Incorrigible Optimist: Gareth Evans’ Political Memoir
Look. I’m a history teacher, and a cynic. I understand the point of a political memoir. So on the one hand, reading this was amusing because for all the self-deprecating humour and the admission of bad decisions and poor choices, it’s still an exercise in ego to write memoir.
And on the other hand: I just want more politicians to be like this. To be passionate about things that will actually make a positive difference. To be self-aware. To be willing to make hard, necessary decisions. I was a child of the 80s and 90s – at the back of my mind, “the Australian government” is Bob Hawke and Paul Keating and, yes, Gareth Evans.
I don’t read modern biographies, as a rule, and I really don’t read autobiographies. They hold zero fascination for me. I can probably remember every 20th century biography I’ve read: the Dirk Bogarde one my mother gave me (I went through a serious Bogarde phase), and Julie Phillips’ Alice Sheldon/James Tiptree Jr one; ones about Vida Goldstein and Emmeline Pankhurst; and one about Alexander Kerensky. Oh and Gertrude Bell! That’s literally the list – and given the number I’ve read about people who died before 1800 (and it’s only that late because of the French Revolution – oh Danton, you’ll always live in my heart), six is nothing. But now we can add this to the list, which I read for Reasons that may eventually become clear (not in this review).
This is, of course, not really an autobiography. It’s a political memoir – I think Evan mentions his wife twice? maybe doesn’t mention his kids at all? – so there’s no discussion, really, of anything outside of what has shaped his attitude to policies and ideas. It’s also not just focused on himself acting, but also on his ideas. There is an entire section where he’s outlining the pillars of the “responsibility to protect” concept that I had no idea about, but which he was fundamental in drawing up for the international community; sections where he talks about how universities (and especially chancellors) should function, why nuclear weapons should be utterly eliminated, the importance of international cooperation… this is not just a memoir: it’s a manifesto. Honestly, it’s a bit swoon-worthy.
Realise when this was published, though, and it feels like a dream of a half-forgotten world. Because it was mid-2017. Trump was just elected for the first time; Brexit was relatively new. Dreadful things had happened in Syria and Libya, and Russia was making its first forays around Ukraine. Scotty wasn’t even being joked about as PM. So when Evans discusses his hope that Trump might eventually “submit to adult supervision;” when he talks about his hope that “responsibility to protect” might be a real factor in international discussions when populations are at risk of war crimes and genocide… well. There’s a part of me that wishes I could go back to that time, and live it again, knowing how good it was.
This book probably doesn’t have that much appeal beyond Australia’s borders – unless you want to just read it for the foreign policy aspect, and for Evans’ involvement with Crisis Group and various UN and regional Asian events, all of which are quite fascinating. But if you’re like me – with a vague interest in Australian and international politics, and especially with a memory of those Labor glory days – this may well be of interest.
Francis of Assisi
I came to this book because I am friends with the translator. This does not guarantee that I was going to love it.
I am not Catholic. I have zero fascination with the idea of ‘saints’ in and of themselves; my primary interest is in how the women and men who get that title existed in their world. I also tend to have more interest in those who were regarded in some way as odd or outsiders in their time, or who lived in interesting places and times. So Francis is interesting, and also has the added dimension of being amongst the most well-known of all the Catholic saints. So I was fascinated to learn about this book being translated from the German. Having read it, I’m very glad it has been.
I was particularly fascinated by the book as an historian because Leppin spends a great deal of time reflecting on the primary sources available about Francis’ life: both the paucity of sources in general, and the intensely problematic nature of what does exist. Because Francis was canonised so quickly, and because his order already existed when he died – there are so many reasons to want to portray Francis in very particular ways, and reading through/around those to get to a ‘real’ Francis is always going to be challenging. So I deeply appreciated Leppin’s honesty around that, and his acknowledgement that ‘the truth’ is always going to be a challenge.
Nonetheless, I think Leppin does a good job of excavating Francis’ life, and presenting what we can reasonably understand about the man. I appreciated that Leppin isn’t interested in yet more hagiography, but in actually understanding a person – who wasn’t perfect, and made some odd choices, and whose heart we can’t fully understand, but who was nonetheless making some radical choices for his time.
