 A passionate and informative defence of the national broadcaster.
Governments of all persuasions have had a prickly relationship with the ABC. Some more than others. Labor governments have gritted their teeth and put up with unflattering reporting; Liberal governments have virtually declared all-out war. The numbers on government funding are telling: the Hawke/Keating governments saw it increase by 7%; under the Howard government funding decreased by 5%; the Rudd/Gillard governments resulted in an overall increase of 10%; and 2013–present the contemporary Liberal governments of Abbott/Turnbull/Morrison have overseen a funding decrease of 11%. While conservative politicians and their media supporters have cried loud and hard that the ABC is full of rampant left-wing bias, surveys and polls consistently find that most people believe the ABC fair and accurate. No media organisation comes under as much sustained scrutiny as the ABC, with its journalistic practises guided by the ABC Act. Added to these checks and balances is a rigorous complaints-handling system. In Who Needs the ABC? authors Matthew Ricketson and Patrick Mullins have written an impassioned defence of the ABC, which is celebrating its 90th birthday this year. They demonstrate that arguments of left-wing bias are largely overplayed, that a publicly funded broadcaster does much to cool down political radicalism by remaining a trusted source of news, and, finally, that the ABC remains one of the country’s biggest producers of cultural content. This book is a comprehensive guide to the ABC and all that it does, and as well as a warning that our national broadcaster not be taken for granted. Who Needs the ABC?: Why Taking It For Granted is No Longer an Option, by Patrick Mullins and Matthew Ricketson. Published by Scribe. $29.99 Review by Chris Saliba First published at Books + Publishing.  Seasoned political journalist Karen Middleton takes on the Anthony Albanese story.
Albanese: Telling It Straight is a well fleshed out biography of Labor's current opposition leader, Anthony Albanese. First published in 2016, it tells of the personal and the political. Albanese was born in 1963 to Maryanne Ellery and Carlo Albanese. His parents' union was a brief one. They met on a cruise ship where Carlo was a steward, but their differing circumstances (Carlo was from Italy, Maryanne from the Western suburbs of Sydney) meant the relationship could not be pursued. When Maryanne found she was pregnant, her parents helped raise the child. To avoid unwanted questions and attention, Anthony's mother invented a story. She told everyone except a select few that she had married Carlo, but that he had tragically died in a car accident. Young Anthony would not learn the truth until he was aged fourteen, when his mother sat him down to explain. He would not meet his father until he was a middle-aged man. (The detective work involved in finding Carlo makes for a dramatic final act of Middleton's biography, with the surprise help of former Howard government minister Amanda Vanstone.) Growing up poor in a sole parent family, dependent on public housing, helped shape Anthony's progressive outlook. He fought his way up through the ranks of Labor politics, aligned with its hard left faction and eventually was preselected for the seat of Grayndler. His politics are pretty stock standard left wing fare: pro gay marriage (before many others were, it must be said); pro women; pro environment. True, that's an oversimplification, but the book concentrates more on factional infighting than policy development. Happily there's no scandals or skeletons in the Albanese closet. The worst that can be said of Albanese is he knows how to play politics hard and to win. Colleagues say he is direct and honest. When he promises to do something, he does it. There's also a basic decency to his character. He makes sure people feel respected and acknowledged. Anthony Albanese doesn't leap off the page as a great character. He's a dogged political operator, doing the grunt work to get things done. One can't imagine eloquent speeches or fine turns of phrase from him. The portrait this biography paints is of someone stodgy but honest. No fancy bells or whistles, but someone who is at least reliable and true to their word. A consummately researched biography of a tough political character with a heart stopping personal story that is genuinely moving. Albanese: Telling it Straight, by Karen Middleton. Published by Vintage. $24.99 Review by Chris Saliba  Essays on art and the human condition.
