence in a Bolivian prison.  (p.26)

If you’re about my age and you vaguely remember all these names, it might be because you were demonstrating against the Vietnam War and then, as now, demos always comprise a broad church of protestors.  We might have been marching for peace (without having any idea what that might mean for the Vietnamese people), but ASIO and some TV audiences were recording our presence as anti-capitalists or communists in favour of violent revolution because that’s who some of the leadership wearing their Che Guevara T-shirts were.   Marion May Campbell’s exposure of the hypocrisy and ignorance that was masked at the time is very interesting if you were there.   There is also some droll-but-now-painfully-serious commentary about middle class kids in Melbourne demos sporting the chain-link motif headscarf as symbols of their revolutionary chic and the terror in postmodern façadism…

As Monique hides out in Paris after her disastrous lecture, she encounters the Bibliothèque Nationale and she is not impressed.  Visit the architect’s website to see what you think.

What is it with this will to clear memory’s storehouses that makes them fill only with emptiness the vast tracts and volumes here, the travelators, the escalators, the hectares of decking.  This elephantine geometry of the Bibliothèque Nationale is surely only that, a monument to evacuation.  As if in all this triumphalism, they have brought home the void.  Literally that. A-void. Coasting down these escalators — you ride the expense of spirit is a waste of shame. The cold insistent touch is at the nape of the neck, the low electronic buzz in the marrow.  The entry to hell could be like this. (p.101)

Italics highlight the allusion to Shakespeare’s Sonnet 129 but not to George Perec’s La Disparition (The Void) so there are probably umpteen allusions that I’ve missed.  This sequence goes on to reference Sebald’s Austerlitz which I read so long ago that I’ve forgotten much of it just as Monique does. But she does remember about the Gestapo men and women and their French collaborators who stashed loot in underground warehouses, and as she rides the escalator down to the crassly red abyss to where those warehouses once were, Monique feels the shadowed stare from all the gaunt faces despatched to their fate from Austerlitz station.

Francesca Jurate Sasnaitis has written a more erudite review than mine at the Sydney Review of Books.

Author: Marion May Campbell
Title: Konkretion
Publisher: UWAP (University of Western Australia Publishing), 2013
Cover design by James Allison
Front cover background photo by Nick Page
ISBN: 9781742584911, pbk., 160 pages
Source: Personal library

Posted by: Lisa Hill | November 30, 2025

Flawless Jade (1989) by Barbara Hanrahan

I am so curious about how Barbara Hanrahan came to write this book! As far as I can tell she never visited China or Hong Kong.  What sparked her interest, and who were her sources?

This is the book description:

Wing-yee is an ordinary Chinese girl living through extraordinary times. Born during the war with Japan, she experiences the momentous days when Mao Tse-tung’s revolutionary changes are sweeping the land. Eventually her family separates, some remaining in Canton while others seek refuge in Hong Kong.

The novel revisits the themes of poverty and discrimination against females that we see in Hanrahan’s coming-of-age novels (see The Queens All Strayed and The Chelsea Girl) but while there might be autobiographical elements in the episodic plot, it’s set in China and Hong Kong and the central character is an ordinary Chinese girl.

Since I’ve read Hanrahan before, I know that the prose in Flawless Jade is a deliberate departure in style but it still jars a little.  The novel is narrated by Wing-yee in simple, naïve and occasionally ungrammatical prose, conveying a lack of education and unfamiliarity with English.  In short ‘diary-style’ entries looking back on her life, she relates her dramatic birth in Canton when she almost didn’t survive because the cord was twisted around her neck —  while overhead, bombs were falling.  This dates her birth at about 1938 when the Japanese bombed Canton during the Sino-Japanese war (1937-1945).

Although her parents were both schoolteachers, they weren’t well-paid.  They had been a wealthy family in the past but male relations took their money because women couldn’t inherit.  We learn about about the inferior status of girls in Chinese culture too:

Babies come cheap in China, but families only wanted boys.  It was better, on the whole, if girl babies died early. I was the third girl so I wasn’t welcomed.  Babies weren’t regarded as children but as grandchildren, and Grandfather wasn’t pleased at all and there were talks that I should be given away.  But Mother cried and asked to keep me, so in the end they had me.

Big Sister’s name was Sum-yee, that meant Heart Happiness. Second Sister’s name was Yun-yee, that meant Happy Happiness. Grandfather gave me the name Jin-tai, that meant To Take a Brother’s Place.  I carried the name for a while, but Mother didn’t like it, so quietly she changed me to be Jin-yee, that meant To Take Happiness. But I was also called Long-neck Goose, because I had a long neck.  Mother couldn’t change that because the cord had wound round my neck and made it long. (pp.1-2)

(At some stage the name Jin-yee morphs into Wing-yee, but I’m not sure if this is an editor’s error or not.)

Wing-yee tells us about her extended family, often in unflattering terms about their appearance and behaviours, and we learn that her mother’s origins in a higher class than her father’s makes her a bit of a snob, quite fond of dispensing advice about how her daughters must avoid cheapening their appearance in order not to look like peasants. There’s also a lot of ludicrous advice and superstition about preventing or curing medical ailments.  All of this is presented as straightforward and normal; Wing-yee has no reason not to believe what she is told.

The war years are really difficult, but eventually when ‘two big bombs’ fall on the Japanese there is peace. Father goes on teaching and Mother gets a job assessing claims from people who’d been evacuated from their houses but couldn’t dislodge squatters who’d taken them over. Food is more plentiful so Grandmother can cook her specialties again and there are joyous festivals at New Year. But the rumours about Communists marching down from the north turn to reality, most significantly as far as this child is concerned, when the Communists turn up at her school:

At school we’d always stood in the yard for Assembly and sung the song about the Generalissimo as the flag went up the pole.  It was a red and blue flag with a white sun, and we liked to watch it go up to the sky.  But one day the Communist people came to the school and they had uniforms with funny little hats, and there were some female ones too.  We had to stand in the school-yard and we were all very curious.  They gave us a new flag that was red with five yellow stars, and everybody — even the head teacher and our class teachers — had to learn a new song about the East is red and the sun rises and Chairman Mao is born… and Chairman Mao is the people’s life and he will give people happiness… and we are all equal with the workers and the peasants, and Communism is forever.  And they taught us to do rice-planting dances — about how we sow and then we harvest and then we sow again.

They took away our  red and blue flag with the white sun, and said we must not trust in Buddha or Jesus Christ or fairies or kings. People were frightened that the Communists had come, even though they were friendly and gave a very good impression as they helped to fix up Canton.  People thought the Communists would put all the babies in some big buildings while their mothers had to go to work. (p.74)

Before long the family makes a nightmare flight to Hong Kong, but they are even more poor than before and, disillusioned, the older sisters go back to Canton.  But things are no better than before and Father ends up sending money back to Canton to support them and the grandparents.  For a short time Wing-yee attended school for those who’d had disrupted schooling during the war, (and somehow money is found for the brother’s education even though he’s not as bright as she is), but grinding poverty in ever-smaller and more overcrowded, unhygienic rooms forces her into piece-work at home, doing embroidery and tapestry.

There is a brief moment of respite from this depressing life when she becomes a usherette in a picture theatre and she is courted by a wealthy young man, but her one hope of escape when she is accepted to audition for a film is sabotaged by her mother.


These days authors include effusive thanks to their sources in the Afterword, but I’ve found nothing anywhere that hints at what inspired Hanrahan to write a story set in places she’d never been and featuring a character with an entirely different history and culture to her own.  These days, identity politics would probably frown upon such a feat of imagination.  From what I’ve read of Chinese fiction (which I admit, is not a great deal) so much of Flawless Jade seems authentic that I can’t help thinking that Hanrahan may have somehow heard these vignettes first-hand during the wave of economic migrants from Hong Kong to Australia in the 1980s and 1990s. If so, Hanrahan was helping them to tell a story that is only recently starting to emerge for a western readership.

Author: Barbara Hanrahan
Title: Flawless Jade
Publisher: UQP (University of Queensland Press), 1989
Cover design by Christopher McVinish
ISBN: 9780702222467, hbk., 142 pages
Source: personal library

Following on from my notes from Mark Musa’s Introduction to the Purgatorio… we begin in the second realm, Purgatory.

Canto I

After all the noise and cacophony of the Inferno, this is a quieter, more optimistic place.  Dante feels the poetic impulse stirring:

For better waters, now, the little bark
of my poetic powers hoists its sails,
and leaves behind that cruelest of the seas.

And I shall sing about that second realm
where man’s soul goes to purify itself
and become worthy to ascend to Heaven. (Canto 1, Lines 1-6)

He feels a sense of relief and renewal now that he is free of the deathly atmosphere.  As the dawn breaks, he sees four stars, which allegorically represent the Four Cardinal Virtues of classical philosophy: Prudence, Temperance, Justice and Fortitude.  These virtues were bestowed on the perfect man in Paradise, i.e. Adam, but since the loss of Eden, they are no longer an inevitable part of human nature which is why Dante laments the ‘widowhood’ of the inhabited world.  These stars of the southern hemisphere are not visible in the Northern Hemisphere.

But here in Purgatory these stars light up the face of an ancient man who challenges their right to be there.  He thinks they have escaped from Hell, and he demands to know who guided them here.  Although he isn’t actually named in this Canto, Dante’s readers who knew their classics would have recognised Cato, the eminent Stoic. Virgil cautions Dante to reverence and so he sinks to his knees while Virgil explains that he has authority from Beatrice and that he has brought the living Dante safely through the realm of the Damned in order to save his soul.

Cato gives permission for them to proceed, on condition that all trace of filth has been removed:

….see that you gird his waist
with a smooth reed; take care to bathe his face
till every trace of filth has disappeared

for it would not be fitting that he go
with vision clouded by the mists of Hell,
to face the first of Heaven’s ministers. (Canto I, Lines 94-99)

The canto concludes with the tender image of Virgil using the reed of humility to wipe Dante’s face once buried underneath the dirt of hell. Musa’s Notes tell us that the reed that springs back after being plucked is reminiscent of The Aeneid Book 6 where the Sibyl tells Aeneid that he must carry a golden bough as a kind of passport through the Underworld, and a new bough springs up to replace it afterwards.

Canto II

Still standing by the edge of the water, Dante sees a light moving at high speed towards them.  It’s an angel, propelling a boat with only the power of his wings.  Again Virgil tells Dante to fall to his knees in respect:

Closer and closer to our shore he came,
brighter and brighter shone the bird of God,
until I could no longer bear the light,

and bowed my head. He steered straight to the shore,
his boat so swift and light upon the wave,
it left no sign of truly sailing there;

and the celestial pilot stood astern
with blessedness inscribed upon his face.
More than a hundred souls were in his ship. (Canto II, Lines 37-45)

An angel running a sort of shuttle service!

Singing a melody, the souls disembark, and the angel disappears swiftly, as he had come. The song is Amor che ne la mente mi gagiona:

The souls wander about, not knowing where to go, and they ask for directions from Virgil and Dante. Virgil explains that they are pilgrims too, and then they suddenly notice that Dante is alive. One of them turns out to be Dante’s friend Casella, and Musa tells us that he was a musician and a singer who may have set Dante’s canzone to music.  The souls forget themselves and their purpose and were deeply lost in joy when Casella accedes to Dante’s request:

I said, ‘Pray sing, and give a little rest
to my poor soul which, burdened by my flesh,
has climbed this far and is exhausted now.” (Canto II, lines 109-111)

The song brings Cato back again, to castigate them all for their laziness, and sends them on their way.  Musa points out that it wasn’t unreasonable for them to delay because they didn’t know where to go and anyway, they can’t begin their purgation until God wills it.

