Tag Archives: Richard Fidler

Sydney Writers’ Festival 2024: My day four

I had just two sessions on the last day of the Festival. The Emerging Artist came down with a heavy cold, but I was ruthless enough to leave her languishing at home today. One pleasant surprise was that, even thugh the SWF website says there is a no-refunds policy they are happy to give a credit – so we have prepaid for three sessions of next year’s festival (she also missed out on Sebastian Barry on Saturday night – rewatching some of Derry Girls from her sickbed.)

Sunday 26 May

12.30: Fragile Democracy

This was one of those panels where I’m interested not so much in the books written by the participants as in what they have to say about the world. As the Festival program put it:

Donald Trump and his attacks on the US electoral system have raised red flags about the strength of American democracy. But in an age of disinformation and civic decline, signs of fragility are visible elsewhere and Australia is no exception.

Former host of ABC’s Insiders Barrie Cassidy chaired this discussion. The formidable participants were:

  • Bruce Wolpe (Trump’s Australia), Senior Fellow at the United States Studies Centre who has worked with the Democrats in Congress during Obama’s first term and on the staff of PM Julia Gillard
  • Rosalind Dixon, Professor of Law at UNSW and co-author of perhaps the least easily spoken title of any book at the Festival, Abusive Constitutional Borrowing Legal Globalization and the Subversion of Liberal Democracy
  • Nick Bryant (When America Stopped Being Great: A History of the Present), who has a 30 year career in journalism, much of it as a foreign correspondent for the BBC.

The panellists were pretty much in furious agreement that there is currently a wold wide battle between autocracy and democracy. Naturally, most of the tie was spent on how this battle is being fought in the USA. ‘The beacon of democracy,’ Nick Bryant said, ‘is looking like a dumpster fire.’

We were reminded that the authoritarian tendency in the USA isn’t new – FDR, correctly seen as progressive and, in US terms, ‘liberal’, was applauded when he said in his inauguration speech: ‘ I may have to bend the rules of the Constitution to what I want to do.’

There was some discussion of the possibility of civil war in the US if Trump loses the election. It wouldn’t be like the last one, but even if there is no civil war, there won’t be civil peace.

All the panellists agreed that Australia’s institutions are strong: compulsory voting, preferential voting, ease of voting (there were some horror stories about how hard it can be to vote in the US), an independent Electoral Commission, and courts that aren’t as subject to political pressure. But we still need to be vigilant: for instance, Peter Dutton recently tried to introduce voter ID processes to make voting harder.

Someone said, ‘Australian democracy is a lot stronger than its politics.’


1.30: David Wengrow: The Dawn of Everything

Richard Fidler was in conversation with David Wengrow, co-author with the late David Graeber of The Dawn of Everything: A New History of Humanity (2022). David Graeber was an anthropologist who played a leading role in the Occupy movement. When he and Wengrow, a British archaeologist met during the Occupy movement they had long conversations, not about politics but about archaeology. As Wengrow told him about current state of knowledge of the ancient past, he kept asking, ‘Why don’t I know this? Why isn’t this being taught?’

They decided to write a pamphlet, something without footnotes and scholarly paraphernalia, presenting current knowledge in a readable, integrated form. It turned out that this was harder than they thought, partly because of the extreme specialisation of archaeology: experts in ancient rock art don’t know what experts in ancient stone tools are doing or finding out. In the end, they had to write a substantial book.

The conversation touched on the opposing views of human history put forward by Rousseau (early humans were blissfully innocent, perhaps slightly imbecilic creatures who were corrupted by the formation of societies) and Hobbes (the war of all against all constrained by civilisation). wengrow observed that both these narratives are fantasies in which the early humans aren’t like any humans we know anything about. Likewise, he says archaeological findings disprove the narrative of Sapiens, which he assumed we have all read but I haven’t, and of Steven Pinker.

As to what those findings are: they are rich and complex, much more so than anyone has ever though was the case with early humans.

He argued that the luminaries of the enlightenment – Diderot, Voltaire, Rousseau – were influenced by what they heard from Indigenous people from colonised nations who visited Paris and were sharply critical of teh inequalities and other manifestations of monarchy that they saw there. He spoke respectfully of Bruce Pascoe’s work, but seemed to be unaware that Mungo Man and Mungo Lady were buried with ritual elements tens of thousands of years ago – which as I understand it only reinforces his argument.

