Edition 63
Writing the Country
- Published 5th February, 2019
- ISBN: 9781925773408
- Extent: 264pp
- Paperback (234 x 153mm), eBook
Place. Land. Country. Home. These words frame the settings of our stories. Griffith Review 63: Writing the Country focuses on Australia’s vast raft of environments to investigate how these places are changing and what they might become; what is flourishing and what is at risk.
The environmental vocabulary of our times requires dramatic terms: extinctions and endings; tipping points and collapses; bottlenecks and cascade effects. In recent years the genre applied to stories of place has morphed from ‘nature writing’ through ‘new nature writing’ to ‘post-nature writing’, and the relationship between people and their environment has shifted from one of innocence to one of anxiety.
Is this simply an urban age? Or is it fundamentally different? Is this the anthropocene, capitalocene, eramocene, homogenocene? And is it still possible to dream of ecotopias somewhere further down the track?
Whatever the labels or language, how we speak of and to the world we live in requires us to make sense of where we are and where we’re going, describing, interrogating and analysing from the smallest to the grandest of scales.
In the second issue of Griffith Review, published in 2004, Melissa Lucashenko wrote of ‘earthspeaking, talking about this place, my home’. All these years later, the need to hear all sorts of earthspeak has perhaps never been more urgent.
In this Edition
Crossing the line
IMAGINE AN AIRPLANE flying north from Brisbane to Cairns. In just over two hours, it will cover nearly 1,400 kilometres of Australia’s eastern coastline and add 340 kilograms of carbon dioxide to each of its passengers’ personal carbon footprints.
Lost and found in translation
The vast continent is really void of speech...this speechless, aimless solitariness was in the air. It was natural to the country. DH Lawrence, Kangaroo UNLIKE MANY CITY-DWELLING Australians, the desert holds no terrors for me. Instead, like DH Lawrence, I find the cathedral forests of the...
Boodjar ngan djoorla
MY BONES ARE in the soul of Country, and Country is in my bones. My veins are the creeks that flow to the sea and never quite reach it; walled off by sand, drying up in the sun. They only flow out, break the...
A fragile civilisation
AT THE SAME time as a headline in The Guardian announced: ‘Indigenous Australians most ancient civilisation on Earth, DNA study confirms’,[1] we could also read that $3 billion had been left by healthcare tycoon Paul Ramsay to set up, under the direction of right-wing...
The planet is alive
I WANT TO take you on a journey from the planet to the parish, from the global to the local, from the Earth in space to the earth beneath our feet, from the lonely glowing speck of dust at the edge of the galaxy...
We all took a stand
NOBODY LOOKS VERY comfortable. There are four faces, angled inelegantly, only one inclined to engage with the camera, the attached bodies mostly submerged in a hot, foaming tub. There are two men and two women. The picture is from an age before digital cameras...
Life and death on Dyarubbin
ON THE RIVERBANK at the old Sackville Aboriginal Reserve on Dyarubbin there’s a stone obelisk. It seems permanent and solid, but it has a habit of slipping out of landscape and memory. Erected in 1952, the obelisk was later swallowed whole by lantana, and...
Rebuilding reefs, restoring memory
AS A HISTORIAN I’m not used to this sort of archive. It’s a freezing spring morning in Clifton Springs, near Geelong, and I’m elbow deep in shellfish in a suburban backyard. We’re measuring mussels: sixty-five millimetres long, twenty-nine millimetres wide, fifteen millimetres deep; fifty-six millimetres...
Valuing country
IT WAS READING Alexis Wright’s novel Carpentaria (Giramondo, 2006) in 2007 that introduced me to the idea of ‘country’: land as a living being with meaning, personality, will, a temper and ancient reciprocal relationships with its people governed by law. This made sense to...
The costs of consumption
LAST OCTOBER, THE World Wildlife Fund for Nature released the 2018 Living Planet Report. Published biennially since 1998, the report offers a comprehensive overview of ecosystems and biodiversity worldwide. As it has for the past decade or so, the report leads with a series of...
Climate change, science and country
IT WOULD BE hard to hear a louder warning bell than the 2018 special report from the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) on the impacts of global warming of 1.5 degrees above pre-industrial levels. The report delivers the stark message that global warming...
Transforming landscapes
I stood rooted to the ground, for I realised this almost certainly would have been the first time in 150 years of degrading European management that a reed-warbler had returned to this valley. The powerful song of that small bird became a metaphor of hope for me. It was a symbol of the power of regeneration and the capacity of self-organisation in a landscape. It was a living example of what could be achieved.
Encounters with amnesia
NATURE WRITING HAS never been more popular. In recent years it has become an international publishing phenomenon, with titles such as Helen Macdonald’s H is for Hawk (Jonathan Cape, 2014), Robert Macfarlane’s Landmarks (Hamish Hamilton, 2015), Amy Liptrot’s The Outrun (Canongate, 2016) and Sy...