But Dante evidently found it fitting that the newly arrived souls hear words that would shake them to their depths, and he chose Cato to deliver them — this pagan soul of harshly uncompromising, impatient idealism, who took his own life rather than compromise. (p.27)

Canto III

The crowd of souls sets off, with Dante and Virgil behind them.  Dante suddenly becomes alarmed because while he has a shadow, Virgil does not, and this gives rise to Virgil’s explanation that although he can feel pain, heat and cold, a shade casts no shadow.  This is the will of the Creator, and Dante should be content with not understanding everything because he has only a human mind.

At the foot of the mountain, they are not sure which way to go, and so they approach a slow-moving crowd of souls, who are likened to sheep following a leader in ignorance. One of these reveals himself as Manfred, the grandson of the Empress Constance, who sinned but repented at life’s end — but still faces a 30-year wait in Purgatory!

Canto IV

The first lines of this canto seem eminently quotable:

When any of our senses is aroused
to intensity of pleasure or of pain,
the soul gives itself up to that one sense,

oblivious to all its other powers.
This fact serves to refute the false belief
that in our bodies more than one soul burns.

And so it is when we see or hear
something which wholly captivates the soul,
we easily can lose all sense of time. (Canto IV, Lines 1-9)

That’s certainly true when we are reading a captivating book!

BTW Musa’s notes remind us that Lines 5 and 6 refuting the idea of having more than one soul is Dante the Poet-philosopher rebutting Aristotle’s idea of multiple souls, which was consolidated by Thomas Aquinas who said that the soul is a unity endowed with three faculties.  And although that significance had passed me by entirely when I read it, I now remember what C S Lewis wrote about the Medieval Mind and how bookish it was and how they reverenced ancient thinkers because their ideas were written in a book. (This was why Ptolemy’s daft theory of the universe was ‘set in stone’, when plainly, it didn’t mesh with their observations.)  Well, here, it seems to me, Dante is challenging not just ideas he doesn’t agree with, he’s also challenging the whole idea of sacrosanct texts.

Anyway…

It’s an arduous climb upwards  in the heat, squeezing through a small gap in the rock on hands and feet, to find themselves on an open plain. Still, Virgil urges Dante onwards when he quails at the sight of the heights they still have to climb.  When they finally sit down for a breather, Dante is perturbed by the sight of the sun on their left, so Virgil explains the geography of Purgatory — which made me think that Dante probably appreciated the opportunity to rest a little longer as much as the explanation. And indeed, Dante then asks the adult poetic version of ‘Are we there yet?’

‘But would you kindly tell me, if you please,
how much more climbing we must do: this peak
soars higher than my eyes can see.’ (Canto VI, lines 85-87)

To which Virgil replies:

‘This mount is not like the others: at the start
it is most difficult to climb, but then,
the more one climbs the easier it becomes;

And when the slope feels gentle to the point
that climbing up would be as effortless
as floating down a river in a boat —

well then, you have arrived at the road’s end,
and there you can expect, at last, to rest. (Canto IV, Lines 88-95)

These comforting words are interrupted by the laconic voice of Belacqua, mocking Virgil’s rather long explanations.  Musa’s notes tells us that Belacqua was a Florentine lute-maker and friend of Dante’s.  He was notorious for his laziness, and it was his habit of procrastination which landed him in the Antepurgatory with the Souls of the Indolent because he left his repentance till the end.  And even now *yawn* he’s in no hurry to say the prayers which would shorten his time there.

Virgil says nothing in reply. We can almost imagine him shrugging his shoulders as if to say, what is the point of arguing with this fellow?  He sets off again, with Dante behind him.

Canto V

Once again Virgil has to chastise Dante because he has let his attention lapse.  The Souls of the Indolent below them are transfixed by Dante’s shadow, and Dante has turned around to see what the to-do is about.  It’s such a human response, but Virgil has no time for it:

‘What is it that has caught your interest so
and makes you lag behind?’ my master asked.
“What do you care, if they are whispering?

Keep up with me and let the people talk!
Be like a solid tower whose brave height
remains unmoved by all the winds that blow:

the man who lets his thoughts be turned aside
by one thing or another, will lose sight
of his true goal, his mind sapped of its strength.’ (Canto V, Lines 13-18.)

Oh, so true.  All that time I waste looking at dog videos on Facebook!

The fascination with Dante’s shadow, however, brings a new crowd of souls eager to learn how a living man has made his way there. In contrast to the Indolent, they dash about.  They beseech him to take news of their progress back to earth and to ask for prayers to be said on their behalf, but Dante doesn’t recognise anybody. Men tell their stories of murder and the battlefield, but it is Pia whose speech is startling.  She is a rarity: a woman speaking!

Musa notes that the speed of this canto reflects the hasty repentances that were made in the face of a violent death. Musa also notes the contrast between the verbose Francesca in Inferno V, lines 97-99, and Pia’s brevity which shows her to be well bred, gentle, and considerate as she asks the Pilgrim to remember her only after he has rested from his long journey. 

Canto VI

But now a whole horde of souls converges on Dante, and he does know these ones. Dante likens the pressure on the pilgrim to a game of dice where the losers hang about in hope of a handout from the winner.

He keeps on going, listening to them all;
the ones who get a handout do not push,
and this is his protection from the crowd.

I was that man caught in a begging throng,
turning my face toward one and then the next,
buying my way out with my promises. (Canto VI, Lines 7-12)

Dante asks Virgil if there really is a power in prayers said by the living on earth for the souls in Purgatory.  Virgil’s answer suggests that if it were that simple, the penitents would quickly be on their way to Heaven.  For a proper answer, he says, Dante must wait for Beatrice who will appear on the mountain top.

Once again, Virgil who seems less confident about their path now, seeks advice about which way to go from a man alone on the mountain.  He is Sordello and his appearance gives Dante the poet the opportunity to have a bit of a rant about the evil and corruption of Italy.  We need not linger over that.

Canto VII

Sordello is impressed that the shade he has embraced is the eminent Virgil and he offers to be their guide. He warns, however, that no one can climb the mountain at night; this curfew is because the dark shadows makes one’s will impotent.  So he leads them to a ledge above the Valley of Princes, where a whole host of Negligent Rulers (including Henry the Fat of Navarre!) are singing Salve Regina. I think this is the one:

This is a lovely contrast to the raucous racket in the Inferno. 

Canto VIII

More singing introduces this canto.  One of the penitents stands up and sings Te lucis ante, that is usually sung at Compline in a monastery.  Musa tells us that it’s a prayer for protection from temptation, especially in the form of evil dreams.  It’s performed here by the King’s Singers:

The serenity of this moment is broken by the arrival of two Angels with flaming swords, sent to guard the Souls against the serpent which Sordello says is due to appear. (Musa’s Notes also tell us that the snake, BTW, is the coat of arms of the Milanese branch of the Visconti family.)

Dante is panicked but Sordello guides them to the valley below where the noble shades are. The sky is lit up by three brilliant torches which take the place of the four bright stars, and Musa’s Notes tell us that these torches represent the theological virtues, Faith, Hope and Charity. They also signify here that Dante is about to leave the Antepurgatory.

The serpent arrives, but is given short thrift by two holy falcons, and then Dante is approached by Malaspina who makes a prophecy about Dante’s exile.


You can see Scott-Giles’ visual representation of Purgatory here.

Next week, Purgatorio Cantos 9-16.

 Progress so far:

See also

References:

  • The Divine Comedy: Translation, Notes and Commentary by Mark Musa,
    • Vol 1, Inferno, 2003 new edition of the 1984 Penguin Classics edition, first published 1971 by Indiana University Press, ISBN 9780142437223
    • Vol 2, Purgatory, 1985 Penguin Classics edition, first published 1981 by Indiana University Press, ISBN: 9780140444421
  • The Divine Comedy translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, with illustrations by Gustave Doré and an Introduction by Melinda Corey; Barnes and Noble edition 2008, ISBN: 9781435103849
  • The Divine Comedy translated and with an Introduction by Clive James, Picador Poetry edition, 2013, ISBN 9781447244219
  • A Beginners Guide to Dante’s Divine Comedy by Jason M Baxter, Baker Academic, 2018, ISBN: 9781493413102, Kindle edition  ASIN: B0752RVZ6R
  • The Discarded Image: An Introduction to Medieval and Renaissance Literature by C S Lewis, Kindle edition ASIN B08TCJZP5N
  • The Sleepwalkers, by Arthur Koestler, The Danube Edition, Hutchinson, 1968 first published 1959 ISN: 090502515
  • The Essential Plato, translated by Benjamin Jowett, The Softback Preview, 1999, first published in this translation in 1871, ISBN: 9781582880129
  • The Dante Course, a series of lectures presented by Prof. Teodolinda Barolini, Lorenzo da Ponte Professor of Italian at Columbia University, 2015-6 online

Image credits:

Posted by: Lisa Hill | November 29, 2025

A House with Verandahs (1980) by Nene Gare

First published in 1980, A House with Verandahs was Nene Gare’s third novel.  As you can see from her page at Wikipedia, she was a prolific author, with multiple works published in the press but her first novel was The Fringe Dwellers (1961, see my review), followed by Green Gold (1963) and a collection of short stories titled Bend to the Wind (1978).

A House with Verandahs is a homely story of an Adelaide family during the Great Depression.  The title refers to the mother’s dream of having a better house than the ramshackle one they are crammed into.  As the cover blurb says, it was…

…a house with a kitchen so narrow even the dog trod on Mother’s corns’, a garden that pleased itself and ‘dripped water down people’s necks in winter’, ever-widening cracks in the ceiling and a treacherous path to the outside W.C.

Despite these disadvantages, the situation is somewhat idealised. The cover blurb puts it like this:

But the Hounslow home was pervaded by love and warmth: a mother who the children could never get enough of and a father who was full of dreams but never quite managed to conquer reality.  Peace, the middle child, narrates the erratic, eventful life of the Hounslow family; the everyday bedlam, the comings and goings of various eccentric friends and relatives, is hilariously portrayed.

Well, I wouldn’t say hilarious.  Mildly droll, maybe.  And I wouldn’t say eventful either.  The middle part of the novel looks more promising when the landlord wants to sell the house they rent and Mother’s dream of a house with verandahs and the children’s hopes of living by the beach are briefly raised, but Father manages to sabotage the possibility by miraculously finding the deposit to buy the house they’re in, and a bit of extra land besides.  But apart from that, and the birth of the last child, it’s mostly episodes of little consequence.

The idealisation of Mother goes into overdrive in chapter 7.

Mother believed in love and showing it and so did my father.  Dad never passed Mother in the house without stopping to give her a hug or to ask her, ‘All right, old girl?’ Mother always said, ‘Yes.’ She almost believed it too and Dad certainly did.