This session was recorded for the ABC’s Conversations program. I plan to listen when it’s broadcast as there were a lot of specifics to his argument that I know I’ll get wrong if I try to write them now. [Added later: The Conversations program is already online at this link.]


The festival is over for another year. What little I saw of it was terrific.

The booking system means that there are no longer terrible queues for the sessions with no guarantee of getting through the door.

There is a new approach to questions: you go to a website and put your question there. This has the great advantage of stopping people from getting up to tell their life story or promote their own world view. I think there may have a disadvantage: sometimes if the person on stage can actually see the questioner they can tailor their answer appropriately – as for example if the questioner is a young person.

I do wish there was more than one place selling coffee, as even though I’m not a coffee drinker I was pained to see the apparently permanent size of the queue.

And most of all I wish there was more poetry. Just one whose drawing power depends on his published prose isn’t enough. Surely there is a small room somewhere at Carriageworks that could be devoted to poetry – one where an event doesn’t need a big crowd to justify itself. There are at least half a dozen places in Sydney that organise regular poetry readings, there ar e a number of small publishers who specialise in poetry, and there are any number of fine poets who live locally.

But long live the SWF. I’ve come away with a swag of actual books and a list of others.

Audio Books, sadly

When the Emerging Artist and I were much younger, I used to read to her on long car trips. For quite a while now, my voice has given out after an alarmingly short time, and we have turned to other entertainments. Audio books we’ve enjoyed are Magda Szubanski’s reading of her memoir Reckoning, and Bruce Kerr and Helen Morse’s reading of Donald and Myfanwy Horne’s Dying: A Memoir, though we only listened to half of the latter. We couldn’t stand David Tredinnick’s actorly reading of Tim Winton’s Island Home, though we could tell the book itself was interesting.

This blog post reports on two more experiments on Audio books on car drives from Sydney to Aireys Inlet in Victoria.


Richard Fidler & Kári Gíslason, Saga Land (2017, audible.com 2018)

This is an introduction to the Icelandic sagas embedded in a travel book. It includes Kári Gíslason’s personal story of claiming his Icelandic identity – he was born in Iceland to an Australian mother, but his Icelandic father wasn’t acknowledged on his birth certificate, or at all until he went looking for him as a young adult. It also tells about the friendship between travelling companions Fidler and Gíslason. They wrote alternate chapters and each reads his own chapters in the audio book.

I loved the tellings of the Icelandic sagas – both for their own sakes and for the light they cast on books like Independent People and movies like Rams, and TV shows like Trapped. A year later, my mind has indelibly retained a chilling moment from one of the sagas where a woman exacts revenge for what would now be called an act of domestic violence. And Fidler and Gíslason were excellent company.

Either my ageing ears or our feeble car radio meant that Richard Fidler’s tendency to fade away at the end of sentences made his sections of the book hard to follow at times. But this was a minor blemish compared to readers of other books (see below).

Our car trip, in January last year, ended before the book did, and I didn’t blog about it immediately because I intended to read the rest of it to myself. But as more than a year has now passed, I have to admit that I’ll never get around to it. That is to say, it was a pleasant, instructive read, but not compelling enough to make me go to any trouble to finish it.


Evie Wyld, After the Fire, a Still Small Voice (Bolinda Publishing 2011, read by David Tredinnick)

In spite of my having wanted to throw Evie Wyld’s more recent novel All the Birds, Singing across the room, we’d both enjoyed it enough to expect to enjoy this.

We didn’t. In spite of the pleasures provided to this North Queensland boy by a sugarcane-field setting, we gave up after three of the ten discs, partly because its two narrative strands were going to meet in fairly predictable ways, partly because in one of them the characters felts utterly contrived, especially a weirdly taciturn little girl, and partly because David Tredinnick’s ‘do the police in different voices’, though probably objectively excellent, got on our nerves. For my taste, his reading injects too much actorly interpretation between the writing and me, and I find myself fighting with him over the characters when I’d rather be lost in the story.