And of course I need to mention the translation: and as with the best translations, you wouldn’t know that this is translated. It just… reads like a book. I can only imagine just how much work went into choosing the right words to both capture Leppin’s meaning and make the book itself work.
So, for those interested in Francis as a human, and how the Catholic church worked in the 13th century, this is a great book.
The Crimson Road, A. G Slatter
A.G Slatter is an author that I pretty much insta-buy these days. Especially when I know that the story is in her Sourdough universe. Even when the story is about vampires, which I am usually suspicious of – I do not love horror, as a rule; but I trusted that Slatter would not make the story too scary, and that those bits that make it horror would be worth me persevering through.
All of which was true of this novel. It’s yet another fantastic story. Which is not to suggest that I am getting complacent! I guess there’s a possibility that at some point Slatter’s imagination could go off the boil? Today is not that day, though, and may it be kept far, far away.
So: Slatter’s vampires are Leech Lords, and they have bee largely contained by an uneasy alliance of church and Briar Witches (whose story came out a year or two ago). It will not surprise you to learn that this containment is under threat.
Our point of view is Violet; we begin the story with her father having died, and she is hoping that she might now finally be free of his relentless tyranny and insistence that she train as fighter all day every day. Again, no surprise to learn that life is not actually going to turn into eating-chocolates-on-the-chaise-longe, although how all of that transpires is a wonderfully involved and intricate and devastating series of events.
That pretty much sums up the whole novel, really. There’s a quest; there are friends made and abandoned and fretted over; there’s fighting and surprises and hard choices.
I read this novel very, very fast because putting it down was anguish. Highly rated for anyone who wants more Sourdough universe; and if you haven’t read any Slatter yet, this would make an excellent entry point.
The Ministry of Time
What is there to say that hasn’t already? I read this because it’s on the Hugo shortlist this year, so that was already (likely to be) a good sign.
- Time travel done quite cleverly – excellent.
- Super slow-burn romance that basically makes sense – very nice.
- Politics that develop and get more and more tricksy as the novel progresses, in ways that I actually didn’t expect and was deeply impressed by as the book went on – magnificent.
- Pointed, thoughtful, and clever commentary about race, ethnicity, passing, immigration, assimilation – very, very nicely done.
This was another book that I had deliberately not read anything about before going in – the name told me all I needed to know, especially once it got on the Hugos list and friends started raving about having enjoyed it. So I went in with no expectations. (If you want to be like me, just stop reading now!)
I really didn’t expect that the idea was that people were being brought into the 21st century. I think the initial explanation of that is perhaps the weakest part of the story: why do this? I don’t think the “for science!” explanation is pushed enough to be convincing. And yes maybe that’s part of the point, but… on reflection, I do think that’s the one bit that’s too vague.
I really, really didn’t expect the whole explorers-lost-in-the-frozen-wilds chapters. They make a lot of sense in terms of elaborating Graham’s character. And it’s only in hindsight that I can see that they’re also doing some interesting work in terms of showing two groups, coming into contact, who find one another unintelligible.
One of the twists I picked up early – I think at the point where the author was starting to really flag it, so I won’t take any credit for being particularly clever. I did not pick up one of the other twists until it was presented to me, which was a highly enjoyable experience.
This is a debut, so I am left with “I hope Bradley has a lot more ideas left in her head.”
The Fortunate Isles, Lisa L. Hannett
What an amazing, intriguing, occasionally distressing, emotional and beautiful set of stories.
Everything I’ve read by Hannett, I have loved. This is not to say I’ve read everything of hers – some of her work has tended a little too horror, for my delicate reading sensibilities, or at least the descriptions of them have deterred me. But the collections and novel that I have read… I never regret it. And that goes for this, too.
By the way, you can buy it right now!
