Tag Archives: Australian Speculative Fiction

Using the Gothic for good with ‘’Ghost Species’’ and ‘’Picnic at Hanging Rock’’

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With my first blog post being about ‘’Ghost Species’’ and my second on ‘’Picnic at Hanging Rock’’, what better way to end the trilogy than by combining the two. For those that have not yet seen or read ‘’Picnic at Hanging Rock’’, I want to once again recommend you do. It’s not only a great and iconic piece of Australian Gothic, but also just a stellar work in general. Now then, on with the topic:

By now we’re most likely all very familiar with typical Gothic elements and their intended use. I will focus on three of them for this blog post. These being the uncanny, which blurs the lines between what is real and what is not, effectively heightening the sense of unease. The sublime, which evokes feelings of both sheer horror and simultaneously sheer beauty through vast landscapes for example. And finally the monster, arguably the most famous Gothic trope which unsurprisingly serves as a source of looming terror for both the reader and the characters. In short, these tropes are closely linked to horror and the macabre. But that is not always the case.

Here is where ‘’Picnic at Hanging Rock’’ and ‘’Ghost Species’’ come into play. Take Eve for example. Initially, everything about here is presented in a way that makes it clear for the reader that she is something not human, more specifically not like the rest of the humans in the story. Her appearance and her behavior are always purposefully kept in the twilight zone between human and not human, a state of uncanniness. As the story progresses and her character gets much more fleshed out, it becomes apparent that her differences are much more superficial than previously assumed. She is a Neanderthal, though possesses qualities that resemble those of a Homo Sapiens. She is much stronger than those around her, but can be just as delicate and is very capable of feeling and expressing deep emotions. The entire sequence at the party is a great example of that, where it shows Eve pondering feelings of love not unlike anyone in this day and age would. Towards the very end of the novel, when Lucas is almost killed, the source of the uncanny becomes a source of hope when Eve decides to use her inhuman strength to fend off Drago. I consider this a really great and effective subversion of the classic monster trope in Gothic literature and a nice twist on the uncanny on top of just being a really exciting moment in general.

In ‘’Picnic at Hanging Rock’’, the ominous rock, looms silently and is always made to appear alluring yet threatening. Both its beauty and its terrifyingly mysterious aura capture the essence of the sublime quite nicely. It is initially framed by Mrs. Appleyard as something dangerous that is not to be explored, only to be observed from a safe distance. To the girls that eventually decide to explore the rock though, it serves more as a symbol of emancipation and independence. They can be seen taking off both their gloves and eventually their shoes the further they ascend, which shows how they free themselves from the chains of Appleyard College and the strict societal norms of the early 20th century in general. This gained independence is thanks to the previously demonized rock that is now painted in a completely different light than in the beginning.

Overall, the use of Gothic elements in both ‘’Picnic at Hanging Rock’’ and ‘’Ghost Species’’ serves to subvert what readers and viewers have come to know as traditional elements of the Gothic. Instead of purely horror and fear, these elements are a symbol of strength and independence among others. Eve uses her inhuman abilities to protect and the rock gives the girls the freedom to explore a world outside of the confines of a facility that is arguably more fit as a symbol of the uncanny and sublime than the rock itself.

Thoughts on the Wordless Graphic Novel The Arrival by Shaun Tan

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by Johanna E.

“My picture books are essentially an attempt to subversively reimagine everyday experience,” Shaun Tan says about his own work (Haber 23). His graphic novel The Arrival (2006) is a clear example for Tan’s usage of fantastic element to reimagine everyday occurences. In The Arrival, we a re dealing with the reimagined everyday experience of a refugee, starting a life in a new place far from home. In six chapters the graphic novel tells the story of a man who has to immigrate to a different country and leave his wife and daughter behind because of the dangers facing the family in their home country. Eventually, his family follows him after he has found a place to live and a place to work. His experiences are told without words so that the storytelling relies entirely on the illustrations. The subversion of the very common immigration themes of feeling displaced and overwhelmed in the new situation is especially present because realistic elements are juxtaposed with fantastical elements to depict the migrant experience.     