Mary Gaitskill is a highly regarded American novelist and short story writer. Oppositions is a collection of her essays spanning the last twenty five years. They come under three subject headings, “Living”, “Watching and Listening" and finally, “Reading.” As can be gleaned from this, there are autobiographical pieces, but mostly the collection focuses on the arts – music, film and literature. The “Oppositions” of the title refers to the final essay, which analyses Nabokov’s Lolita. Gaitskill writes of the terrible incongruity of life, “...the natural coexistence of beauty and destruction, goodness and predatory devouring, cruelty and tenderness...” A theme that runs through these essays is how so many aspects of our emotional lives defy interpretation. Often we don’t know who we are or what we really think or want. Gaitskill’s writing on sexual politics is nuanced and refrains from making hard judgements. In pieces on date rape and porn star and anti-porn activist, Linda Lovelace, she argues that our contradictory impulses cannot be explained. The truth is we might be what we exalt and also abhor. Deeply considered writings that examine sex, art, politics and human frailty. Oppositions: Selected Essays, by Mary Gaitskill. Published by Serpent's Tail. $34.99 Review by Chris Saliba  Historian Anna Clark examines how the writing of Australian history has changed over time.
Inspired by undated rock art paintings above the Dyarubbin-Hawkesbury River, Anna Clark has endeavoured to write a history of Australia that is a mixture of the non-linear and the traditionally chronological. Each chapter covers a theme, “Gender”, “Country”, “Convicts” etc., and uses as a point of departure a particular text. These texts need not be a written work. For example, the chapter “Emotion” uses the ABC Radio National debate from Philip Adams' Late Night Live program, while the chapter “Time” references ancient fish traps (Ngunnhu). Technically speaking, Making Australian History is a history of how we as a nation have seen ourselves. A history of our history. Our European beginnings have meant we have seen the country through a white, male lens. First Peoples didn't really exist, and if they did, they were on the way out. Natural selection would take care of that. Some of the texts that Clark cites are blunt on this point. Before Europeans came, so the thinking went, nothing had existed: no culture, no history, no people. As the nation matured, First Nations voices were permitted. Besides the publication of breakthrough texts, theirs was an oral history, requiring imagination and empathy on the part of non-Indigenous people. All of which brings us up to the present day, where Anna Clark teases out what the future possibilities of Australian history could be. Making Australian History is often meandering and ponderous. Some readers may find the book long-winded and overly wordy. Despite this, the book works well to evoke the shifting perspectives and attitudes to Australia's story. An interesting road less travelled by a thoughtful writer. Making Australian History, by Anna Clark. Published by Vintage. $34.99 Review by Chris Saliba  A whimsical, inventive novel that both celebrates life and grieves its loss.
The underground pool is frequented by a wide variety of people, from all walks of life. Once in the pool, however, notions of above ground status disappear. The water calms and soothes. Worries disappear. The swimmers, all devout regulars, perform their laps with zeal. The routine and counting of laps gives order and meaning. Among this group of swimmers is Alice. She has spent decades at the pool. One day she discovers a crack at the bottom of her lane. Could the calm and stability the pool offers be coming to an end? For Alice, at least, it appears so. She has dementia. She exits the pool for the last time and is put into care. Japanese American author Julie Otsuka has written a quirky and surreal novel, despite its serious subject matter. The story starts as social satire, describing life at the pool and the discovery of the mysterious crack. When Alice is put into care, the narration lampoons the institutional bureaucracy of modern nursing homes. The novel closes more seriously with Alice’s daughter reflecting on her own shortcomings. An accomplished and entertaining story that celebrates life, employing much linguistic playfulness, but one that is also permeated with grief and loss. The Swimmers, by Julie Otsuka. Published by Fig Tree. $29.99 Review by Chris Saliba  An affluent and ambitious family in inner Melbourne find themselves spinning out of control.