It’s a set of short stories, but it’s pretty close to being a mosaic novel. The key tying everything together isn’t a person, but the place: the Isles themselves. They’re not a “real” place in that you won’t find them on a map. But once you remember Hannett’s love of, and knowledge about, Viking history, it’s not hard to see how inspired this place (and some events) are by that northern part of Europe. I got to visit Orkney last year, and I could feel resonances with that place as I read. Everything about these stories is connected to the idea of the islands: the people being insular; the space being liminal; whether characters look to land or water as home, inspiration, solace, threat, provider or destroyer.
There are a few characters, and families, who reappear over the course of the stories, reminding the reader that the Isles are a small place and that while some people leave, most don’t – or if they do, they usually come back. Most of the characters are human – usually, mostly – but several of them aren’t, and a few are liminal. There’s magic, but it’s not easy or familiar or common. What there is mostly is humanity. Love and hatred, jealousy, fear and despair, joy and determination. Hannett is really, really good at people. She’s also very good at narrative, don’t get me wrong: the amount of twistiness she can get into just a few pages is remarkable. Mostly, though, I read these stories for the people.
This is a splendid collection and I am delighted it’s been republished.
The Incandescent, Emily Tesh
I had absolutely no idea what this book was about before I started reading it. I had pre-ordered it months ago purely on the basis of “Emily Tesh”. That’s how much I loved Some Desperate Glory: Tesh has become an insta-buy.
So then I discovered that it’s a school story, with the focus on one of the teachers; and that it’s modern, and a fantasy. Very different from Some Desperate Glory! Which is not a problem – but intriguing.
TL;DR I adored this book. Like, a lot.
The school bit: I was a teacher for a fair while. Not in a private school, not in a private boarding school, and not in a British private boarding school. And yet, this book was so clearly written by someone who was a teacher. The notes about no one getting on the wrong side of the office staff. About respecting the groundskeepers. About how experienced teachers view new teachers, and why teachers even do the job… and that’s all before the actual teaching, and the teacher-student interactions. I loved it. And it’s all necessary and appropriate for the story, too.
The fantasy side: this is a world where magic-users can access the demonic plane and make use of their power to do… well, magic. There’s also other ways of doing magic but that’s the focus here. The main character teaches invocation, and is an acknowledged expert in her field. Some of her students are remarkably strong and intuitive. You can probably start to anticipate some of the ways things might go wrong.
There’s also romance: it’s a significant thread throughout, although more along Han-Leia lines (important but not actually driving the narrative) than Wesley-Buttercup lines. It’s real and powerful and deeply believable.
Tesh writes beautifully, I wouldn’t change a thing, and I know that I’ll be re-reading this novel. And I’m sorry if you’ve got a lot on your plate, Emily, but please can you write more novels?
The River has Roots, Amal El-Mohtar
I read this courtesy of NetGalley and the publisher. It’s out now!
This was simultaneously very sweet and very biting.
It’s a delight to read, and it will have you clutching at whatever you’re sitting or lying on whilst doing so.
It’s set kind of-ish in our world and also in Arcadia, which might be Faerie. It’s about sisters and love of all kinds, loyalty and spite, riddles and justice and fidelity and rivers.
The River Liss is a character, and I love them.
The willows are characters, too, in a more understated way. I’m Australian so willows don’t play a huge role in my botanical experience – but I’ve read enough European folklore to understand why they feature here.
This novella is completely captivating, like everything El-Mohtar writes, and I want to gently throw it at everyone so they read it and get to enjoy it with me.
Esperance, by Adam Oyebanji
Read courtesy of NetGalley and the publisher. It’s out in May.
Starts as a police procedural, which is fine by me – I love them: Chicago cops turn up to investigate a death, the cause of death is very weird, and how it was managed is baffling. Cops hear about a similar murder a long way across the country…
Meanwhile, someone has just arrived in England – we don’t know where from – and talks like someone from a bad 1930s film. She meets a grifter, they fall into some trouble together, and of course their paths eventually cross the paths of the American cops. And I can’t tell you why or how without going into some of the key revelations, the discovery which was a massive part of why I enjoyed this novel so much.
I spent a lot of this novel not really sure who the traveller was, where they were from, and what their purpose would turn out to be. Sometimes this sort of suspense is really annoying, but not here: although their overall intention was mysterious, Oyebanji still managed to create a character who was fascinating and appealing enough that I wanted to keep hanging out with them. He also does some very clever things with the American cops, I think, although as a white Australian I’m really not in a position to fully comment on that.
