Fiction – paperback; Penguin Australia; 294 pages; 1999.
Drylands is Thea Astley at her fine, angry best. This novel, which turned out to be her last (she died in 2004, aged 78), earned her the Miles Franklin Literary Award in 2000, a prize she shared with joint winner Kim Scott for his novel Benang: From the Heart.
Astley, it has to be said, is not always an easy writer to read. Her prose is dense and rich in metaphors and her ideas are astute and political, the product of an inquiring and intelligent mind.
But this book, which is set in a small Australian town succumbing slowly to the drought, resonated with me, perhaps because I identified with the themes presented here: of small-town loneliness and alienation; of kicking back against a culture too obsessed with sport and too inward-looking and parochial to care about the importance of reading and language.
It is subtitled “a book for the world’s last reader” which suggests that it might have a literary slant to it, but even readers — and, in particular, book groups and book festivals — get a (slight) drubbing in this coolly intellectual novel.
A novel made up of stories
The structure of Drylands is unusual. It almost reads like a collection of short stories as we follow the trials and tribulations of a complex cast of well-drawn, intensely human characters living in the “God-forgotten tree-stump of a town halfway to nowhere”. They include a foreign accountant on the run, the farmer who sells his property in pursuit of a dream, an indigenous man who lives in a broken-down shack on the outskirts of town, a writing teacher who bemoans the “humdrummery” of small-town life, the publican’s wife who hates sport and a stressed out housewife with six sons who leaves her family in pursuit of a new life.
Their individual tales are recounted by Janet Deakin, who fancies herself as a writer: she spends her days running a newsagency that in another (more literary) place would be a bookstore, and her nights chronicling in her journal the decline of the town and its inhabitants.
She would write a story, she decided, about a woman in an upstairs room above a main street in a country town, writing a story about a woman writing a story.
This “meta” element of Astley’s novel means it’s not clear whether Janet is an actual character or something dreamed up by writing teacher Evie, but whatever the case, Drylands captures a world in which the written word is in serious peril by a small population obsessed with drinking beer and sport, watching TV, videos and Internet pornography, and playing PlayStation games. (I can’t help but wonder how angry Astley would be if she were alive to see how the Internet and social media have become all-consuming vehicles for serious distraction in today’s switched-on digital world.)
Aside from the scathing anger and the fierce social commentary in this rather wise and knowing novel, I rather enjoyed Astley’s beautiful way with language. I’m grateful that the copy I read was so battered — I bought it in a charity shop for the princely sum of £1.99 several years ago — because that meant I didn’t feel guilty about underlining so much of it in blue pen.
Here’s how she describes what’s it like being surrounded by bush:
A world of gum trees, bark stripping, dangling, their bony limbs rejecting grace, crowded arrogant as beggars in their rags.
Here’s how she describes the view of the Queensland landscape out of a train window:
The countryside was emerging in the pre-dawn light, misty hills and cane fields blurred silver under an uncertain sun blundering its way through clouds.
And, finally, perhaps my favourite sentence in the entire novel:
Along the main street in the clamorous dark the pub was yowling towards its climatic closing time.
Astley is also very astute at capturing human relationships, emotions and motivations. Here’s Evie, the writing teacher, trying to figure out why the women of the town turn up to her classes even though they have little to no creativity in their bones:
Why had they come? What did they expect? She was beginning to understand the isolation of these places that drove people to seize any opportunity to escape from their humdrummery. These four — these pleasant four — were playing truant from husbands who regarded their activity as female folly. They were fighting the darkness.
Did I like this book? It’s hard to say. I think it might be better to say I admired it. I admired the prose, the ideas, the wonderfully rich characterisation, but these stories did not stick, perhaps because the tales felt ephemeral and “untidy” in the sense that there are no neat endings. But, as a whole, Drylands is an evocative, somewhat pessimistic read about a town that grinds everyone down in the end.
For another take on this novel, please read Whispering Gum’s review.
This is my 48th book for #ReadingAustralia2016 and my 31st for #AWW2016.
18 thoughts on “‘Drylands’ by Thea Astley”
Thanks for the link Kim. I must say I loved this book, but probably just because I don’t mind the untidiness. I just love Astley’s fierceness, her out-there-ness, her willingness to attack any or all of our sacred cows (sport and reading!)
BTW I note that this is you 31st book for the AWW challenge. Well done. I think by the end of 2016 I will have 30. You’ve done very well with your Aussie reading this year. I hope you feel it’s been worth it!
Yes, I admire her courage in tackling sacred cows, too, but I admit to struggling with her books. I have a review of It’s Raining in Mango in the pipeline and I’m struggling to write about it in any coherent way cos the book is so darn complicated and heavy. I suspect she’s a writer whose books you need to read two or more times to fully appreciate her themes, style etc.
As for the AWW challenge, I’ve now read 33 books and am midway through a round-up post I will publish after Christmas. I’ve read some truly wonderful books this year as part of my reading Australia project and have been amazed by the sheer breadth and depth of talent. The project has also helped forged a new love of short stories and non-fiction. So yes, to answer your question, it has been worth it!
Yes, she is demanding but so worth it I think. It’s a while since I read Mango and I frequently hanker to pick it up and read again, but there are others of hers I haven’t read and that I have here on my pile so I tell myself they should come first. If you haven’t read Coda (her second last novel) you might like to try it. The other one I really like is The multiple effects of rainshadow.
Oh good for you to have 33. I’m so glad you found it worth it, particularly given it’s given you a love of short stories! My round-up post will be published as this week’s Monday Musings.
I admire Astley, I’ve read various of her books over time, but I need to do some reviews the better to understand and retain what she is saying. Shame she had to run into Benang in the MF, probably the best Australian literary work of the 21st century.
That’s a bold statement about Benang, but I suspect you might be correct. I read it a couple of years ago and it has haunted me ever since. It has informed my thinking about Aboriginal identity and issues around the “Aboriginal problem”, which has now been strengthened by Stan Grant’s memoir and Scott’s own debut novel.
As for Astley, your use of the word “retain” has resonated with me. I simply don’t retain her stories, and I’m not sure why because she writes about such interesting people, places and issues. Maybe it’s because she approaches everything from an oblique angle and my brain prefers everything to be more straightforward or at least less complex?
LOL I read this with a book group and the Queenslanders hated it – and the rest of us loved it!
Did you review it on your blog, Lisa? I looked but couldn’t find one.
No, I read it not long before I started the blog. It was my first Astley, and I loved it.
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Hmmm, I’m a Queenslander and I loved it!
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Ah, but you’re an honorary Canberran as well!
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Yes, that I am … my Queensland heritage is, I admit, slipping into the dim dark past.
Were you FNQ or from Brisvegas?
All over, actually – Maryborough (birth), Gympie (turned 5), Sandgate in northern Brisbane (6 to 11), then Mt Isa (11 to 14) before moving to Sydney where I stayed until I finished uni and then I was out of there to Canberra and the NLA.
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I hope you’re going to write the memoirs for the offspring one day…. I have a long term project to make a scrapbook of all the homes I’ve lived in…
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Hmmm … a scrapbook might be a goer. Nice idea, Lisa.
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