Not like my mother : truth and the author in creative nonfiction

This exegesis examines how a writer can effectively negotiate the relationship between author, character, fact and truth, in a work of Creative Nonfiction. It was found that individual truths, in a work of Creative Nonfiction, are not necessarily universal truths due to individual, cultural, historical and religious circumstances. What was also identified, through the examination of published Creative Nonfiction, is a necessity to ensure there are clear demarcation lines between authorial truth and fiction. The Creative Nonfiction works examined, which established this framework for the reader, ensured an ethical relationship between author and audience. These strategies and frameworks were then applied to my own Creative Nonfiction.

Creative nonfiction : Granta 104

A 1000-word review of Granta 104 - Fathers : The Men Who Made Us (Allen & Unwin, 2009)

The passionate critic

It's hard to be dispassionate about Reyner Banham. For me, and for the plethora of other people with strong opinions about Banham, his writing is compelling, and one’s connection to him as a figure quite personal. For me, frankly, he rocks. As a landscape architect, I gleaned most of my knowledge about Modern architecture from Banham. His Theory and Design in the First Machine Age, along with Rowe and Koetter’s Collage City and Venturi’s Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture were the most influential books in my library, by far. Later, as a budding “real scholar”, I was disappointed to find that, while these authors had serious credibility, the writings themselves were regarded as “polemical” – when in fact what I admired about them most was their ability and willingness to make rough groupings and gross generalizations, and to offer fickle opinions. It spoke to me of a real personal engagement and an active, participatory reading of the architectural culture they discussed. They were at their best in their witty, cutting, but generally pithy, creative prose, such as in Rowe’s extrapolation of the modern citizen as the latest “noble savage”, or Banham railing against conservative social advocates and their response to high density housing: “those who had just re-discovered ‘community’ in the slums would fear megastructure as much as any other kind of large-scale renewal program, and would see to it that the people were never ready.” Any reader of Banham will be able to find a gem that will relate, somehow, personally, to what they are doing right now. For Banham, it was all personal, and the gaps in his scholarship, rather, were the dispassionate places: “Such bias is essential – an unbiased historian is a pointless historian – because history is an essentially critical activity, a constant re-scrutiny and rearrangement of the profession.” Reyner Banham: Historian of the Immediate Future, Nigel Whiteley’s recent “intellectual biography” (the MIT Press, 2002), allowed me to revisit Banham’s passionate mode of criticism and to consider what his legacy might be. The book examines Banham’s body of work, grouped according to his various primary fascinations, as well as his relationship to contemporaneous theoretical movements, such as postmodernism. His mode of practice, as a kind of creative critic, is also considered in some depth. While there are points where the book delves into Banham’s personal life, on the whole Whiteley is very rigorous in considering and theorizing the work itself: more than 750 articles and twelve books. In academic terms, this is good practice. However, considering the entirely personal nature of Banham’s writing itself, this separation seems artificial. Banham, as he himself noted, “didn’t mind a gossip”, and often when reading the book I was curious about what was happening to him at the time. Banham’s was an amazing type of intellectual practice, and one that academics (a term he hated) could do well to learn from. While Whiteley spends a lot of time arguing for his practice to be regarded as such, and makes strong points about both the role of the critic, and the importance of journalism, rather than scholarly publishing, I found myself wondering what his study looked like. What books he had in his library. Did he smoke when he wrote? What sort of teaching load did he have? He is an inspiration to design writers and thinkers, and I, personally, wanted to know how he did it.