It becomes clear from the beginning that words are not necessary for Shaun Tan to convey the meaning of his story because the composition of panels, illustrations and icons makes it possible to be (almost) universally understood. This has the interesting effect that the story does not require anyone to either know English or any other language in particular. I liked this aspect of the story, especially because it reminded me of my own family member telling me about her migration story which was made a lot harder because of the language barrier and the loneliness that comes with that. The immigrant in the story also deals with language barriers as the new language system is completely foreign to him and it takes time until he is able to make sense of it. This is one of the reasons why the lack of words in the narrative works so well for an immigration story because understanding very often relies on knowing a certain language and the graphic novel removes this boundary for any of its potential readers. Additionally, using no words requires the reader to take a closer look at each and every panel and icon, which makes the reader engage with the illustrations more thoroughly.                

six panels showing the protagonist's hands as they carefully pack a family photograph

            The art style Shaun Tan uses is an interesting mix of the familiar and the unfamiliar. Generally, the panels and icons are drawn in a very realistic way, meaning the main characters, the refugee and his family, look similar to the way they might look in an old photograph. The entire book reads like an old document that is put together as a remembrance for the migrant´s experiences. Furthermore, Shaun Tan often “zooms” in and out of his panels or focuses on hand gestures which has a very humanizing effect amidst the many fantastical elements. In many instances, Tan shows the main character´s hand movements to symbolize his inner feelings and turmoil, like when his hand flexes in pain because he has to leave his family or when he holds on tight to his suitcase on the journey. Some pages zoom away from the small gestures to the characters as tiny specks in a city full of fantastical monsters which emphasizes the danger they are surrounded by in their home country.

           

In contrast to the rather realistic icons and panels we also have the fantastical elements the main character encounters as soon as he arrives in the new place. The more he explores the city, the more fantastical the elements like food, the buildings, the transportation, or the language system become. These fantastical elements are juxtaposed with the realistic art style Shaun Tan uses for the illustrations. The unidentifiable food, the strange animals or the unreadable language represent the newness of the place where the main characters immigrated to and how difficult it is to find your way around at first. Because these elements are not specific to any real culture, every reader is confronted with this strangeness in the same way. You do not really know what to make of the elements at first but they become more familiar with every chapter which connects the reader and the refugee as neither knows what the fantastical elements mean at first.                

four panels showing a newspaper boy with a newspaper in a strange language, a housewife with a strange pet, a strange vending wagon, and two people handling giant eggs

            One aspect concerning the realistic drawing of people reminded me of Scott McCloud´s discussion of comics and graphic novels as he states that “when you look at a photo or realistic drawing of a face, you see it as the face of another. But when you enter the world of the cartoon, you see yourself” (McCloud 36). For Tan´s work that would mean the realistic drawing of faces makes it more difficult to relate to the character´s experiences as you have a specific face you are confronted with. However, Shaun Tan seems to have a different view on relatability when it comes to drawing realistically which I thought was interesting to compare. He states that “The absence of any written description in The Arrival seemed to place the reader more firmly in the shoes of an anonymous protagonist.” (Arizpe et al. 161). Therefore, there seems to be a difference in approach as McCloud highlights the importance of abstraction for relatability whereas Shaun Tan does create a realistic-looking character but, because the story is told without words, there is more room for interpretation as different readers might make different connections between panels according to their own backgrounds. Furthermore, I think that a lot of the relatability of his work comes from the magical elements, which are jarring for all readers alike, and act as stand-ins for real life experiences of learning a new language, or not understanding the food, animals, or cities. I think that generally, McCloud and Tan have the same idea in mind though, because ultimately both play with the illusion of engaging the readers to feel represented and see themselves in the comic or graphic novel, just through different techniques.             

The importance of the lack of words, and the realism juxtaposed with the fantastical elements, is what the story lives off and what makes it compelling and new. There is a lot more you can say about The Arrival and the way meaning is constructed but for now, I think that the way the story is told is quite unique, especially in terms of the art style. This makes it possible for every kind of reader to connect with the story, especially people who have gone through similar experiences.