We shifted to podcasts – Kermode and Mayo’s film reviews and This American Life. Maybe if I go blind I’ll reconcile myself to audio books, and I’m not ruling out getting another one from the library if we do that drive again. But for now, I’m not an audio book fan.

NSWPLA dinner

There’s a quote from James Tiptree Jr I’ve been wanting to sneak into my blog for some time. When an editor asked her to write an afterword to her short story, ‘The Milk of Paradise’ she wrote that some authors are ‘walkie-talkie writers … who are named Mailer and Wolfe when they are good’ and went on:

But the rest of us, poor carnivores whose innards meagrely condense into speech. Only at intervals when the moon, perhaps, opens our throats do we clamber up on the rocks and emit our peculiar streams of sound to the sky. Good, bad, we do not know. When it is over we are finished, our glands have changed. Push microphones at us and you get only grumbles about the prevalence of fleas and the scarcity of rabbits.1

That, in short, is why I’ve become a dedicated paying guest at the annual  NSW Premier’s Literary Awards Dinner. I love to see those poor carnivores clamber up onto the podium to be honoured, even the ones who can’t manage any more than ‘Thank you’.

I nearly didn’t go this year, fearing that the dreaded PowerPoint’s incursion, begun at the shortlist announcement, would continue. I was also trying to think like a grown-up about the expense, and then there was the Dîner des Refusés precipitated by the nul prize for a playscript. But here I am again, home from the Art Gallery, out of pocket but flush with the inside dope, even though the on-the-spot tweeters and newspapers (with self-promoting or surprise-upset hooks) have beaten me to publication.

It turned out, no surprise, to be a pleasant evening. The company was convivial, the setting brilliant, the food excellent. There was no PowerPoint as such, but sadly the dinner has become an Event, the creation of Events Organisers, with glossily impersonal results. There was a would-be witty typewriter centrepiece on each table. Two huge television screens told us who was talking to us at any given moment, threatening but thankfully not quite managing to distract us from the mere humans on the stage between them. And the pause between the announcement of each winner’s name and their arrival at the microphone – that is, the time it took them to reach the stage, be photographed kissing the Premier and cross to the mike – was now filled, not just with applause and a buzz of conversation, but with a blast of fanfare from the sound system. I hope someone whispers to the Organisers that this isn’t the Oscars, still less the Logies.

Auntie Sylvia Scott welcomed us to country. As last year, she told us she was an avid reader, and revealed that though Nathan Rees had promised her a pile of books, she never saw any. As she left the stage Carol Mills, Director General of Communities NSW and MC for the evening, promised her a pile this year. She was gracious enough not to look sceptical.

Richard Fidler gave the address. He was funny, and with enough meat to be satisfying, with quotes ranging from Neil Gaiman (about the joys of being a writer), by way of Stalin (writers are the ‘engineers of the soul’) to the unnamed Bush aide (‘probably Karl Rove’) who derided the ‘reality based community’. He advise women in quest of a man to look to their bookshelves – men don’t care so much about appearances, it’s the books that count: ‘Ladies, if we see a copy of a book by Deepak Chopra or Erich von Daniken, we’re out of there.’ He recommended The Moth podcast, and inveighed against Twitter as the ruination of literature – all those writers being witty in 140 characters instead of being at work: ‘Get back to your desks you Gen Y bastards!’ (At that point I saw my Baby Boomer friend misrule discreetly tweeting.)

On to the awards:

The UTS Glenda Adams Prize for new writing: Andrew Croome – Document Z
I started to read this a while back but couldn’t bear to read yet another book on the subject. Perhaps seduced by the sub-Oscaresque music that accompanied him to the mike, Andrew Croome gave a straightforward thank you speech, an example followed by most of the award recipients. In particular he acknowledged his debt to University creative writing courses. The book started out as a PhD – ‘But that doesn’t mean it’s boring.’

The Community Relations Commission Award: Abbas El Zein – Leave to Remain: A Memoir
A lovely book. He said, ‘I never thought I’d shake hands with the Premier and be paid for it,’ introducing another recurring motif of writers responding to Kristina Keneally’s physical presence.