The suburbs, the ’60s
IT’S 1961, AND the kids of the baby boom are rapidly outgrowing old nests. On the eastern edge of Melbourne’s suburbs, orchards and dirt roads are giving way to brick veneer and asphalt, with new houses going up fast on quarter-acre blocks bulldozed down...
Every path tells
WHEN I WAS in my middle thirties, I abruptly abandoned a long-term relationship and impulsively moved from Sydney to Melbourne, having accepted a job as a senior policy advisor on affirmative action for which I was manifestly unfit. Marooned in my office on the twenty-third...
It’s scary but nobody cares
I’VE NEVER UNDERSTOOD why Australians bother with the drop bear myth. It’s like a morgue trying to freak out visitors with a plastic fly in the complimentary punch bowl. If Aussies want to freak out foreigners, they can simply relate their own everyday encounters...
How to draw a tree
DEPENDING ON YOUR definitions, this particular essay has taken three months to write and the book of essays that it’s a part of has taken – again, depending on your definitions – five years. Saplings grow far more quickly than my manuscript has. The production timeline...
A change in the political weather?
IN RECENT YEARS, a figure has begun to emerge from the dark recesses of Australia’s colonial history – one of the most progressive and courageous people from Queensland’s violent pastoral and logging frontier. Danish-born Carl Feilberg was a journalist and fiction writer of elegance, an...
The butterfly effect
Does the flap of a butterfly’s wings in Brazil set off a tornado in Texas? Edward Lorenz, American Association for the Advancement of Science, 1972 SOMETIME IN 1906, butterfly hunter Albert Stewart Meek disembarks from an old pearler named Hekla on the north-east coast of New Guinea....
Eating turtle
ONE NIGHT LATE in 2017, I knelt on a coral cay on the Great Barrier Reef, watching a green turtle lay eggs. It was 2 am. The moon was high, the sea flickered silver. A few gulls and black noddies called from casuarina trees;...
Ghost species and shadow places
Runner up for the Bragg/UNSW Press Prize for Science Writing Shortlisted for the Eureka Prize for Science Communication I WANT TO walk the shadow places. These are sites of extraction and production: think coal-seam gas fields and their attendant communities, think eroded landscapes and marine dead-zones,...
Remaking nature
IN LATE 2014, Greg Roberts, a semi-retired journalist, was birdwatching along River Road in his local patch of Yandina on Queensland’s Sunshine Coast. It was an area he thought he was familiar with. He’d known the freshwater wetlands near the eastern edge of the...
Tamby East
THIS IS THE kind of place people leave. This town, Tamby East, sits a few kilometres off the North-West Highway. You’ve never been there, but once or twice you might have pulled off the freeway a few hours out of Melbourne to get petrol. There,...
River cities
EASTWOOD HAD NEVER liked storms. Not the Brisbane ones anyway, which didn’t so much pour as drop. He hadn’t liked the shatter of the rain, or the hail – hard and round as golf balls – or the wind that could strip just about anything dumb enough...
The storm
THE PASTURE IS dry. Dust on her boots, burrs in her socks, sweat under her breasts, neck, pits, crotch. She longs for a breeze, but that’s why she’s walking, running, to create her own wind. Fast, faster. Don’t look back. Rock to rock, put distance between...
Bobby Moses
HUNTER DAY PARKED the police car on the side of the road under a 200-year-old ironbark. He left the engine humming with the aircon cranked to protect him from the blistering heat melting the bitumen outside. If his boss at the station, Reggie Ross,...
Geebung, near Braidwood
This is barefoot country even now, in early winter when the cool mountain air dampens the risk of a startled snake rising in your path. This is sitting-still country – where the bracken unfurls its fronds and where the layered view of the purple hills makes you contemplate your place in the natural order...
The secret to trout
Sitting with empty creels on the bright side of the water we believe there are no fish. Billy Hoops lands beers from the tumbling river and tells us the secret. You get three chances with trout, he says. Dawn, because they are hungry; mid-morning, if they are curious; and dusk, just before dark, because trout...
Shape-shift
In the light that steals across dead valleys like a shallow wave anything that lives has lost its solid presence the shape of life bleeds out into uncertain dust and leaves a shadow on the shadow’s stain. I have come to the west of the country to stand on...
Autobiography
Come in, dead Emily. Judith Wright, ‘Rosina Alcona to Julius Brenzaida’ All these lines we funnel, have need of. The dead trouble us to live, and that can’t resolve into images that don’t latch on where ghosts wish for the tactile. It’s where I procured the word ‘sullen’, and it inhabited...