Sources

  • Arizpe, Evelyn, Teresa Colomer, and Carmen Martinez-Roldain. Visual Journey Through Wordless Narratives: An International Inquiry with Immigrant Children and The Arrival. Bloomsbury Academic, 2014.
  • Haber, Karen. Masters of Science Fiction and Fantasy Art: A Collection of the Most Inspiring         Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Gaming Illustrators in the world. Rockport Publishers, 2011.
  • McCloud, Scott. Understanding Comics: the Invisible Art. HarperPerennial, 1994.
  • Tan, Shaun. The Arrival. Hodder Children´s Books, 2007.                  

The Mysterious Success of Australian Sci-Fi Kids Shows

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Growing up watching Australian TV shows and movies, we – that is, my generation and before, who were watching a surprising amount of Australian content – unintentionally developed a picture of Australia. A lot of water, beaches and the sea, unusual animals like kangaroos and alligators, sunshine, and great weather. Essentially, a lot of landscapes and positive vibes. As Men at Work said it themselves, it is “the land down under”.

When we start talking about Australian speculative fiction, we realize that it covers a broad genre of books, movies, tv shows, and other media. Once we take a look back at our childhood, we can realize how Australian TV shows that fall into the category of speculative fiction have actually been a part of growing up. Children from various places and generations were able to take a glimpse at Australian science fiction tv shows and form their own opinion and picture of Australia.

By looking at kids tv shows such as Ocean Girl, H2O: Just Add Water, Wicked Science and The Elephant Princess we can acknowledge how much of an impact Australian science fiction and fantasy shows have had around the globe over decades. Different generations were able to watch various approaches of sci-fi characters and touch upon individual topics and stories.

Ocean Girl and H2O: Just Add Water were able to convey similar plots and themes to different generations. Cleo, Emma, Ricki, and Bella are the protagonists of H2O: Just Add Water and Neri, Jason, and Brett of Ocean Girl. The idea of mermaids, underwater civilizations and have been an ongoing myth for centuries such as the island of Atlantis. According to the myth, the island was submerged into the Atlantic Ocean for eternity. Thus, people from all ages – young to old – were all intrigued about stories of the unknown of the ocean and eager to watch mystic creatures such as mermaids and mermen. These two TV shows were able to incorporate these interesting myths and motifs in tv shows for kids to watch and teach them about these centuries’ old legends. The beautiful landscapes and the ocean were a bonus to the nice plot.

Wicked Science on the other hand was able to touch upon the topic of science. It’s a story about regular teenagers who turn into geniuses. An experiment which results in an accident turns the two high-school students Toby and Elizabeth from regular teenagers to kids with scientific superpowers. Whether to use them for good or for bad is up to their own decision. Thus, the tv show teaches kids a valuable lesson to use whichever power they might have for good. Simultaneously, we can follow these school kids along with their everyday life such as friendship problems, family issues and first love encounters.

Lastly, The Elephant Princess is a fantasy tv show about an average teenager, Alex, who one day finds out that she is not the person she always thought she was. It turns out she is the long-lost heir to the throne of a fictional Indian kingdom called Manjipoor. Alex’s life turns upside down and the viewers get to watch whether Alex will be able to master her life between saving the kingdom of Manjipoor and her regular life back home in the Australian suburbs.

All these TV shows were able to draw the interest of children from various places and backgrounds. The key element was the mix of the successful depiction of science fiction and fantasy motifs which were connected to the Australian culture and landscape. Once incorporated and displayed this way, the success was almost inevitable – and generations of children knew of Australian speculative fiction before they’d even heard the term! 

The Grief Hole – A Book-Review

Posted on by miawieschermann
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CONTAINS SPOILERS

There are many grief holes.

There’s the grief hole you fall into when a loved one dies.

There’s another grief hole in all of us; small or large, it determines how much we want to live.

And there are the geographical grief holes, the buildings that attract sorrow and loss and are filled with ghosts.