Mother envied nobody.  She might wish for a bigger house, a little more money but the things she needed most she had, her husband, her children. Mother believed her children were the best looking, the brainiest, the liveliest and that we owed all these things to her husband.(p.83)

However, whether the author intended it or not, we see that she has some prejudices.

She found much to dislike in cruel schoolteachers, eavesdropping neighbours who never forgot her ages, the Labor party (full of Roman Catholics) and those beneath contempt who said they had forgotten to place her winning bets.

And though she’s generous with her jars of jam, she’s a snob too.  The local schools are not good enough for her children.

And maybe she was not as perfect as her naïve daughter thought.

I told a woman friend of the family that whilst my father had been away at war, my mother had had three babies.

The woman smiled, ‘She’s so innocent.’ (p. 101)

But the narrative then segues to something else, so the reader never knows what this is about.

It was disappointing to see a writer described at the Australian Dictionary of Biography as known for her empathy and friendliness, employing casual antisemitism in the form of a landlord’s greed being attributed to being Jewish.  (p.63) One comes across this in books published before the Holocaust, but it’s rare to see it after its horrors were known, and even more surprising to see it in a book published in Melbourne, home to more Holocaust survivors than any other city in Australia.

I’m not surprised that this is out of print.

Author: Nene Gare (1919-1994)
Title: A House with Verandahs
Publisher: Sun Books, 1982 (first published 1980)
Cover art by Guy Mirabella
ISBN: 9780725103866, pbk., 143 pages
Source: personal library, OpShopFind

Here we are in the Purgatorio!

This the book description for Volume 2 of Mark Musa’s translation:

In the second volume of his definitive translation of The Divine Comedy, Mark Musa again brings his poetic sensitivity and skill as a translator and annotator to the difficult task of making Dante’s masterpiece vital for English-speaking readers. In Purgatory, Dante contemplates the origins of sin as he struggles up the terraces of Mount Purgatory on his arduous journey toward God. In Musa’s fine idiomatic translation – complete with prose introductions, bibliography, and glossary – Dante becomes the universal poet: sublime, grim, intellectual, simple, humorous, tender, and ecstatic.

I can’t resist quoting how Musa portrays the context of Dante’s epic:

Dante, portrait by Giotto

When Dante began writing his masterpiece, Duccio and Giotto’s paintings were on the walls of churches and homes, Gothic architecture was at its peak, the troubadours had left a hefty canon of lyric poetry behind them, the Romance of the Rose had been written, and scholastic philosophy was at its high point, while the conflict between church and temporal power was nearing its final stages. (p.ix)

This 1493 woodcut of Florence, from Hartmann Schedel‘s Nuremberg Chronicle is later than Dante’s lifespan (1265-1321), but (even though he was not writing in Florence, he was in exile), you get the idea of the physical environment that shaped him.  Musa gives us the intellectual and cultural context.

Key points to note from the Introduction:

Moral structure

  • It’s the state of the soul — at peace with God, or not — at the moment of death that determines salvation or damnation for eternity.
  • In the Inferno the Damned are placed according to their sins, but in Purgatory, they are grouped according to the tendencies that were the cause of their sins. 
  • The Inferno is eternal, but Purgatory is temporary.
  • Penance is not retributive, it is remedial.  It is not punishment, it is a corrective measure, a discipline imposed in order to help one fight the old habit of one’s sin or the residual tendency to sin. 

Structure

  • The island-mountain of Purgatory consists of
    1. Earthly Paradise, at the very top, for those cleansed of their sin;
    2. The middle layer, Purgatory Proper, with a gate guarded by an angel, is for those willing to begin their purgation. Seven terraces represent the seven Deadly Sins: Pride, Envy, Wrath, Sloth, Avarice (and Prodigality), Glutton and Lust.
    3. The Antepurgatory is the lowest part, for those not ready to start their purgation.  These souls are the ‘Late Repentants’ because they kept putting off their repentance.
  • The ‘geology’ [my term, not Musa’s] of the mountain of Purgatory suggests to me that even though his grasp of the structure of Earth was Ptolemean, Dante knew something about how volcanoes form landscapes:
    • It rose in the middle of Earth’s southern hemisphere opposite Jerusalem;
    • It was created when Lucifer fell from Heaven down to the centre of the earth, and the displaced material rushed upward to create the mountain, i.e. Musa estimates that it’s about 3000 miles high.

The spiritual structure 

  • Purgatory is the passageway to Heaven, and pure souls progress through it without needing purgation, so Dante will witness three categories of the Saved arriving by boat along the Tiber:
    • Those destined for immediate entry to Heaven (hardly any);
    • Those proceeding straight to their purgation (most of them);
    • Those who have to wait in the Antepurgatory (presumed to be a minority because they only get six cantos).
  • The arrival of Cato, guardian of Purgatory, corresponds to Virgil’s sudden appearance in the Inferno. His role is not really clear. In The Aeneid he’s a lawgiver, in TDC he’s like a policeman on the beat;
  • The newly arrived souls are surprised to see Virgil and Dante already there, and are intrigued to see that Dante is alive. The songs that are sung have significance and so does poetry, more about that later.
  • Musa suggests that there are some troubling discrepancies to watch out for:
    • The homogeneity of each group of souls doesn’t mean they all share the same fate;
    • Dante delays in addressing the issue of how long a Late Repentant has to wait;
    • Dante omits to explain how The Pilgrim gets to know facts he’s never been told;
    • Unclear organisation of the Late Repentant Souls who seem to just wander about.
  • Purgatory Proper is utterly unlike Earth: there are no colours, nor atmosphere.  It’s neatly organised, and ritualistic but it’s tranquil, serene and mostly silent except for quiet music and singing.
  • Frequent discussions about Love and Free Will take place because love is the source of all actions but there are two kinds:
    1. Love that is instinctive, a natural desire to return to God, which can never be wrong.
    2. Love that involves Free Will, and since we are human, it can lead to choosing evil.
      • The first three Deadly Sins involve choosing through Free Will to harm a neighbour: Pride, Envy and Wrath;
      • Sloth is also a choice of Free Will, it is the insufficiency of love for true good or God;
      • Exercising Free Will to choose excessive love for secondary goods results in Avarice, Gluttony and Lust.
  • In different ways, mostly symbolically, Dante the Pilgrim ‘participates’ in the purgation of these sins, just as he ‘participated’ in the sins on his journey in Hell.
  • There are three dreams which connect the three parts of Purgatory. They are prophetic, involve female figures and are to some degree erotic, and each dream occurs in a canto connected to the number nine: Canto IX (9), XIX (19), and XXVII (27÷3=9).
  • Virgil will depart in the concluding cantos of Purgatorio and Beatrice will arrive, signifying the Final Advent of Christ, and it will end with the word ‘stars’, just as Inferno did.

You can see Scott-Giles’ visual representation of Purgatory here.

Ok, onward!

 Progress so far:

See also

References:

  • The Divine Comedy: Translation, Notes and Commentary by Mark Musa,
    • Vol 1, Inferno, 2003 new edition of the 1984 Penguin Classics edition, first published 1971 by Indiana University Press, ISBN 9780142437223
    • Vol 2, Purgatory, 1985 Penguin Classics edition, first published 1981 by Indiana University Press, ISBN: 9780140444421.  The cover illustration is by William Blake (1757-1827): ‘The Harlot and the Giant’ make an appearance in Canto 32.
  • The Divine Comedy translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, with illustrations by Gustave Doré and an Introduction by Melinda Corey; Barnes and Noble edition 2008, ISBN: 9781435103849
  • The Divine Comedy translated and with an Introduction by Clive James, Picador Poetry edition, 2013, ISBN 9781447244219
  • A Beginners Guide to Dante’s Divine Comedy by Jason M Baxter, Baker Academic, 2018, ISBN: 9781493413102, Kindle edition  ASIN: B0752RVZ6R
  • The Discarded Image: An Introduction to Medieval and Renaissance Literature by C S Lewis, Kindle edition ASIN B08TCJZP5N
  • The Sleepwalkers, by Arthur Koestler, The Danube Edition, Hutchinson, 1968 first published 1959 ISN: 090502515
  • The Essential Plato, translated by Benjamin Jowett, The Softback Preview, 1999, first published in this translation in 1871, ISBN: 9781582880129
  • The Dante Course, a series of lectures presented by Prof. Teodolinda Barolini, Lorenzo da Ponte Professor of Italian at Columbia University, 2015-6 online

Image credits:

I’ve read two other books by Russian-French author Andreï Makine, but I like this one the best.  Brief Loves that Live Forever consists of eight related short stories that combine to form a novella.  Each one can be read independently, but together they form a vivid portrait of growing up, as Siberian-born Makine did, in the USSR under Brezhnev.  Despite the deprivations and compromises required by circumstance, the tone is elegiac, because the narrator is looking back on events when he first fell in love.

The story titles convey something of the author’s preoccupations:

  • The Tiny Minority
  • She set me free from symbols
  • The woman who had seem Lenin
  • An eternally living doctrine
  • Lovers on a stormy night
  • A gift from God
  • Captives in Eden
  • The poet who helped God to love

‘She set me free from symbols’ tells the story of a episode that takes place with a backdrop of a May Day march, snippets of which people of my generation saw on TV in the Cold War days of MAD (Mutually Assured Destruction). Cameras zoomed in on grey-faced men in grey uniforms presiding over a massive parade of weaponry and endless lines of soldiers marching in military precision.  Here in Australia commentators always presented the march as a provocation to the US, but it was also something else.  Not unlike our Anzac Day marches, it was also a tribute to the 27 million Soviet citizens and military who died in WW2, and the intimidating display of the latest in military hardware was a promise to the people of the USSR that a catastrophic invasion of their territory would never happen again.

The symbolic importance of all this is lost on the young boy who witnesses this spectacle.  In later years, it means something else entirely:

She was not the first woman to have dazzled me with her beauty, with the patient strength of her love.  She was, however, the first to reveal to me that a woman with love in her heart no longer belongs to our world, but from it creates another one, where she swells, sovereign, untouched by the restless greed of everyday life.  Yes, an extraterrestrial.

And to think that our encounter took place upon a stage set devised to represent a life devoid of love. (p.27)

His disillusionment begins when the official party moves off the grandstand because of a shower of icy rain, and the orphan narrator sees the wrong side of the scenery.

The shock was as great as if in the middle of the screening of a film I had caught sight of technicians rearranging the furniture or even tickling one of the actresses.  (p.33)

At first he thinks this is all a secret, but no…

One afternoon in February, they sent us to clear the pathways in a huge park at the edge of the city, and it was there, in an area that few people visited, that we came upon the parade grandstand.  Nobody had thought of covering it up,  except that it was blanketed in thick snow, intensely blue in the sunlight, marked by no human footprint.