From Sydney and Shanghai : Australian and Chinese women writing modernism

In the 1930s and 1940s, Australian women writers published novels, poems, and short stories that pushed the boundaries of their national literary culture. From their position in the Pacific, they entered into a dialogue with a European modernism that they reworked to invigorate their own writing and to make cross-continental connections. My interest in the work of Australian women prose writers of this period stems from an appreciation of the extent of their engagement with interwar modernism (an engagement that is generally under-acknowledged) and the realization that there are commonalities of approach with the ways in which contemporaneous Chinese authors negotiated this transnational cultural traffic. China and Australia, it has been argued, share an imaginative and literal association of many centuries, and this psychic history produces a situation in which ‘Australians feel drawn towards China: they cannot leave it alone.’1 Equally, Chinese exploration of the great southern land began in the fifteenth century, prior to European contact. In recent times, the intensity of Australia’s cultural and commercial connections with Asia has led to a repositioning of the Australian sense of regionalism in general and, in particular, has activated yet another stage in the history of its relationship with China. In this context, the association of Australian and Chinese writing is instructive because the commonalities of approach and areas of interest between certain authors indicate that Australian writers were not alone in either the content or style of their response to European modernism. This recognition, in turn, advances discussions of modernism in Australia and reveals an alternative way of looking at the world from the Pacific Rim through literature. The intent is to examine selective Australian and Chinese authors who are part of this continuous history and whose writing demonstrates common thematic and stylistic features via the vector of modernism. I focus on the 1930s and 1940s because these are the decades in which Australia and China experienced wideranging conflict in the Pacific, and it is significant that war, both forthcoming and actual, features as an ominous soundtrack in the writing of Chinese and Australian women. I argue that, given the immensity of cultural difference between Australia and China, there is an especially interesting juncture in the ways in which the authors interrogate modernist practices and the challenge of modernism. The process in which writing from the Pacific Rim jointly negotiates the twin desires of engaging with European literary form and representing one’s own culture may be seen as what Jessica Berman identifies as a geomodernism, one of the ‘new possible geographies’ of modernism.2 My discussion centres on the work of the Australian women, to which the Chinese material serves as a point of reference, albeit a critical one. The Chinese writing examined here is restricted to authors who wrote at least some material in English and whose work is available in translation.

The politics of literacy in David Almond and Dave McKean’s "The Savage" (2008)

Competency in language and literacy are central to contemporary debates about education in Anglophone nations around the world. This paper suggests that such debates are informing not just educational policy but children’s literature itself as can be seen in Almond and McKean’s The Savage. This hybrid text combines prose and graphic narrative and narration in order to tell the story of Blue, a young British boy negotiating his identity in the aftermath of his father's death. While foregrounding a narrative of ideal masculinity, The Savage enacts and privileges a formal and thematic ideal of literacy as index of individual agency and development. Almond and McKean produce a politicised understanding of language and literacy that simultaneously positions The Savage in a textual tradition of socio-culturally disenfranchised youth, and intervenes in that tradition to (perhaps ironically) affirm the very conditions previously critiqued by that very tradition. Where earlier authors such as Barry Hines sought to challenge normative accounts of language and literacy in order to indict educational policy and praxes, Almond and McKean work to naturalise the very logics of education and agency by which their protagonist has been disenfranchised. In doing so, The Savage exemplifies current approaches to education which claim to value social and cultural diversity while imposing national standardised testing predicated on assumptions about the legitimacy of uniform standards and definitions of literacy.

Abduction : the writing of a historical novel

This is a practice-led project consisting of a historical novel Abduction and related exegesis. The novel is a third person intimate narrative set in the mid-nineteenth century and is based on actual events and persons caught up in, or furthering, the mass dispossession of small farmers in Scotland known as the ‘Clearances’. The narrative focuses on the situation in the Outer Hebrides and northern Scotland. It is based on documented facts leading up to a controversial trial in 1850 that arose because a twenty year old woman of the period (the central protagonist, Jess Mackenzie) eloped with a young farmer to escape her parent’s pressure to marry a rival suitor, himself a powerful lawyer and ‘factor’ at the centre of many of the Clearances. The young woman’s independent ideas were ahead of her time, and the decisions she made under great pressure were crucial in some dramatic events that unfolded in Scotland and later in the colony of Victoria, to which she and her new husband emigrated soon after the trial. The exegesis is composed of two unequal parts. It briefly considers the development of the literary historical fiction genre in the nineteenth century with Walter Scott in particular, a genre found useful in representing women’s issues of the Victorian era by Victorian and contemporary authors. The exegesis also briefly considers the appropriateness of the fiction genre (as opposed to creative nonfiction) in creating the lived experience in a fact-based work. The major part of the exegesis is a detailed, reflective analysis of the problem-solving process involved in writing the novel, structured by reference to Kate Grenville’s Searching for the Secret River – a work of metawriting that explains her creative process in researching and writing historical fiction based on fact.

'In the hands of the Receivers': The Politics of Literacy in The Savage by David Almond and Dave McKean

David Almond and Dave McKean's The Savage is a hybrid prose and graphic novel which tells the story of one young man’s maturation through literacy. The protagonist learns to deal with the death of his father and his own 'savage' self by writing a graphic novel. This article reads The Savage in the context of earlier, 'Northern' literacy narrative - particularly Tony Harrison's poem "Them & [uz]" and Barry Hines' Kes — through the discourse of neoliberalism and the notion of the reluctant boy reader. It is suggested that Almond and McKean are influenced by currently dominant ideologies of gender and literacy.