The book “The Grief hole” by Kaaron Warren follows the journey of young Theresa. Theresa has the ability to see ghosts, more precisely, ghosts that indicate how a person is going to die. The closer they are the closer a person is to death. After losing her boyfriend Ben, she starts working as a social worker.

But because of one particular client, she experiences a serious attack at work that leaves her client dead and her filled with grief and guilt. Consequently, she decides to leave her old home behind and temporarily move to work with her uncle. 

While working with him she finds out that, a few years prior, her aunt and uncle tragically lost their daughter Amber to suicide. And while the parents where in the process of grieving, someone took away all of Amber’s art work. After Theresa hears of this she decides to help her aunt and uncle to retrieve  Amber’s artwork, which  is when she stumbles over famous singer Sol Evictus who is in possession of them. However, he is seemingly not willing to simply sell them to Theresa. So she goes on a mission to find a worthy trade during which she gets a disturbing look into Sol Evictus’ live and his one-of-a-kind art collection.

By taking on a topic that many can relate to, which is loss and grief, and combining it with supernatural and horror elements, Warren creates a story that can really draw in a broad readership. The interjection of song-lyrics as well as art works really allow the reader to fully immerse themselves into the story and follow along with the experiences that the protagonist Theresa is having.

Even though this book is to some level a supernatural ghost story, these supernatural elements are not the main source of horror in the story. The dreadful feeling stems much more from the art work and songs that are heavily focused on in the book. And not only the things that the art portrays but also the circumstances in which some of the paintings, photographs, etc. are produced leave the reader disturbed. Oddly enough, a lot of the times, the actual art pieces are not described in detail. But the author provides just enough description for the reader to produces their own horrifying and disgusting image in their head, which in my opinion is what makes the horror aspect of this novel so effective. Especially Amber’s art work might seem disturbing to the reader, as Sol Evictus instructed her to paint them in what Theresa gets to know as ‘Paradise Falls’ or the ‘Grief Hole’, a place where young teenagers go to commit suicide. The whole atmosphere that the author creates surrounding that place definitely contributes to the sense of fright and terror that the reader experiences.  

Other that the horror-aspect the novel successfully touches on a number of different topics ranging from family issues over child loss and domestic abuse to friendship, guilt and obviously grief. 

One of the, in my opinion, most interesting aspects of the book is how Theresa and her family react to their own different supernatural gifts and how their dynamics change and evolve. After some traumatic experiences in the past, Theresa’s mothers is constantly trying to ignore the ghosts she seems to be able to see. Theresa on the other hand, tries to use her power to change the fate of those around her by giving them subtle, or not so subtle, hints as to how they should change their lives, without actually telling them about her gift.

All in all, I would definitely say this book is worth a read. As someone who usually is not very interested in the genre of horror, I found myself surprised by how much I actually enjoyed reading the book. 

The challenging of typical gender tropes in Lian Hearn’s “Across the Nightingale Floor”

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Across the Nightingale Floor by Gillian Rubinstein is about the story of teenagers Takeo and Kaede, set in a fictional medieval Japan-based world. Takeo, born as Tomasu, one of The Hidden, a religion based strongly on the Kakure Kirishitan, the Hidden Christians of Japan, swears revenge on Iida Sadamu of the Tohan who murdered his family and friends. Lord Shigeru of the Otori clan has similar interests and rescues and adopts Takeo. On his way to revenge, Takeo is confronted by the truth that he shares the blood and skills of The Tribe, a group of highly trained and supernatural skilled assassins, and starts to train in their arts to be able to kill Iida Sadamu one day. To reach the warlord he must cross the eponymous Nightingale Floor, an assortment of wooden floorboards which play a song if you step on them.

Kaede on the other hand, wants to survive captivity by the Noguchi and free herself. Knowing that her family’s honor is in her hands, however, she does as she is told, agreeing to marry Lord Shigeru whether she wants to or not and despite her reputation of men dying around her. But when she meets Takeo, both fall in love with each other, and wish for nothing more than to be together. Kaede’s betrothal with Lord Shigeru, as well as Takeo’s quest of revenge stand between them at first. But even when Lord Shigeru dies and Kaede, instead of Takeo, murders Iida Sadamu, The Tribe won’t let Takeo go, forcing him to leave Kaede and their love behind.