The book is fantastic. There’s wonderful characters, excellent interactions between them, and an intriguing and compelling mystery. It covers racism, mammoth questions like what justice really is or looks like – and is a standalone story. Highly recommended.
Beast, by Jade Linwood
I read this courtesy of the publisher and NetGalley. It’s out in June, in Australia.
This was a lot of fun.
I haven’t read the first book, Charming, which presumably introduces the titular prince and the variety of ladies he has rescued. Fortunately, there was enough backstory provided – and without it being super info-dump-y – that that wasn’t too much of a problem; I picked up fairly quickly that Charming is every Prince Charming, that he’s therefore regarded as a conman and a rogue by the rescuees who have now banded together, and that there’s also some sort of curse on Charming himself, organised by Mephistopheles, that the ladies need to work with Charming to break. Which is all well and good until Charming gets pulled into yet another curse – the focus of this novel, which is of course the Beauty and the Beast one. And it’s gender-swapped, with Charming as the Beauty and a woman as the Beast.
It’s interesting to read a flipped B&B, especially when it’s primarily from the man’s perspective (now I want to read a flipped version from the woman’s perspective). Because of the sort of story this is, Charming never finds Beast particularly offensive, and indeed appreciates many of her qualities from early on. The novel does acknowledge that other men have not been as generous, with some reduced to gibbering wrecks because they’re incapable of seeing past the idea of a very large furry bipedal ‘animal’ coming towards them while inside a house. There’s no great interrogation here or psychoanalytical discussion of what it means to have been transformed; that’s not what this novel wants to do. But there is commentary on Beast having to use a tankard rather than a wine glass, and not wanting to eat in front of potential suitors, and a few other notes that compare how a well-bred lady of the pseudo-medieval society would be expected to look and behave compared with how she looks now.
Other fairy tales also get a look-in here, in particular Red Riding Hood and Hansel & Gretel; they are likewise fractured in really fascinating ways. Linwood seems to have had a lot of fun playing with all of these stories and thinking about how to make recognisable and yet just a bit other. (Red’s hanging out with werewolves; Gretel is traumatised from her childhood – and not by a witch – and now protects herself with bears.)
Fast-paced in a good way, easy to read, some delightful characters: this book was great.
Mary Darling, by Pat Murphy
Read courtesy of NetGalley and the publisher, it’s out in May.
The Peter Pan/Sherlock Holmes mash-up I didn’t know I needed.
I’m a big fan of taking old stories – especially well-loved ones – and either putting women in, or re-telling the women’s stories to give them more agency, or just flat-out actually making them a character rather than sexy (or maternal) lampshades. Here, Murphy gives life to Mary Darling: wife to George, mother to Wendy, John, and Michael – and previous inhabitant of Neverland, courtesy of Peter Pan. She grew up in Cooktown, Qld; is the niece of Dr John Watson; and is generally awesome.
The story is partly Mary’s story, as she goes off to find her own children – recognising all the signs, as she does, of a Peter Pan abduction – and partly Watson’s story, as he (along with Holmes) follow in Mary’s wake to try and find Neverland. Along the way there are adventures, including other Victorian lady adventurers, and brothel-keepers, and several pirates. There’s also flashbacks to Mary’s childhood, as well as to the experiences of various members of the party: Sam, a South-Sea Islander friend from Mary’s childhood; some of the pirates; the people who become known as Princess Tiger-Lily and her family; and George Darling himself.
Murphy has made Barrie’s (and Conan Doyle’s) much richer by restoring the women and people of colour who would really have existed in London, let alone the rest of the world, to the story. She’s also written a zippy tale of adventure and family and identity that kept me completely enthralled.
Holmes does not come out of this story very well. Nor does Peter Pan. I was naturally reminded of AC Wise’s Wendy, Darling, which is a very different book but likewise asks questions about exactly who, or what, Peter Pan could possibly be.
This was brilliant. Loved all of it.
Randomly Yours, Alex 