The real mystery, however, lay not upon the snow-covered terraces but in the grandstand’s entrails, a dark space, pierced through with steel poles, into which I slithered, following three or four of my comrades. The others, their shovels on their shoulders, were already lining up in ranks, to return to the orphanage, just as we embarked on a long exploration of the metallic maze.  (pp.33-4)

However, much to the derision of his comrades who abandon him, he gets stuck and can’t find his way out.  And in his panic, he  sees the remnants of a child’s balloon, which triggers thoughts of all that he does not have:

I felt the gulf that separated me from the child who had lost it.  I pictured a boy of my own age, living in a family, watching the parade, not in the middle of a crowd of strangers, but on the grandstand, with his parents.  I did not think ‘A rich kid’, it was more that I sensed the texture of a life so different from my own, a maternal presence at his side, the solidity of a mode of existence this boy would share with some other children in the enclosure.  The impossibility of imagining his way of life coincided with my inability to escape from these steel cages. (p.38)

It is another scrap of balloon above him that shows him the way out, and he scrambles through, just in time to catch the sight of the troop of orphans walking slowly away. Nobody had even noticed his absence. And in this confusing moment where time had seemed an eternity while he was trapped but was actually only a few minutes, he sees a young woman.  She is not like those he’s used to:

It was the first time an awareness of femininity had struck me so openly.  Before that women used to have the physique of the workers we came across in factories and on construction sites, strong women, often marked by physical labour and alcohol, whom life had moulded to be able to hold their own against men.  At the orphanage femininity was even less in evidence, we all of us, boys and girls, had a neutralised identity: our heads cropped once a month, clothes of the same thick flannel, a way of talking whose male roughness passed unnoticed. (p.40)

So this lovely young woman, tears glistening on her cheeks as she reads a book, steals his heart.  As he flees towards his disappearing comrades, he overhears two older women — gardening staff — musing about the young woman, whose husband was lost at sea in a submarine and has no grave to mark his passing.  As he runs he is hoping to forget the beauty and grief he had just witnessed, but this forgetfulness never came. She becomes a memory that teaches him a way of seeing and understanding.

After my fleeting encounter with her I had quite a different perception of the weighty symbols celebrating my country’s messianic project.  All those parades, ceremonies, congresses, monuments… Curiously enough I now had less desire to make fun of them, to criticise the hypocrisy of the dignitaries up there on the grandstand, to denounce them as profiteers for whom the dream of a new society was nothing more than a convenient old lie.

I sensed that the truth was to be found nether among them nor in the opposing camp, with the dissidents.  I perceived it as simple and luminous, like that February day, beneath the tree burdened with snow. <snip>

What spoke the truth was this woman’s silence, her solitude, her love, so all-embracing that even this child, a stranger, scrambling down from tier to tier, remained forever dazzled by it. (p.42)

A society can provide everything but yet not love.

The other stories are equally profound.  My favourite is ‘Lovers on a Stormy Night’ looking for somewhere private… it’s also the favourite of Debbie Robson whose Goodreads review covers more of the stories than I have.

Author: Andreï Makine
Title: Brief Loves that Live Forever (Le livre des brèves amours éternelles)
Translated from the French by Geoffrey Strahan
Publisher: MacLehose Press, 2014
Cover design by Monica Royes, cover illustration by Claudia Gutierrez
ISBN: 9781780870496, pbk., 175 pages
Source: Personal library, purchased from The Avenue Bookstore Elsternwick, $19.99

A couple of the blogs I follow are devoted to photography or include photography as an element of self-expression in their posts, but their work is in stark contrast to the modernist photographer Wolfgang Sievers.  Their photos — of people, animals and the environment — are of our time, as he was of his. Sievers had a European Modernist approach derived from the Bauhaus movement, and his subjects in his heyday were the architecture and industry of the 1960s and 70s.

This is the book description:

At the outbreak of the Second World War, Wolfgang Sievers (1913-2007) fled Nazi Germany to make a new home in Australia. Through his striking images of the post-war manufacturing boom, he would go on to become one of the country’s eminent photographers.

Sievers’ images celebrate the excitement of the modern machine age. The photographer documented the height of Australian industry, recording places such as textile mills, match factories, oil refineries and treatment plants many of them long since gone. In these places, Sievers found unexpected beauty and virtue, forming an invaluable record of Australia’s industrial past, history, culture and the form of photography.

The images in this book are selected from those curated by Ennis in the 2011 edition, republished in a new and affordable format.

The Wolfgang Sievers Photographic Archive consists of about 13,700 prints and 51,700 negatives and transparencies, making it one of the largest photographic collections held in the National Library of Australia.

Browsing through the photos in this book shows the contrast with the work of Olive Cotton, which I featured a few days ago. Sievers’ early work (as shown in this book) includes no animals, and only a few portraits. Most of them are buildings and machines.  Photos are taken from different and unusual vantage points, the eye is drawn towards the angles of the structure and some of them are abstract compositions— as you can see from the bookcover image (which is called ‘Dunlop Tyre Manufacturing, Bayswater, 1969).

Even early in his career Sievers shot his photos from unusual vantage points.  There is a shot of old buildings in Frankfurt which appears to have been taken from an adjacent rooftop so that the viewer’s eye rests on the pitched rooftops with their dormers, gables and chimneys. At Mutual Art this photo is titled Old Frankfurt Before its Complete Destruction in World War II, Berlin, Germany 1937, but this is misleading. It was originally just titled ‘Old Frankfurt’ because Sievers could not have foreseen the consequences of war in 1937.  The new title implies nostalgia and/or blame or resentment, but Sievers’ photo was taken to show his interest in architecture, and like the photo of the Birch Trees in the Park of Schloss Gliencike from the same year, was taken at an angle that highlighted the ‘architecture’ of the subject.

Most of the photos that do feature people show them dwarfed or de-identified by buildings and machinery. The angle of the shot and the source of light in ‘Country Women’s Association Meeting at Lennons Hotel, Brisbane Qld, 1965, offers a sea of hats in a hall, facing a light-filled window in the distance, with the photo framed by stout wooden columns and panels used to segment the large space to create smaller spaces if needed.  For us, looking at it in the 21st century, it’s an interesting contrast between the stark modernity of the building, and the softness of the pastels and florals of conservative ladies having a day out.

Sievers’ photo of the exterior of the 26-storey ‘AMP Offices, Melbourne 1970′, is a bird’s-eye view from an adjacent skyscraper. (I can’t find an image of it online, but this one is close).  Looking down towards it, we can see that the height of the AMP skyscraper built in 1969 is truncated and we cannot see the top of it.  Below we can see tiny pedestrians and toy sedans, and the three remaining trees seem tentative.  The building is solid and dark, dominating the photo; there are no signs of life behind the windows and the paved rectangle that forms a path between the skyscraper and the adjacent St James Building is a bleak and barren space.  Today at Wikipedia you can see these spaces filled with concrete block seating and roofing over dining areas.  It looks like a dark and miserable place to have lunch. But it was the height of modernity in the 1970s.  I know, because worked in the city then and Melbourne had a love-hate relationship with these new skyscrapers … and the wind-tunnels created by these buildings were icy cold in the era of the mini-skirt.

Some photos have acquired a nostalgia value now.  The 1956 photo of the Bruck Mills Guest House in Wangaratta shows the building designed by Robin Boyd, most recently sold as a ‘trophy Building’ in 2013.  You can see it and other photos of the guesthouse at Trove. None of the photos feature guests lounging about in the deck chairs or enjoying a drink at the bar. The focus is always on the clean lines of the building, the light and the sharp edges.

My guide to all things architectural is How to Read Buildings, a crash course in architecture, by Carol Davidson Cragoe, and this is what she says about Modernism:

In the 20th century, architects and designers experimented with ways of creating a new style of art and architecture that was specific to their era rather than being based on a style of the past. After World War I, the Art Deco style was inspired by machines. It used geometric ornament and modern materials, including plastics and decorative metals like chrome.  In the late 1920s International Modernism which was plain and almost unornamented, began to emerge in the work of architects like Le Corbusier and the German Bauhaus school.  After World War II Modernism was widely used for large-scale building projects, including offices and public housing. (p. 46)

Photographing these massive structures became Sievers’ career path, but he also photographed machinery.  Some of his factory photos include people but they are secondary to the machines which dominate the frame with massive gears, or a stone crusher, a huge storage tank or a rotary cement mill. I imagine that historians of Australia’s loss of manufacturing would find the Sievers collection invaluable.

This is a very interesting book, both from a photography point-of-view and also because of its historic value. There are now four books in this Artists of the National Library of Australia series: the links below will take you to the NLA Bookshop.

What will be next?!

Title: Wolfgang Sievers
Essay by Helen Ennis
Artists of the National Library of Australia series
Publisher: NLA (National Library of Australia) Publishing, first published 2011, reissued 2025
ISBN: 9781922507846, pbk., 80 pages
Review copy courtesy of NLA Publishing

Posted by: Lisa Hill | November 25, 2025

The Discarded Image (1964), by C S Lewis: Ch V The Heavens

I am well past Chapter V of The Discarded Image by C S Lewis (CSL), but I want to capture some of my thoughts about it for the Purgatorio and Paradiso in The Divine Comedy (TDC) and for when I eventually read The Decameron*.  Like Chapter IV, Chapter V is of interest not only to readers of Dante, but also to lovers of Medieval and Renaissance art and to authors of historical fiction set in this era.

When we were children, if we were lucky enough to be given our own books, we sometimes scribed them with name and address, naming on separate lines the street, the suburb, the city and the country, completing this listing with ‘The Solar System’ and ‘The Universe.’  Even then, we knew Earth’s insignificant place in the solar system and that the sun in our solar system was just one of many stars with other planets orbiting around them. As adults we came to understand from contemporary science that events happen in obedience to laws, but in Part A, ‘The Parts of the Universe‘, C S Lewis writes that Medieval science, had a different conception altogether of the laws which govern events on earth. He says that

The fundamental concept was that of sympathies, antipathies, and strivings inherent in matter itself.  Everything has its right place, its home, the region that suits it, and if not forcibly restrained moves thither by a sort of homing instinct.

He quotes Chaucer to exemplify this belief that everything is in its right place, or if not there, it’s trying to return to where it belonged. So whereas for us, falling objects are an example of gravitation, for people of the Middle Ages. it was an illustration of terrestrial bodies returning to earth where they belong.  They did not, however, believe that (except for the stars) inanimate objects were sentient or purposive.

There were four grades of terrestrial reality:

  • mere existence (e.g. stones);
  • existence with growth (e.g. vegetables);
  • existence with growth and with sensation (e.g. beasts); and
  • all of the above with the addition of Reason (i.e. Man).

There were then four Contraries: hot, cold, moist and dry, combining to form the four elements:

  • hot + dry = fire
  • hot + moist = air
  • cold + moist = water
  • hot + dry = earth.

As a sidenote, CSL mentions the aether too, in a comment that reminds us that when he delivered these lectures he himself had no experience of the 1969 Moon Landing:

There is also a Fifth Element or Quintessence, the aether; but that is found only above the Moon and we mortals have no experience of it.

These four elements have sorted themselves out so that Earth (the heaviest) is at the centre.  Here, CSL references Ptolemy and his spheres, with one luminous body in each.  Starting with Earth, the Moon, Mercury, Venus, the Sun, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn are all fixed in space, and beyond them is the Stellatum (fixed stars) and beyond that they inferred that there must have been, (to get the whole system going) the First Movable or Primum Mobile.  

So when Dante passes that last frontier he is told, ‘We have got outside the largest corporeal thing (del maggior corpo) into that Heaven which is pure light, intellectual light, full of love’ (Paradiso, XXX, 38).

The really important difference is that the Medieval Universe was unimaginably large but also finite, and that it had a shape, a perfect sphere containing an ordered variety of celestial bodies. They knew that Earth was small in comparison to almost everything else, but when they were outside in the dark, they thought of ‘up’ and ‘down’, with Earth in the lowest place.