The NSW Premier’s Prize for Literary Scholarship: Philip Mead – Networked Language: Culture and History in Australian Poetry
I hope to read this hefty volume some day. The very tall Philip Mead (nickname ‘Tiny’) commented that it was lovely to stand next to someone of normal height. The Premier leaned over to his mike and said it was lovely to stand next to someone who was taller than her. He went on to thank, among others, independent Australian publishers, who are like tussocks: ‘we do everything we can to destroy them and they keep coming back.’

The Play Award: Controversially not awarded

The Script Writing Award: shared by Jane Campion for Bright Star and Aviva Ziegler for Fairweather Man
Jane is abroad. In accepting the award for her, the film’s producer Jan Chapman threw us the pleasing tidbit that in the absence of any letters from Fanny Bryce to Keats, Jane looked for inspiration on her character to her own teenage daughter. Aviva spoke about the ways writing a documentary is of its nature so much more a collaboration than other forms of writing.

The Kenneth Slessor Prize for poetry: Jordie Albiston – The Sonnet According to ‘M’
I bought the last copy of this on my way home.

At this point in the evening, the main meal was served. I was the only one at my table vulgar enough to want to trade fish for meat. One of my fellow guests was gracious enough to do so. The steak and mushroom and mashed potato was delicious, though it didn’t look a bit like the way my mother used to do it. Then on with the show:

The Ethel Turner Prize for young people:Pamela Rushby – When the Hipchicks Went to War
Pamela Rushby wins the Me fail? I fly! award for the best acceptance speech. She may have been the only recipient who began with the formal ‘Distinguished guests’, but she recovered from that slightly distancing moment by telling us she had pitched the book to publishers as Apocalypse Now meets A Chorus Line. Apart from giving us some little known information about young women who went to the Vietnam War as entertainers, she thanked her family, ‘without whose support the book would have been finished in half the time’.

The Patricia Wrightson Prize for a children’s book: Allan Baillie – Krakatoa Lighthouse
Allan writes with remarkable precision, but he speaks with difficulty – so he can be difficult to follow. I thought he said that on this project his wife had to endure more than most writers’ wives because he’d been carrying on with an orang utan. I probably misheard, but he does have an unsettling sense of humour. He definitely did say that his wife climbed Son of Krakatoa with him.

The Douglas Stewart Prize for non-fiction: Paul McGeough – Kill Khalid: Mossad’s failed Hit … and the Rise of Hammas
‘Madame Premier, Ms Premier?’ ‘Kristine.’ He mainly thanked his editors, and said very little about the book.

The Christina Stead Prize for fiction: J.M. Coetzee – Summertime
Unsurprisingly JMC wasn’t there. Meredith Purnell (?) from Random House read a brief note: ‘Whether I deserve to hold my head up with the esteemed previous winners is something only time will tell.’ So Summertime!

The People’s Choice Award: Cate Kennedy – The World Beneath
‘I can’t believe my luck that all this has come about from just telling stories.’

Book of the Year: Paul McGeough – Kill Khalid
This time, without notes, he spoke about the vulnerability of writers in these late-capitalist times (my term), and daringly drew a parallel with the Taliban, a ragtag collection of warriors holding at bay the great technological firepower of the USA, the closest the evening came to ‘the prevalence of fleas and the scarcity of rabbits’.

The Special Award: The Macquarie PEN Anthology of Australian Literature
This may have been an inevitable award, but it was sad that we didn’t get to honour an ageing lion, who would have responded memorably.

I didn’t realise until this morning how many of the writers receiving awards were born and partly educated outside Australia: Abbas El Zein of course, but also Jane Campion, Aviva Ziegler (I’m guessing from her accent), Allan Baillie, Paul McGeough and J M Coetzee. That’s at least six out of eleven. Does this mean, as a friend of mine insists, that Australians can’t write? I don’t think so. Does it mean anything at all? I don’t know.

The main pleasure of the evening for me, and I suspect others, was catching up with friends. I was sitting with people I didn’t know well, and that was another pleasure, especially as the three people I could talk to most easily were judges who managed to be gloriously indiscreet about some of this year’s processes. It’s often said that literary awards are given to compromise candidates, books that are no one’s favourites but that no one objects to. It seems this was not the case with these awards. There were sharp divisions of opinion over a couple of them, and my impression is some of the uncontroversial decisions had their share of anguish.
——
1From the collection, Meet Me at Infinity, edited by Jeffrey D Smith, 2000, p 238