Both Takeo and Kaede, as well as several other characters, appear to challenge typical gender tropes throughout the novel. Men are often depicted as strong, powerful, and good fighters who enjoy bloodshed and have to protect their submissive wives, while women are shown to be rather kind, fragile, and weak and require protection from men. These binaries also play a role when the decision of who to marry has to be made. Men get to decide on their partner more often than women, who are sometimes even forced to marry against their will in a game of war and power. Women thus repeatedly appear more like objects than as human beings.

Takeo is depicted as weak at the beginning of the novel. On top of being indebted to Lord Shigeru and having to do everything that’s asked of him, Takeo is unable to talk due to being in shock after losing his family and shows his mourning by crying for them. Lord Shigeru, however, tells him to endure the pain instead of crying, elaborating that only children cry, while men and women endure. Even though men’s reluctance to show their pain through tears is a typical gender trope, it is still unusual that women also endure in this case. Takeo’s initial softness also goes against the common tropes.

His time with The Hidden taught Takeo to always forgive others and not to murder anyone. The slaughtering of his family, however, makes Takeo crave revenge and he learns how to fight to achieve his dream of killing Iida Sadamu. His inherited abilities from The Tribe prove to be useful on his quest and make him a natural-born assassin. Though while his craving for shedding blood, as well as his natural strength, belong to the typical gender tropes, Takeo still fights against most of his instincts. Throughout the novel, he is unwilling to murder anyone unless it is Iida Sadamu or in case it helps to end someone’s suffering.

Otori Shigeru also proves himself to be a character that challenges gender norms on several occasions. He tries to live without unnecessary fighting, treats both women and men equally and acts with kindness and a clear mind even when he knows he is being wronged. But while his behavior is a direct contrast to that of Iida Sadamu or Lord Noguchi, he is still able to act as a strong warrior and doesn’t hesitate when he has to kill others for what he believes is right. In that regard, Shigeru acts more according to common gender tropes than Takeo.

While many men, according to typical gender tropes of a patriachal feudal system such as the one depicted in Tales of the Otori, don’t respect women or acknowledge that they are incredibly strong, Takeo shows many times that he acts differently. He doesn’t get angry at Kaede after finding out that she murdered Iida Sadamu even though he wanted to be the one to kill him and recognizes her strength when they fight each other during practice. Takeo also notices how powerful Shizuka and Yuki are after having fought against one and having seen the other fight and kill several men. This depiction of female strength is portrayed several times throughout the novel and not only restricted to members of The Tribe, considering both Kaede and Lady Maruyama prove to be incredibly powerful as well.

Kaede’s development is especially interesting to look at when analyzing how far the novel challenges typical gender tropes. At the beginning of the story, she is shown as rather weak and helpless, a puppet in a game of power between men. Kaede is also willing to become the wife of whoever those in power ask her to marry, even though she would rather marry for love, if she can help her family that way.

Throughout the novel, she continues to be kind and thoughtful but proves herself to be very intelligent, as well as a powerful woman with a strong mindset. Kaede kills two men in self-defense, learns how to fight from Shizuka and is depicted as incredibly courageous. Her courage and strong mind help her when she is faced with Iida Sadamu towards the end of the novel. She is able to hide her fear and think clearly, thus managing to kill the warlord all on her own after deceiving him. Kaede’s behavior is directly compared to Lady Maruyama, who succumbs to her fears and hence dies. Her actions alone at the end of the novel thus challenge every typical gender trope.

Book Review: “The Dreaming” by Queenie Chan

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By Theodora Charalambous

A Hong Kong-born, Australian-raised writer and illustrator, the Australian bush, Aboriginal mythology and Japanese mangas. An unusual combination that surprisingly works great.