Something to remember when viewing Medieval religious artworks is that Earth was vertiginous, i.e. high and steep, which is why Dante on the Geryon’s back feels dizzy and scared when descending into Hell.  Medieval art did not use perspective so it’s a mistake to think that common-sense would have enabled them to ‘see’ an imaginary scene or even see the world they were living in as we do.  It was significance that determined the relative size of images in the visual arts.  Piero della Francesca’s ‘Madonna della Misericordia’ in Sansepolcro depicts Mary as a massive figure dwarfing the supplicants below her knees; you can see this in Botticelli’s illustrations for The Divine Comedy too.

CSL also characterises our view of the universe as romantic.  Maybe we think it is terrifying, bewildering or that it causes reverie, but it’s different to the Medieval view that the universe was harmonious.  Its greatness could be overwhelming, but the mind could be at rest.  When Dante went on his journey, he was like a man being conducted through an immense cathedral, not like one lost in a shoreless sea.  There will be some reading this who remember with horror when the Boeing Starliner was stranded in space for eight months in 2024-5, with no certainty about how to get back to earth; some of us who are older will remember the astronauts of Apollo 13 who were stranded in 1970 when space technology was much more primitive.  People die every day on earth, and sometimes in horrific numbers, but the prospect of these astronauts ‘being lost in a shoreless sea’ was and still is the stuff of nightmares.

Part B, ‘Their Operations’ explains key medieval concepts about the universe:

  • Movement: it is God’s power that sets all movement in motion;
  • Influences: a belief in astrology was inherited from antiquity and bequeathed to the Renaissance. Prof Barolini in The Dante Course Lecture 16 is insistent that this was a really contentious issue in the Middle Ages, not like now when it isn’t taken seriously.  There were influential people who gave it credence in the Medieval era but the clergy’s disapproval was unequivocal because of the harm caused by
    • lucrative and politically undesirable predictions;
    • astrological determinism when it excluded Free Will; and
    • practices that encouraged the pagan worship of planets.
  • Characteristics of the ‘seven’ planets:
    • Saturn (Infortuna Major): the most terrible planet, producing melancholy in man and disastrous events on Earth.  In TDC’s Heaven of Contemplatives it is connected to sickness and old age and Father Time images;
    • Jupiter (Fortuna Major): the ‘best planet’.  In Man, it produces a ‘kingly type at peace’, and joviality, cheerfulness, tranquility, magnanimity, and a festive attitude.  It produces halcyon days and prosperity. In the TDC, wise and just princes go to this sphere when they die;
    • Mars (Infortuna Minor): a bad planet.  It provokes a martial temperament in Man and causes wars. CSL thinks that the Heaven of Martyrs is not just because of the obvious reason but also because of a mistaken philological connection between ‘martyr’ and ‘Martem’.
    • Sol i.e. the Sun is the eye and mind of the whole universe, (even greater even than Jupiter the King).  It makes Man wise and liberal, and its sphere is the Heaven of Theologians and Philosophers.
    • Venus (Fortuna Minor): in mortals it produces amorousness and beauty; and in history, fortunate events. In TDC, her sphere is not the charitable, but those now penitent who in life loved greatly and lawlessly.
    • Mercury, the quicksilver planet, in TDC gives us Men of Action. (But other sources say differently.)
    • Luna i.e. the Moon represents the divide between aether and air, heaven and nature, necessity and contingence, and incorruptible to corruptible.  ‘Under the moon’ is not a vague synonym, it has a precise meaning.  It produces wandering in Man, either travelling or ‘wandering in the wits’, i.e. periodical insanity. In TDC her sphere is for those who enter but then leave the convent life.

Points to note about these planetary characteristics:

  • They do not work directly on man, but modify the air e.g. pestilence is caused by bad conjunctions of the planets;
  • We recognise constellations as a permanent pattern of stars, whereas in Medieval astronomy they represented a temporary state of their relative positions; and
  • The modern meaning of ‘influence’ does not apply.  In the Medieval Age, it was a fully conscious metaphor from astrology.
  • The Medieval Model of the cosmos was not dark, as we think of it.  They thought the sun illuminated the whole universe, including the stars and the moon.  They had no concept of colours being refracted by air; they thought of night being a shadow cast by Earth.
  • The cosmos was also not thought of as silent.  CSL writes: You must conceive yourself looking up at a world lighted, warmed and resonant with music.

Part C: Their Inhabitants.

This gets a bit tricky.  God as the transcendent and immaterial power behind the First Movement, the Primum Mobile, starts the rotations of the spheres.  He occupies no place and is not affected by Time. But he can’t be moving anything because this theory demands that the end point be an unmoving Mover. Aristotle solved this conundrum by saying He moves as beloved i.e. as an object of desire moves those who desire it. Therefore the Primum Mobile is loved by its love of God, and thus makes the rest of the universe move.

There are two senses of this Love of God:

  • the aspiring love of creatures for Him, and
  • His provident and descending love for them.

This Aristotelian sense is what Dante means when the Paradiso ends the TDC with the love that moves the Sun and other stars. (Canto XXXIII line 145)

Points to note:

  • The universe is spread out in space, with dignity, power and speed progressively diminishing as we descend from its circumference to its centre, the Earth;
  • Earth is the rim, it’s a nonentity. In Paradiso XXVIII, God is a point of light with seven concentric rings revolving around it. Smallest and nearest to it is the Primum Mobilesuperior to all the rest in love and knowledge.  

So how come there are bad planets? Ah, that’s because they’re bad only in relation to us on earth. Bad effects like plagues and disasters depend on the terrestrial nature that receives them.

And bad people? Implicit in Dante’s universe is the way he despatches blessed souls to various planets after death. How come? Well, temperaments from planets are not determined and humans have Free Will.  If you’re born under Saturn you can choose to be a gloomy malcontent or a great contemplative.  Under Mars, you can decide to be an Attila or a martyr. Plus, even if you misuse the psychology imposed by the stars, you can repent.  Conversely, as we see in TDC, Free Will means Man can respond badly to good influences, (with Divine Justice waiting in wings as we see in Inferno.)

Finally, below the Moon, from the aether to the air, is where the daemons are.  In Greek sources daemons could be good or bad (as in Phillip Pullman’s His Dark Materials. You can see some of them in this promotional trailer. But in the Middle Ages, daemons were all bad.

CSL concludes this chapter with the comment that Dante was unusual because all this cosmology was not important for most writers, except him.


*Along with Petrarch, (1304-1374), Giovanni Boccaccio (1313-1375) is said to be one of the ‘Three Crowns’ of Italian Literature (a point made by Peter Hainsworth and David Robey in A Short Introduction to Italian Literature (see here) which I’ve just re-read for its references to Dante). He was also a near contemporary of Dante (1265-1321), but unlike Petrarch who was snooty about The Divine Comedy, and said he never read it, Boccaccio was one of the first to write commentaries on it.

Author: C S Lewis
Title: The Discarded Image: An Introduction to Medieval and Renaissance Literature
Publisher: HarperOne, Kindle edition, 2013
ASIN: B00DB3FVCK (ISBN: 9780062313706)
Source: purchased for the Kindle from AmazonAU

Image credits:

It’s just coincidence (because I mostly forget to read the magazine that comes with my National Gallery of Victoria (NGV) membership) but the NGV is hosting a major exhibition of women photographers from November 28 to 3 May 2026.  Though her name is omitted from the blurb about the exhibition, Olive Cotton is one of the photographers featured, and if you scroll down their page, you can see one of her iconic images: ‘Teacup Ballet’ from 1935, which is on loan (I think) from the NGA (National Gallery of Australia).

It is the NGA that has published this timely reissue of Olive Cotton. It’s a lovely book to have on my Art shelves. It’s also been educational for me… that well-known saying attributed to Orson Welles and many others, ‘I don’t know much about art but I know what I like’ certainly applies to me and the art of photography, especially in regard to the distinction between Pictorialism and Modernism.

Olive Cotton (1911-2003) was a notable Australian photographer who has a significant place in the history of Australian photography.  The book was first published in 1995 when Cotton was ‘rediscovered’ after slipping into obscurity for about forty years while she raised her family.  It comprises a reprint of an essay by Helen Ennis from the 1995 edition, and a brief memoir of her childhood on the family farm by Cotton’s daughter Sally McInerney who is an award-winning photographer in her own right.

These texts complement one another.  Helen Ennis is one of Australia’s foremost experts in the art of photography.  A curator, historian, critic and author, she has published widely, and her oeuvre includes a biography of Olive Cotton, a Life in Photography (2019).  She provides the historical and social context for Cotton’s work, while McInerney provides an intimate glimpse into life for a creative woman on an isolated farm.  The texts are accompanied by 64 B&W reproductions of Cotton’s work, presented to maximise their impact with a broad white frame and Olive Cotton’s comments below each one.  It is a pity that there is no index, and they’re not in chronological order, which means I had to flick though all of them until I found ‘Teacup Ballet’ on page 19, and could read what Olive had to say:

This picture evolved after I had bought some inexpensive cups and saucers from Woolworths for our studio coffee breaks to replace our rather worn old mugs, no longer suitable for offering to visitors. The angular handles reminded me of arms akimbo, and that led to the idea of making a photograph to express a dance theme.

When the day’s work was over, I tried several arrangements of the cups and saucers to convey this idea, without success, until I used a spotlight and realised how important the shadows were.  Using the studio camera, which had a 6 ½ x 4 ½, inch ground glass focussing screen, I moved the cups about until they and their shadows made a ballet-like composition and then photographed them on a cut film negative.  Then the title of the photograph suggested itself. This was my first photograph to be shown overseas, being exhibited, to my delight, in the London Salon of Photography in 1935. (p.19)

That comment reveals so much about the creator.  Here we see the photographer doing the job of an office-dogsbody, buying the cups and saucers, and waiting until the day’s work was over before tackling the creative task that had been on her mind all day.  This was when Olive was working with the famed photographer Max Dupain: they had known each other at school, and shared a love of photography.  They married and were together for six years, but Olive’s role in the studio was not an equal partnership.

She had joined the Max Dupain Studio not as a partner but as an assistant.  Her duties included making appointments, attending to models, assisting with processing Dupain’s negatives and prints, and spotting his prints. In contrast to Geoff Powell and Damien Parer, who joined the studio in the late 1930s, Cotton did not work as a photographer. (p.x)

Yet she made the most of her opportunities.  The  studio was a stimulating environment and an opportunity to meet and interact with all sorts of people: models, clients, other photographers and artists.  Sometimes she and Dupain worked beside one another, photographing the same subject from different perspectives, or Olive photographing Dupain while he was photographing a scene.  They were occasionally models for each other, and after hours, Olive worked on her own projects using the studio equipment and facilities. All this came to an end when the marriage ended and Cotton became a maths teacher in Mittagong instead.

WW2 changed everything, as it did for so many women.  Max Dupain enlisted and he invited Olive to run the studio in his absence.  From 1942 to 1945 she was finally working as a professional photographer and her repertoire expanded from portraiture, landscapes and still lifes to include views of Sydney, interiors and war propaganda commissions — and for the first time, she was involved in significant projects.