When ACTU boss John Clare falls to his death from the roof of the family home, a note found on him makes it seem like suicide. But is that the case? It’s 2010 and John has helped put Kevin Rudd in power, later toppled by Julia Gillard. A failed bid to win the seat of Melbourne plunged John into a depression. On top of that his personal life is a mess. He’s carrying on an affair with a staffer, Tessa, and his fed up wife Grace voted for his Green rival. His daughter, Sophie, is having an emotional meltdown and son Toby has been accused of serious misconduct. No one is happy. When John’s body is found it causes everyone to examine their own behaviour. Debut novelist Jessica Stanley has worked in journalism and politics, experiences that strongly inform the text. The dialogue and situations have the compelling ring of truth. While the novel is situated in the world of politics, its main focus is, to paraphrase Tolstoy, an unhappy family unhappy in its own particular way. Resentments, betrayals, outraged egos litter every page. This is affluent, successful Australia, mired in unrelenting misery. Think Richard Yates’ Revolutionary Road, set in Fitzroy, Melbourne. An emotional train wreck, coupled with a mysterious death, all written in an addictive prose that keeps the reader firmly in its grip. A Great Hope, by Jessica Stanley. Published by Picador. $32.99 This review first published at Books + Publishing. Review by Chris Saliba  A boy goes on an adventure to Wild Island in this 1948 children’s classic.
A young boy named Elmer Elevator meets an old alley cat. Elmer confides in the cat that when he grows up he would like to own an airplane. “Would you like to fly very, very much?” askes the alley cat. Elmer certainly would. The cat has an idea. He explains that in his younger days he was quite a traveller. One of his journeys included a place called Wild Island, a place that is mostly jungle and inhabited by very wild animals. A dragon also lives on Wild Island, kept in captivity by the other animals and used to fly across a troublesome river. The cat suggests if Elmer can free the dragon, then he’d certainly be able to travel on his back with no qualms. The cat and the dragon are friends, you see, and Elmer is assured everything would be alright. Inspired by this story, Elmer runs away from home. He stows away on a commercial ship bound for the Island of Tangerina, which is close by Wild Island. When Elmer arrives, his adventures begin immediately and he meets various interesting animals, including some tigers, a rhinoceros, a lion and a gorilla. Finally he manages to find the dragon. American author Ruth Stiles Gannet first published My Father’s Dragon in 1948. Two more books followed in the series. The novel is narrated by Elmer’s daughter, giving the sense of an adult reminscing on old childhood stories their father has told them. The characters of the different animals Elmer meets are charming and delightful. The vain lion that likes to groom himself and tie ribbons in his mane is particularly endearing and funny. Simple, magical storytelling for years 7 + My Father's Dragon, by Ruth Stiles Gannet. Published by Swift Press. $14.99 Review by Chris Saliba  A wind-up mouse and his son’s journey from toyshop window to urban dump and beyond.
A wind-up mouse sits in a toyshop window. He holds hands with a smaller mouse, his son. They are permanently connected in this way and rely on being wound up for any movement. In the shop window there is also a toy elephant and seal. The child mouse dreams of forming a family, hopefully with the elephant and seal. But these dreams are interupted when the mouse and his child are bought by a family one Christmas. They stay with the family for five years, then find themselves disposed of, rusted and rotting on a dump. The child mouse’s dream of creating a family and having a permanent home is revivied. No sooner has the child made this wish than they become the subject of a cruel master, Manny Rat. He is the boss of the dump, with obsequious rat underlings that follow his orders. Manny Rat runs a fleet of “wind-ups” that perform all sorts of hard labor. The child and his mouse in effect become his slave. Even the once beautiful elephant has fallen into his clutches, and now stumbles around with one eye. The mouse and his child escape for a time and meet the wise Frog, who is a fortune teller. Frog repeats a prophecy, over and over: “A dog shall rise, a rat shall fall.” What can the great Frog’s words mean? Many more hardships must be endured, battles waged and enemies vanquished, until the mouse and his child at last find the security they so desperately desire. Before writing adult novels, Russell Hoban was a celebrated children’s author. His 1967 novel, The Mouse and his Child, is a richly imagined story about two vulnerable outsiders looking to find their place in the world. What makes this stand out literature is the fine quality of Hoban’s prose and the story’s broad cast of well fleshed out characters. The mysterical Frog, with his sombre musings and haughty demeanour, is especially delightful. Readers of any age will find this plaintive tale emotionally and aesthetically satisfying. The Mouse and His Child, by Russell Hoban. Published by Faber Children. $14.99 Review by Chris Saliba  A woman overcomes the twin adversaries of racism and misogyny.