The Dreaming is a 3-book, manga (Japanese comics) inspired, supernatural mystery series written and illustrated by Chinese-Australian comic book artist and graphic novelist, Queenie Chan. The story follows a pair of identical twins, Amber and Jeanie, as they arrive to their new boarding school, the Greenwich Private College, which is remotely located in the Australian bush. With rumors that female students have a habit of going missing in the bushlands, as well as the fact that the vice-principal, who runs the school, despises twins, the girls quickly realize that the school may not be as normal as it first appeared to be.

Reading the story was definitely a very interesting experience. Until now, I haven’t had any previews contact with Indigenous Australian folklore, which added a difficulty when it came to predicting where the story was going and what exactly lurked withing the bush. This, however, made the story even more engaging. Although narratives borrowed from indigenous cultures and used by non-indigenous writers, can be problematic, I wouldn’t say this applies in the case of The Dreaming. The creatures living withing the bushlands weren’t exactly demonized, but rather it was the school that felt alien in the area and seemed to be invading sacred land. Additionally, the founder of the boarding school was originally from England, a detail that perhaps could be linked to the country’s colonial history. If so, one could say that the story’s conclusion served the purpose of catharsis, when (spoiler!) the boarding school burned down and the invader was finally gone. It has to be added, though, that the author herself has expressed regret over the inclusion of indigenous motifs and would not do so again – in an interview soon to be published by the CASTLE youtube channel!

However, I would personally love to see a bit more indigenous representation, as the story does circle around an indigenous myth. When it came to the horror/ thriller aspect, I wasn’t sure what to expect, going in. However, I quickly caught myself holding my breath with each turning page, and I soon started coursing for choosing to begin reading the story late at night. The graphic novel ended with a somewhat open ending, and although I really wished the story to be a bit longer, it really fitted the novel’s atmospheric mood perfectly. Additionally, the art was well done, simplistic, yet very detailed where it needed to be. The panels and text flowed very nicely making it easy to navigate through the story, and the backgrounds were never too crowded to distract from the main focus. What I loved most about the art, were the beautiful illustrations for the chapter pages, whose essence I tried to capture in my illustration accompanying this blog post, as a tribute to the graphic novel.

All in all, I really enjoyed reading this trilogy, and would absolutely recommend it to any readers looking for a quick little spook to spice up their day with, or evening, for the more adventurous readers. The first two volumes are available free, on Queenie Chan’s webpage, whereas the 3rd one needs to be purchased. 

Book Review: “Captive Prince” Trilogy

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CONTAINS SPOILERS

‘Love Conquers All’

I am sure most people are familiar with that expression. While it may sound cheesy and a bit worn out, in my opinion it describes the plot of Australian writer C.S. Pacat’s trilogy Captive Prince perfectly, even though the story is anything but cheesy. 

The novels follow Prince Damianos (Damen) of Akelios, who is supposed to inherit the throne after his father. However, he is captured by his half-brother, who wants to seize the throne, and is then sent to the enemy country Vere as a pleasure slave. In Vere, nobody knows about Damen’s identity, but he is also unable to reveal himself since he is on enemy territory. Apart from that, his new ‘master’ Laurent, the Prince of Vere, would kill him instantly for personal reasons. So, Damen is forced to endure captivity until he gets entangled in Vere’s political situation and a fight for the Veretian throne. Over the course of the novels Damen and Laurent have to work together in order to survive and to save their countries. But things get even more problematic when they start developing feelings for each other and secrets are slowly being revealed.

Their love story has many great hurdles. They are both crown princes to their rival nations, so they are under a lot of pressure from their courts and councils. But first and foremost they are battling their own demons from the past and present. Damen, who was sold out to the enemy by his own brother has to deal with the aftermath of his slavery including torture, humiliation and sexual assault through Laurent and other Veretians. Additionally, he is thrown into a different culture, in which a different language is spoken and which has in – Damen’s eyes – unspeakable customs. Laurent’s trauma started when he was a young boy just having lost his father and his older brother Auguste. He was sexually abused and manipulated by his own uncle, the Regent, who tried to seize Laurent’s birthright: the Veretian throne. So basically their traumas reside for a great part with each other. One the one hand Laurent being the one using, humiliating and nearly killing Damen and on the other hand Damen being the one killing Auguste during the war and therefore being one of the reasons for Laurent’s assault. This is why a great part of the story deals with guilt. Damen feels guilty for falling in love with Laurent despite his enslavement but also because he believes Laurent to be unaware of his identity. Laurent, however, knew who Damen was from the beginning and therefore feels guilty for falling in love with his brother’s killer.   