And all that came to an end when the war was over. She moved to the Cowra district with her second husband Ross, and lived in primitive conditions on the family farm, raising five children.  It is Sally McInerney’s memoir that showcases the idyllic life they had, and the philosophical reasons for living a very simple life without electricity and running water.  However, Ross’s reluctance to damage the land with the usual extensive livestock herds led to an opportunity for Olive.  They were short of money so she opened a studio in town: it supplemented the family finances with photos of children, debutantes, weddings, school groups — hardly the stuff of a creative oeuvre, but …

its principal joy was the dark room where at the end of the day she could turn to some of the thousands of unprinted negatives that had amassed over the years.  However it was not until the early 1980s when she ceased taking on clients that she was able to print in earnest. (p.xxiii)

Feminism was aroused in the 1980s, and though Ennis writes that Olive wanted to be considered as a photographer rather than as a woman photographer, her work was included in Silver and Grey: Fifty Years of Australian Photography 1900-1950 by Gael Newton, and in a travelling exhibition called ‘Australian Women Photographers 1890-1950’ curated by Jenni Mather, Christine Gillespie and Barbara Hall. This led to her first solo exhibition in 1985, and the first issue of this book.

Stylistically, Olive’s work is an interchange between Modernism and Pictorialism (which was derided as ‘fuzzy-wuzzy’ by the Modernists.  Ennis illustrates the difference in approach with Olive’s photos such as ‘She-oaks’ (1928) and ‘Dusk’ (necessitating another hunt through the accompanying photos to find them.) These Pictorialist photos are soft-focus, moody, generalised landscapes.  But Olive also experimented with modernist elements such as using different vantage points, more extreme angles, and increasingly abstract compositions. Included in the book are ‘worm’s-eye’ views such as ‘Grass at Sundown’ (1939), ‘Papyrus’ (1938), ‘Willow Rain’ (1940), ‘Escape’ (1937), and ‘Fire Escape’ (1935). ‘Beachwear fashion shot’ (1938) is shot from a low vantage point to draw attention to the bathing suit. (In the comments Olive writes that she was ‘amusing herself‘ while Max Dupain and Damien Parer attended to the serious demands of fashion photography.)

It will be interesting to see how Olive Cotton’s work is positioned in the NGV Exhibition.  My unreliable knees (still bruised from the steroid shots five weeks ago!) will surely improve in time for me to see it before it closes in May.

Title: Olive Cotton
Essays by Helen Ennis and Sally McInerney
Series: Artists of the National Library of Australia.
Publisher: NLA (National Library of Australia) Publishing, 2025,
First published as Olive Cotton, Photographer (1995) ISBN 9780642276117.
ISBN: 9781922507839, pbk., 64 pages
Review copy courtesy of the NLA.


I’ve been re-reading my notes from The Discarded Image by C S Lewis, plus listening to Prof Barolini’s lectures on the Cantos I read last week, and I think I’ve been too hard on Dante. I’ve blamed him for regaling his readers with one sadistic torture after another, but Prof Barolini says that Dante didn’t invent them, he used punishments that were actually in use by real people. (Such as the torture of the cloaks of molten lead that were used as a punishment for traitors by King Frederick II (1194-1250). Medieval people were inventive when it came to devising torture.)

Moreover, when we remember from CSL that the Medieval Model was meant to be a harmonious model of the universe based on theology, science and history as they knew it, Dante was quite right to be interrogating aspects that were not in harmony.  Dante the Pilgrim’s questions to Virgil are often about pity, about punishment and about justice. Prof Barolini suggests that these are questions that troubled Dante the poet.

For him these were not just philosophical or intellectual questions.  He himself was a victim of injustice and an unjust, cruel punishment.  The threat of being burned at the stake if he set foot in Florence after he had been sentenced to perpetual exile even extended to his sons. (See Wikipedia)

So, moving on…

Canto XXVII

In one of Prof Barolini’s lectures that I listened to during this week, she said that some circles of hell get two cantos while other have two circles squeezed into one canto. Canto XXVII is the second one about the eighth bolgia. Ulysses makes his exit, and another flame emerges to ask about the current state of affairs in Romagna, his region of Italy.  He turns out to be Guido da Montefeltro, originally a famed Ghibelline captain who became a friar but broke his vows. Yes, it was Dante’s nemesis Pope Boniface who was behind the campaign to besmirch the Colonna family, and the friar went to hell because instead of repenting, he trusted in the pope’s absolution.

#NotQuiteADigression: if there are any experts in the Roman Catholic rite of Confession out there, can a priest (or a pope) who is in a state of mortal sin himself, grant absolution? Plus, how can a penitent know about the state of the confessor’s soul?  (Are all those people who made confession to paedophile priests still not absolved from their sins?)  This is relevant to Guido da Montefeltro’s fate, because if he could not have known that Pope Boniface’s absolution was worthless, perhaps this is another case of Dante questioning The Rules by which Heaven and Hell were supposed to operate?

Anyway, Dante tells him that although Romagna is not currently in open warfare, Romagna is not not now and never was/without war in her tyrants’ hearts.  The Notes in Musa’s edition explain the ins and outs of warfare in this area, probably of more interest to Dante the poet’s original readers than to us.

Whatever, in return, Dante the pilgrim asks the flame to identify itself, and the friar does so because he believes that no one in hell can ever return to earth.  So he tells how he repented of his sins and became a monk:

When I saw that the time of life had come
for me, as it must come for every man,
to lower the sails and gather in the lines,

things I once found pleasure in then grieved me;
repentant and confessed, I took the vows
a monk takes. And, oh, to think it could have worked! (Canto XXVII, lines 79-84)

This man’s story gives Dante the opportunity to showcase Boniface’s perfidy and betrayal of his vows.  Instead of fighting non-Christian rivals, he chose to wage war upon the Lateran i.e. political enemies in Rome

for his enemies were Christian souls
(none among the ones who conquered Acri,
none a trader in the Sultan’s kingdom).

His lofty papal seat, his sacred vows
were no concern to him, nor was the cord
I wore… (Canto XXVII, lines 88-93)

So the friar conspires with Boniface to con the rival Colonna Family into surrendering.  Interestingly, Saint Francis turned up to escort the friar to heaven, but one of the Black Cherubim cried out/’Don’t touch him, don’t cheat me of what is mine!’  Remembering what C S Lewis wrote about the classes of angels and how the lowest two classes are like envoys who convey God’s wishes to mortals, it seems odd to me that Saint Francis had the wrong impression about Guido da Montefeltro’s destination. Musa makes it clear:

Guido’s principal error was self-deception: a man cannot be absolved from a sin before he commits it, and moreover, he cannot direct his will towards committing a sin and repent it at the same time. (p.323)

Musa also thinks that what these two sinners — Ulysses and Guido — have in common is that …

While all fraud involves in some way the abuse of the intellect, the intellect that Ulysses and Guido abused was exceptionally brilliant.  If all men are endowed with reason, they had received a special gift from God, but they had used it — these brilliant sinners who shine in flames — for deception and the creation of snares. (p.324)

Musa is, I think just brilliant himself, but using his gifts to enlighten his readers.

Canto XXVIII

Here we are in the Ninth Bolgia and here we have a grotesque example of a Dantean contrapasso, that is, the punishment of souls in a way that resembles the sin they committed, (or, as I might characterise it, divine retribution with a mordant wit).  Here Dante and Virgil are confronted by mutilation, disembowelment, tongues ripped out and flayed skin, and the sinners are The Sowers of Scandal and Schism, their bodies torn apart, just as they had torn apart beliefs and reputations.  They include Mahomet, Ali, Pier da Medicina, Gaius Scribonius Curio, Mosca de’Lamberti and Bertran de Born.

Dante can’t describe these horrors:

Who could, even in the simplest kind of prose
describe in full the scene of blood and wounds
that I saw now—no matter how he tried!

Certainly my tongue would have to fail:
man’s memory and man’s vocabulary
are not enough to comprehend such pain. (Canto XXVIII, lines 1-6)

But still, he tells us that even as the wounds heal, a devil receives anew the blade of the devil’s sword.

Mahomet and Piers da Medicina pass a warning to living sinners destined for the same fate, but the most graphic of these warnings is the fate of Bertran de Born.  He was a medieval troubadour, famous for love songs, but also political songs which were believed by Henry II to have fomented his own son’s rebellion. So he is portrayed as a Sower of Schism (and thus responsible for some of the countless deaths in battle that Dante alludes to in the beginning of this canto) and — as you can see in Gustave Doré’s illustration, he is here in the Eighth Bolgia, bearing his severed head up by its hair/swinging it in one hand just like a lantern.

And that you may report on me up there,
know that I am Bertran de Born, the one
who evilly encouraged the young king.

Father and son I set against each other
Achitophel with his wicked instigations
did not do more with Absalom and David.

Because I cut the bonds of those so joined,
I bear my head cut off from its life-source,
which is back there, alas, within its trunk.

In me you see the perfect contrapasso! (Canto XXVIII, lines 133-142)

Canto XXIX

Ok, what next? Virgil is cranky with Dante…

The crowds, the countless, different mutilations,
had stunned my eyes and left them so confused
they wanted to keep looking and to weep,

but Virgil said, ‘What are you staring at?
Why do your eyes insist on drowning there
below, among those wretched, broken shades?’

You did not act this way in other bolge.
If you hope to count them one by one, remember,
the valley winds some twenty-two miles around;

and already the moon is underneath our feet;
the time remaining to us now is short—
and there is more to see than you see here.’ (Canto XXIX, lines 1-12)

But unexpectedly, Dante snaps back…

‘If you had taken time to find out what
I was looking for,’ I started telling him,
‘perhaps you would have let me stay there longer.’ ((Canto XXIX, lines 13-15)

It turns out that he was looking for a spirit of his family, a first cousin called Geri del Bello, mourning the guilt that’s paid so dear down there, but this cuts no ice with stern Virgil who tells him not to waste another thought on him. Musa tells us that Geri de Bello was involved in a blood feud with the Sacchetti family, and murdered, probably by one of them.  By the moral code of the time, his kinsmen should have avenged his death, but Virgil insists that they press on.  Remembering C S Lewis explanations about the parts of the medieval universe (in Chapter 5 of The Discarded Image, which I haven’t blogged yet), if the moon  is beneath their feet, then the sun is overhead so it is midday in Jerusalem.)

And what must they hasten on to see?  All manner of horrible diseases:

Having come to stand above the final cloister
of Malabolge, we saw it spreading out,
revealing to our eyes its congregation.

Weird shrieks of lamentation pierced through me
like arrow-shafts whose tips are barbed with pity,
so that my hands were covering my ears.

Imagine all the sick in the hospitals
of Maremma, Valdichiana, and Sardinia
between the months of July and September

crammed together rotting in one ditch— (Canto XXIX, Lines 40-49)

BTW, just to confuse us, the Tenth Bolgia begins there at line 40, though I would not have noticed the significance of the final cloister if Musa hadn’t pointed it out.