Adah dreams of leaving her home town of Ibuza in Nigeria and travelling to the United Kingdom. Orphaned as a young girl, she manages to study and finds a good paying job as a library clerk at the American Consulate. This financial success turns out to be a two edged sword. Her earning power makes her an attractive bride to Francis and his family. They marry and Francis decides to travel to the UK himself, to further his law studies. With two children already, Adah manages to convince Francis’ family that she should travel to the UK too. Due to Adah’s colour and ethnicity, it’s expected that she’ll take some low paying menial work, but she finds another library job. This keeps Francis happy, as Adah supports him and the children financially. It’s not the most perfect set-up. Adah would like Francis to work and behave like a real husband, instead of another child to be looked after. Worse still, the relationship is abusive. Adah is not only worked to the bone, but Francis regularly beats and sexually abuses her. More hardships ensue as Adah repeatedly finds herself pregnant, with her stays in the maternity ward utterly humiliating. Francis doesn’t bother to buy her much needed new nighties to wear in hospital or show any concern for her welfare. She eventually hits rock bottom and can only see one way out of her myriad troubles. Buchi Emecheta (1944 – 2017) was a Nigerian born novelist, based in the UK from 1962. Second-Class Citizen (1974) is her second novel and is largely autobiographical. While the subject matter sounds grim, Emecheta weaves plenty of dark humour through her punchy narrative. As each disaster looms, worst than the last, the only option left is a desperate laughter. The novel deals with two main themes: the treatment of women and the effects of British racism. The scenes where Francis and Adah desperately try to find somewhere to live after a peremptory eviction, finding many places barred to them due to their colour, are shocking. Their family is eventually forced to take up residence in a place not fit for a dog. The abusive treatment that Adah undergoes at the hands of her husband, enduring traumatic pregnancies and hospital stays, will make the reader fume with indignation. Second Class Citizen thankfully doesn’t have a tragic ending, even though it seems inevitable. It’s a testament to Adah’s extraordinary guts and determination that she can put herself on the road to dignity and self-worth. A page turning story told with humour and grit. Don’t miss it. Second Class Citizen, by Buchi Emecheta. Penguin Modern Classics. $22.99 Review by Chris Saliba  An overworked 1970s Black activist finds peace in a traditional healing ceremony.
Velma Henry is an activist and organiser. It's the 1970s and she's involved in many progressive causes: Black rights, women's rights, gay rights. As a leftist, she veers towards Marxist economics. Big business is taking the world to hell in a hand basket. She should know: she works as a computer programmer at a chemical plant called Transchemical that has a dodgy environmental record. The pressures on her life – both personal and political – have had their toll. Her husband Obie has been cheating on her and, despite years of work, the movements she has given her heart and soul to have achieved only marginal successes. On the brink of a nervous breakdown, she self harms and then attempts suicide. In a state of utter collapse, she is brought to a community centre in Claybourne, Georgia. It is here that the healer Minnie Ransom works to bring Velma back from the brink. Consulting with her “spirit guide”, an imaginary woman named Old Wife, the two engage in a sassy streetwise language when discussing how to treat Velma. Old Wife is a “haint”, a ghost or spirit. These passages in the novel have an earthy, Chaucerian tone, full of laughter and ribald jokes. The narrative of The Salt Eaters is non-linear. The story jumps back and forth in time and has a hallucinatory quality. Scenes appear and dissolve, describing meetings and protests, interactions between colleagues and lovers. The book has no plot and is almost totally impressionistic. What it does vividly convey is the atmosphere of hope and despair during the burgeoning Civil Rights period in America. This is the origin of “woke” culture, a term first used in 1962 by African-American novelist William Melvin Kelley. Velma's treatment by Minnie and her spirit guide, Old Wife, also has a contemporary analogy in the self-care movement of today. Some readers may find the lack of a linear plot discombobulating. The novel turns in on itself in a self-contained loop. It's evocative and dreamy, resisting conventional forms and rules. Despite this, Toni Cade Bambara's prose is moreish and addictive. Readers who submit will find much to reward in this unique piece of fiction. The Salt Eaters, by Toni Cade Bambara. Published by Penguin Modern Classics. $22.99 |
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