Exploring representations of Asian identities in films for the Australian Curriculum

In this paper we focus on one facet of Asia literacy and examine the potential of intercultural understanding through two films about Asians in Australia, as the basis for exploring Asia and Australia’s engagement with Asia 'inside' and not through the more accepted mode of 'outside' the nation. In doing so we foreground how teachers’ critical and imaginative curriculum work can realise some of the promises of the framing document for the current national curriculum project, the Melbourne Declaration (MCEECDYA, 2008). In particular, we focus on opportunities for young people to develop an Asia-related cultural literacy that goes beyond instrumental notions of engagement with Asia and explore the evolving nature of contemporary Australian society; a society that continues to develop in response to regional flows and interactions with people and cultures. To this end we engage with the notion of “diasporic hybridity” as a dynamic cultural space through selected films and literature, about Asia in Australia, in particular, Bondi Tsunami (Lucas, 2004) and Footy Legends (Do, 2006) and selected prose works. Our paper introduces the policy background of the Australian Curriculum and suggests multimodal, English classroom applications for the films and literature under study.

Chocolate, Jazz and Christmas festivals in Tubingen & Stuttgart

A travel article about southern German festivals. IT WAS Golden October, when a last wave of Italian warmth made it across the Alps into southern Germany. Outside, the final sunlight of the day found the tops of trees, and the town seemed cast entirely in autumn patterns. I followed the busy pedestrian traffic across the Neckar River into the old part of Tübingen.

Helsinki adventure : inside the ‘design nation’

A travel article about Helsinki exploring the city's design culture. I’M often told that I’m from Finland. Even those who’ve known me for years confuse it with my birthplace, which is, in fact, Iceland. I’m not sure why the two countries are mixed up in this way, but it might be that Iceland and Finland are, in a sense, the “other” Scandinavian nations – on different sides of the Nordic world, but in the mind joined as its outer borders...

Between rocks and hard places

A travel article about the Aland Islands, Finland, that discusses the mix of Swedish, Finnish, and Russian cultural influences in the area. On the map, Finland seems to end in fragments. The gods have stomped their heels on the southwestern corner, and between the cities of Helsinki and Turku it is jagged, rocky islands that form the final landmarks...

The times, wines and tides of Tasmania’s Tamar Valley

A travel article about the Tamar Valley, Tasmania. FROM Launceston to Low Head and the Tamar River’s entry into Bass Strait, big tides bring with them an atmosphere of a beach community, but also of a community a little stranded in time. Half the day the locals live by the sea, and for the other half along wide flats. It’s an old rhythm in a place where much has gone unchanged...

Take a journey to saga country, Reykjavik, Iceland

A travel article about a journey to Reykholt in Western Iceland, once the farm of saga author Snorri Sturluson. A TRIP back into snowbound Iceland's past in search of a famed warrior-poet throws up some old memories and fresh revelations for Kari Gislason "The fish must sing." An odd idea, I know - one uttered by a merchant in a novel by Halldor Laxness. But it said no more than what every Icelander since the settlement had known. If you were going to live on the edge of the world, it paid to do something to remind the rest of the world you were still here...

Give way to great charms of Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada

A travel article about Halifax, Nova Scotia. MOTORISTS in Nova Scotia are so polite it's almost a shame to leave, writes Kari Gislason. By the end of my second day in Halifax, I begin to develop deep concerns about the safety of the locals, or the Haligonians as they're known. I wonder how they ever leave their fair city or, perhaps more to the point, how they ever make it back...

Experience the sights & sounds of Cape Breton, Nova Scotia

A travel article about Nova Scotia, and the area's annual Celtic music festival. I ARRIVED in Cape Breton on the occasion of the Fibre Festival, run not only by the South Haven Guild of Weavers but also the Baddeck Quilters Guild. And yet I might not have noticed that it was on, had it not been for a car, shrouded entirely by a quilt cover, that was parked outside the Volunteer Fire Department Hall. I was on my way to the Alexander Graham Bell Museum a little further along Baddeck's main street. But I stopped, for who wouldn't stop to look at the various fibres of Cape Breton. The hall had been divided between weavers and quilters. Naturally, I left hoping that one day this ancient divide might be healed...