Musa also tells us that the allusion to all the sick in the hospitals refers to swampy areas of Tuscany and Sardinia, where malaria was endemic. Some of the imagery is really repulsive, Dante comparing the way two of the shades scratch their sores to a stable-boy using a curry-comb on a horse, or a fishmonger scaling a bream. Perhaps this appealed to the Medieval sense of humour…

Canto XXX

This Canto, like some others, begins with a story about something else.  This time it’s again from Greek myth, with the stories of Juno who made King Athamas go raving mad and kill his two sons in a fit of violence; and Hecuba who went quite mad, went barking like a dog after the deaths of her son Polydorus and her daughter Polyxena.

But never in Thebes or Troy were madmen seen
driven to acts of such ferocity
against their victims, animal or human,

as two shades I saw, white with rage and naked,
running, snapping crazily at things in sight. (Canto XXX, lines 22-26)

I suppose it’s picky to note that Dante has used the well-worn trope of mad women to lead into this circle of madness, but hey! there’s a rare appearance by a female sinner:

…. ‘That is the ancient shade
of Myrrha, the depraved one, who became,
against love’s laws, too much her father’s friend. (Canto XXX, lines 37-39)

She is as rabid as Gianni Schicchi who attacks Capocchio (from the previous Canto).

The libretto for Puccini’s opera Gianni Schicchi is based on the complicated fraud in this incident alluded to by Dante.

Dante did not have our 21st century sensibilities about mental illness or illness in general, because the implication is, if we remember Dante’s concept of contrapasso, that illness is deserved.

Once again Virgil loses patience with Dante’s absorption in the argy-bargy of the sinners, but recovers his equanimity when he sees Dante’s shame, pausing only to lecture him again:

“If ever again you should meet up with men
engaging in this kind of futile wrangling,
remember I am always at your side;

to have a taste for talk like this is vulgar!” (Canto XXX, lines 145-148)

Something we might all remember if we are tempted to be keyboard warriors on Twitter…

Musa’s summary at the end of this canto is interesting because it tackles the discomfort it evokes.  I don’t read old texts like this one with a sense of presentism: the texts are a product of their era as current texts are of ours, and indignation about the different values they hold is IMO pointless.  After all, we in our era cannot be held accountable for future changes in values that we can’t even predict and might not share even if we could.  Still, The Divine Comedy has many discomfiting elements, and Canto XXX’s imagery of illness is among them.

Canto XXX is unique in that the suffering undergone by the sinners is caused not by something outside of them, some factor in this physical environment, but by something within them, by their own disease — mental or physical. The Alchemists are afflicted with leprosy, the Impersonators are mad, the Counterfeiters suffer from dropsy and the Liars are afflicted with a fever that makes them stink.  In this, the last of the Malebolge, we see simple fraud at its most extreme; and because of the miscellaneous nature of the sins of the Falsifiers, we see perhaps the essence of the sin of Simple Fraud in general.  In that case, Dante would be telling us that fraud in general is a disease: the corrupt sense of values of the Fraudulent is here symbolised, in the case of the Falsifiers, by the corrupt state of their minds and bodies. (p.351)

Update 25/11/25 Prof Barolini in her lecture about this Canto (Fall lecture 16) describes it as virtuoso writing of the repulsive sort.  

Canto XXXI

Canto XXXI in my Penguin edition is accompanied by another of Scott-Giles’s diagrams.  This one is Lower Hell, captioned The Sins of the Leopard, which you can see at this site. Here be giants, Nimrod blasting a horn so ominous and loud that it would have made a thunder-clap sound dim. He is amid other giants all chained for eternity in the pit.  It is so murky that Dante at first mistakes them for the towers of a city, but it is only the upper half of their bodies that are visible, causing Dante to reflect on nature’s wisdom in confining herself only to the existence of whales and elephants…

for when the faculty of intellect
is joined with brute force and with evil will,
no man can win against such an alliance. (Canto XXXI, lines 52-54)

The sins punished here are Sins of Pride: giants who presumed to rebel against their gods, and the Fallen Angels who rebelled against God.  These sins are not like the Sins of Incontinence i.e. a failure to control appetite or passion.  These are sins of deliberate intent i.e. a will to do evil. The sinners’ rebellion involves violence and treachery.

Nimrod, the Biblical figure associated with The Tower of Babel, is unintelligible, and Virgil tells Dante not to waste time on him:

He is Nimrod, through whose infamous device
the world no longer speaks a common language.

But let’s leave him alone and not waste breath,
for he can no more understand our words
than anyone can understand his language. (Canto XXXI, lines 77-81)

Dante’s curiosity to see more is the catalyst for Virgil to engage the help of Antaeus. (He’s the one defeated by Hercules in the Twelve Labours.) He isn’t chained so, in hope of having his legend spread in the world, very carefully lifts up Virgil and Dante and places them on a lake of ice called Cocytus.  Yes, ice.  Now that seems counter-intuitive because we associate hell with fire and brimstone!

Canto XXXII

Dante, who has so often been rebuked for feeling pity, loses his temper here.  Down in the vast plain of ice, the shades of Traitors are frozen.  As shown in the Scott-Giles diagram (see here again) there are four circles: from outer circle to inner circle they are for Traitors to their Kindred; Traitors to their Country; Traitors to their Guests and Traitors to their Lords and Benefactors.  This first icy ring is named Caina after the Biblical Cain, and it is for people who betrayed family bonds.

The second icy ring, Antenora, named after the Trojan warrior who betrayed his city, is for traitors to their country, city or political party.  It is in this ring, that someone warns Dante to be careful not to kick the heads of this miserable brotherhood of souls, but Dante is too enraged to take any notice.  He kicks one of them in the face and pulls his hair, demanding that he identify himself.  One of the other souls names him, and then there is a torrent of names for Dante to add to his notes. Why so angry here?  Probably because of Dante the Poet’s personal experience of political betrayal.

Canto XXXIII

The two poets progress to the next icy ring of Cocytus, called Tolomea, named after Ptolemy.  No, not the astronomer. Musa tells us that this Biblical Ptolemy was the captain of Jericho who had Simon his father-in-law killed while dining.  It is reserved for Traitors to their Guests, alluding to ancient traditions of hospitality.  Here, Dante startles us again with a betrayal of his own word: to persuade one of the shades to identify himself, Dante promises to remove the ice from the eyes of the one who turns out to be Friar Alberigo di Ugolino — but he doesn’t do it. To be mean to him was a generous reward, he says.  Hmm.

Dante also startles us with Ugolino’s somewhat ambiguous confession: is he confessing to cannibalism? It looks like it to me.

There is also a confusing exchange about whether all the souls there are actually dead.  Musa, referring to Alberigo’s assertion that Tolomea is very special says that:

According to church doctrine, under certain circumstances a living person may, through acts of treachery, lose possession of his soul before he dies. <snip> Then, on earth, a devil inhabits the body until its natural death. (pp.377-8)

I guess that’s how they justified torturing and killing people thought to be possessed by the devil…

Canto XXXIV

Here we are, in the last Canto of the Inferno! This is Judecca, where the last icy ring holds the souls of those who betrayed their benefactors.  No surprises in who we find here: those who were traitors to Church and Empire i.e. Judas Iscariot, Brutus and Cassius, being tortured by Lucifer himself who led the rebellion of the Fallen Angels against God.  Look again at the Scott-Giles diagram: there he is in all his enormity, his massive wings responsible for the winds that should not blow in an ice-bound plain.

(Musa explains on p.377 of the Notes to Canto XXXIII why Dante was surprised to feel wind: Wind, according to the science of the time, is produced by varying degrees of heat. Lucifer’s massive wingbeats are enough to blow right across the vast expanse of ice.)

He is monstrous:

The king of the vast kingdom of all grief
stuck out with half his chest above the ice;
my height is closer to the height of giants

than theirs is to the length of his great arms;
consider now how large all of him was:
this body in proportion to his arms.

If once he was as fair as now he’s foul
and dared to raise his brows against his Maker,
it is fitting that all grief should spring from him. (Canto XXXIV, lines 28-36)

He’s not a handsome, sexy Satan like the one in Paradise Lost.

Virgil reminds Dante that soon it will be night, and now they must leave because they have seen it all. And they do so by sliding down Lucifer’s body, turning half-way when they reach earth’s core, to Dante’s great confusion:

‘Where is the ice? And how can he be lodged
upside-down? And how, in so little time,
could the sun go all the way from night to day?’

‘You think you’re still on the centre’s other side,’
he said, ‘where I first grabbed the hairy worm
of rottenness that pierces the earth’s core;

and you were there as long as I moved downward
but, when I turned myself, you passed the point
to which all weight from every part is drawn.

Now you are standing beneath the hemisphere
which is opposite the side covered by land,
where at the central point was sacrificed

the Man whose birth and life were free of sin. (Canto XXXIV, lines 103-115)

Inferno ends with Dante rejoicing in being able to see the celestial sky:

We climbed, he first and I behind, until,
through a small round opening ahead of us
I saw the lovely things the heavens hold,

and we came out to see once more the stars. (Canto XXXIV lines 136-139)


Next week, we ascend to Purgatorio!

 Progress so far:

See also

References:

  • The Divine Comedy Volume 1: Inferno, translated with an Introduction, Notes and Commentary by Mark Musa, 2003 new edition of the 1984 Penguin Classics edition, first published 1971 by Indiana University Press, ISBN 9780142437223
  • The Divine Comedy translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, with illustrations by Gustave Doré and an Introduction by Melinda Corey; Barnes and Noble edition 2008, ISBN: 9781435103849
  • The Divine Comedy translated and with an Introduction by Clive James, Picador Poetry edition, 2013, ISBN 9781447244219
  • A Beginners Guide to Dante’s Divine Comedy by Jason M Baxter, Baker Academic, 2018, ISBN: 9781493413102, Kindle edition  ASIN: B0752RVZ6R
  • The Discarded Image: An Introduction to Medieval and Renaissance Literature by C S Lewis, Kindle edition ASIN B08TCJZP5N
  • The Sleepwalkers, by Arthur Koestler, The Danube Edition, Hutchinson, 1968 first published 1959 ISN: 090502515
  • The Essential Plato, translated by Benjamin Jowett, The Softback Preview, 1999, first published in this translation in 1871, ISBN: 9781582880129
  • The Dante Course, a series of lectures presented by Prof. Teodolinda Barolini, Lorenzo da Ponte Professor of Italian at Columbia University, 2015-6 online

Image credits:
Doré’s illustration of Bertran in Hell, from Dante’s L’Inferno: Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1362902

Posted by: Lisa Hill | November 22, 2025

Aussies and Kiwis on the 2026 Dublin Literary Award Longlist

Well, once again the Dublin longlist has been announced and once again it is a mixed bag.  Of those I have read, I liked Darkenbloom, Perfection and Under the Eye of the Big Bird, but the inclusion of Dream Count mystifies me because it’s not in the same league as Adichie’s other fiction.

Anyway FWIW here are the Australian nominations.  I abandoned Highway 13 and couldn’t muster enough interest in The Burrow even to borrow it from the library. Which just goes to show that once again I am out of step. Update: thanks to Brona for the addition of three more…

So, what did the Kiwis nominate?

  • Delirious by Damien Wilkins, see my review
  • Kataraina by Becky Manawatu
  • The Mires by Tina Makereti

If there is an Aussie or Kiwi nominee whose name I haven’t recognised, let me know please and I’ll add them here. One can find out more about individual books and who nominated them by clicking on the book covers on the award site,, but a laborious process like that doesn’t appeal to me.

If you want to know what I might have nominated if I were eligible to vote, see my Best Books of 2024. 

Update 24/11/25 To see the complete list without having to use that laborious prize website, visit Messenger’s Booker.

Image credit: Longlist collage from 746 Books.

Posted by: Lisa Hill | November 21, 2025

Beautiful Changelings (2025), by Maxine Beneba Clarke

Maxine Beneba Clarke is a multi-award-winning author who writes across multiple genres. I’ve read and reviewed Growing Up African in Australia (2019), edited by Maxine Beneba Clarke, Ahmed Yussuf and Magan Magan, and you can find Tony Messenger’s review of her 2016 poetry collection Carrying the World — which won the 2017 Victorian Premier’s Prize for Poetry — via this link on my blog.  I’ve read more of her work than I’ve written about here. But this time, though I’m not confident at reviewing poetry, I’m going to share my thoughts about her latest collection, Beautiful Changelings.

But first, a word about the pitch perfect cover design by Allison Colpoys: a patchwork pair of butterfly wings and an enigmatic expression on the profile emerging from the body.  Trust me, this cover has even more resonance when you’ve read the collection and it’s a powerful rejoinder to the AI-designed covers that made me despair in the bookshop I visited yesterday.

This is the book description:

my heart was asking
at every turn, and
as sure as i breathed:

would i want this 
for my daughter,

and if not, 

why on earth
         should it be 
good enough

for me

Beautiful changelings is an incantation, a song, a war cry, a testimonial, a lament, a reckoning and a welcoming. Wrecking-ball revisitings of the myths, mantras and fairy tales fed to girls. Poignant, unashamed tributes to ageing, womanhood, motherhood, and reclaiming your dreams, your boundaries and your time.

There are many stunning poems in this collection, but three in particular stand out for me.  The first was ‘beautiful changeling’, an homage to an older woman, who could be any of the older women in our lives.  It begins like this:

you beautiful changeling, you

golden, in the autumn
of your being

your hip-softness, you
white-wisped crown,
you tender-breast, you
gentle-step, you
other-worldly papering
of once-taut skin,
you fierce wisdom, you (p.7)

I really liked ‘just so you know’ too,

just so you know,
i was cooler than you: (p.16)

I liked it not because I identified with ‘coolness’ either in myself or in The Offspring.  Neither of us aspired to be ‘cool’; he was/is sporty, and I’m nerdy (as you know.)  But I connect all the same with the painful recognition that our adult children do not know who we were or how that shapes us now, and also with the intent to take ‘teen spirit’ with us to the nursing home!

The other poem that held me riveted to the page was ‘i would like a hysterectomy’.  Many of us have had the experience of being denied, misdiagnosed, experimented on, given advice that made things worse, made to wait and even lied to, by the medical profession.  Most of us just move on, it’s too exhausting to do anything else (especially if you’re still not well).  But there in the Acknowledgements at the back of the book is this:

A heartfelt thank you to Dr Fiona Reilly and Dr Marian Tokhi, for inviting me to be part of the change, teaching in their groundbreaking Narrative Medicine course at the University of Melbourne, and to the three cohorts of medical students I’ve now taught in this space.  Without this experience, and the poignant conversations with young medical professionals in this course, I doubt I’d have had the courage to include ‘i would like a hysterectomy‘ in this collection.  (p.288)

The poem begins like this:

i

just ask them for it:

you might have years of this,
you’re in pain, and really, 
it’s about your quality of life

your hormones indicate
you are nowhere near
               menopause

besides, didn’t a doctor there
offer you this option

once before

ii

in the quiet teal-toned
gyno clinic waiting room,
i replay the conversation
with my gp;

stare at the patterned carpet,
and practise, again
inside my head
i would like a hysterectomy, please
i would like a hysterectomy, please
i would like a hysterectomy, please

resolute,
like it’s the only way
to return

to kansas. (pp.24-5, WP has messed about with the indentation for lines 3 and 7 in (ii), I can’t make the words indent as they should.)

Over 32 devastating pages, the poem tells a story that no one should have to experience.

I loved Stephanie King’s heartfelt review at Readings.  I think there might be many mums whose initial reaction might be the same.  Buy them a copy for Christmas anyway.

Author: Maxine Beneba Clarke
Title: Beautiful Changelings
Publisher: Ultimo Press, 2025
Cover design by Allison Corpoys
ISBN: 9781761154560, pbk., 289 pages
Source: Kingston Library

 

Posted by: Lisa Hill | November 20, 2025

The Catherine Wheel (1960), by Elizabeth Harrower

A Catherine Wheel, so named for the 4th century saint who refused to renounce her religious belief, was a form of torture used for execution used as recently as the 19th century, but it’s also the name of a spectacular firework that spins high in the sky, emitting dazzling sparks and flame but fizzling out into smoke and acrid ash.  It’s a very apt title for Elizabeth Harrower’s third novel about the toxic relationship between two needy characters, Clemency James and Chris Roland.

Published in 1960 after Harrower’s return from eight years in London, The Catherine Wheel is written in a claustrophobic first person narrative, from Clem’s perspective.  She’s a young woman studying Law by correspondence, and though she received a small inheritance from her father, money is tight so she’s living in a London bed-sit run by Miss Evans, and she takes in students for French lessons in the evenings.  She’s a very private person with only two friends, Helen and her brother Lewis, and when she’s not studying, she’s reading books and minding her own business. She’s not interested in the other ‘inmates’, and is mildly snooty towards Jan, a bubbly 30-year-old who works in a bank, and she’s standoffish towards Mrs Parry, a widow from South Africa who rues not having any qualifications now that she has to earn a living.

The reader is alerted to Clem’s character early on.  Her name is ironic, there’s no clemency about her at all.  If she does anything for anybody else, whatever she says to justify it, it’s not out of mercy or kindness, it’s because it suits her to do it.  We’re told in Chapter One that her facial appearance had disguised her all her life as a nice quiet girl.  She had learned to play a role back in Sydney: she is acutely conscious of class and is peeved that her strategy for dressing beyond her social class doesn’t work in Britain.

Even about my overcoat, I noticed, there was something unintentionally deceitful.  The look of discreet simplicity advertised to knowing eyes its considerable cost. True, it was now three years since I had bought it in Sydney, but it had a boring monumental resistance to time and still contrived to  seem subtly out of place in the local shops, as my other clothes did in Miss Evans’s.

At home the single aim was to present a  front of expensive elegance, whereas in London it was obligatory to show what one was and did: this uniform for genuine socialists, this for hereditary shoppers in Harrods, and so on… (p.4)

Unintentional? I don’t think so.  Best not to trust this narrator…

The arrival of an out-of-work actor changes everything.  Chris Roland has been hired to clean the windows, and from time to time, he and his common-law wife Olive house-sit in Miss Evans’ absence.  He’s excessively good looking even though the couple are so poor that they each have only one outfit, and he’s excessively charming too.  So is he the Prince Charming who will break through her reserve, as the unlikely friendship with Helen and Lewis Grenville did?  Clem doesn’t have a promising track record:

I’d known few men of principle, and none who combined integrity with intellect. I had respected almost no one, and felt the lack.

Then, all my life I had been ill of emotion.  (p.26_

All she had wanted, was to be left alone, so the friendship with Helen and Lewis had surprised her.

Not to have people or things, not to be had by them.  My very survival, it seemed, had hinged on the absence of feeling from my life. How pure was freedom and isolation! (p.26-7)

She fears emotional snares, yet walks right into one with Chris.  She thinks she’s in control of every situation she encounters, and she recognises him as the trickster Reynard the Fox, but when she thinks of herself jousting with the dazzling young man who looked like Chaucer’s young esquireshe is in denial even as she underestimates him.  She feels ‘slippery’, knowing they believed I had been flattered into complaisance yet she knows how ruthless he is.  Chris brushes aside her need of the fees he doesn’t pay for the lessons or the £50 loan he doesn’t repay. Even as she observes and analyses his strategies…

How to win friends and influence people.  Lesson One: shock tactics. Stagger them by your boldness.  Remember, people love to be bullied. (p.76)

… she is enjoying it: wholeheartedly I admired the complexity of a talent that could persuade me I’d been petty-minded to hesitate. 

Chris manipulates and bullies her right from the start, and before long he’s getting free French lessons, loans that will never be repaid and a constant barrage of harassment in pursuit of his fanciful dreams.

I’m about to read Susan Wyndham’s new biography Elizabeth Harrower: The Woman in the Watch Tower, and I deliberately chose to read my last remaining Harrower on the TBR before tackling the bio because I wanted to read it on its own terms.  But now I am curious to know if The Catherine Wheel is autobiographical in origin! Is Clem’s platonic relationship with Lewis (who’s having an affair with his friend’s wife) more than it seems?

I’m also curious about where Harrower got her ideas about class. Chris, in one sense, has ‘married’ beneath him: Although she is the one supporting Chris, Olive is working class, and Clem’s egalitarian Australian origins emerge when she realises that Olive misunderstands offhandness as the usual class superiority.  So Clem goes against her instincts to steer clear because she doesn’t want her behaviour or identity misperceived. Clem wants to be admired for being clever, hardworking and independent, not because others think she’s from a superior class.

Harrower is brilliant with startling images:

I told the truth though it seemed lèse majesté. (p.89)

What woke me to him first was that silent call for help from a voice behind the trompe l’oeil façade (p.118) (p.11)

He was as familiar to me as my hands, as packed with power and warmth as a chunk of uranium’ (p.232)

And as lethal!

Author: Elizabeth Harrower
Title: The Catherine Wheel
Introduction by Ramona Koval
Publisher: Text Classics, Text Publishing, 2014
ISBN: 9781922147950, pbk., 325 pages
Source: Personal library purchased from Readings $12.95

Image credit:

Posted by: Lisa Hill | November 18, 2025

Vale Jon Bauer (1974-2025)

I was saddened to hear via the Scribe Newsletter that author Jon Bauer has died in the UK aged only 51.

Jon came to our attention when his debut novel Rocks in the Belly was long-listed for the 2011 Miles Franklin Literary Award, was nominated for the IMPAC Dublin Literary Award and it also won Best Debut Novel at the  Indie Booksellers awards. It was a very successful book, translated into multiple languages and highly rated in reader reviews at Goodreads.  My review is here.

I subsequently interviewed Jon for Meet an Aussie Author, see here.  As you can see from that interview, Jon  was originally from the UK but had been in Melbourne for ten years, migrating to Australia on a Distinguished Talent visa in 2009 before being awarded full citizenship in 2011.  At the time of that interview he said he was working on a couple of novels, but to the best of my knowledge, his only other book was The Last Lighthouse Keeper: A Memoir (2020), co-written with John Cook.

Bauer was also the author of short stories and plays for stage and radio. His work was broadcast on national radio and performed at the Melbourne’s Arts Centre, and he was also published in The Daily Telegraph UK; Sleepers Almanac;  the Torpedo Literary Journal; and Black Inc’s annual anthologies: Best Australian  Stories 2012 and 2013.  He also won awards in the world’s largest open writing competition: The Bridport Prize  (20062007)

There’s a moving tribute to him from his friend Pierz Newton-John here, though you may only be able to read part of it.

I’m sure I speak on behalf of the Australian literary community when I extend condolences to his family and friends.

 

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