I chose this trilogy because, to me, it is simply awesome. The plot is very intricate and has, in my opinion, many unseen twists. Additionally, the characters and their development are portrayed well. I also like the setting since I am a fan of kingdoms, courts, royals and their politics. Of course, I also like it because of Damen’s and Laurent’s love story, which I think is a great realization of the trope ‘enemies to lovers’. Be warned though, the story contains a lot of crude language and explicit depictions of violence (torture), slavery, trauma and (non-consensual) sex, so it is certainly not for everyone. 

But ultimately I love this story because it was not so much about two men falling in love, which many other (queer) romances focus on, but rather about two people caught up in their dark pasts, weaving through intricate deceptions and mind plays to in the end learning to forgive themselves and accept their feelings for each other.

Pacat, C.S.. Captive Prince. New York: Berkley, 2015. Print. 

Pacat, C.S.. Prince’s Gambit. New York: Berkley, 2015. Print. 

Pacat, C.S.. Kings Rising. New York: Berkley, 2016. Print. 

Elements of Time in Joan Lindsay’s “Picnic at Hanging Rock”

Posted on by Julia Weiser
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this blogpost includes spoilers of the novel and its adaptations

An uncanny premise

Joan Lindsay’s “Picnic at Hanging Rock” (1967) is a pseudo-historical Gothic Horror novel which was followed by its famous movie adaptation “The Day of Saint Valentine” in 1975. The novel begins with Lindsay’s fateful remark that it would be up to the reader to decide whether or not the story to be told is completely fictious, or utterly true.

            Appleyard College is a school in Australian Victoria in the year 1900, where upper-class girls are meant to be raised to eligible women of society. After the students and teachers venture off to have a picnic at the near rock formation known as the Hanging Rock, the headmistress Mrs. Appleyard receives dreadful news upon their return: Four of the students wandered off to the rock formation to explore it despite having been forbidden, and only one of them returned. At the same time, one of the teachers has disappeared into thin air. None of the women were found in several search parties, until one day, one of the students can be rescued – but neither her nor her fellow student who returned from the Hanging Rock are able to remember anything that happened in the outback.

            In the aftermath of the incident, many of the residents at Appleyard College are taken back home by their worried parents, and a few, including the headmistress, meet their grim and untimely fates…A year later, the college burns to the ground in a terrible bush fire, but even a decade later, the missing girls still haven’t been found.

Passing and conception of time within the story and its role as a stylistic element

Time takes up an intricate task in the telling of Lindsay’s novel. Not only does it create an air of mystery, impatience, and uncanniness within the plot itself, it is also utilized as a stylistic feature in form of slowing down and speeding up the perceived pace of the story. To shorten this analysis to a length appropriate for the format of a blog post, the focus will lay on the events up until a few days after the vanishing. 

            Mrs. Appleyard’s college is a place where strict manners and the abiding to set appointments is expected. The different steps of the day, from breakfast to bedtime, are organized by the clock (e.g. “I shall expect you back […] at about eight o’clock […].”, p.7; “As it was still only eleven o’clock […].”, p.11) and time is generally perceived in a very measurable manner, as time specifications are used often (e.g. “[…] about an hour from now […]”, p.18; “[…] only a few minutes ago […]”, p.19). The journey to the picnic grounds itself seems to take forever: There are hardly any indications of the time that is passing, only elaborate descriptions of the surrounding outback, and the entire ride seems stretched by that to the extent that it almost appears to occur in real time (p.8-14). In a similar way, the stay at the grounds appears lengthy, too. The language draws a picture of a warm summer day, the girls scattered across the lawn all drowsy and lazy, almost as if time stood still (pp.16f) when suddenly, it turns out time had stood still – in form of everybody’s watches, that is: at 12pm sharp, Mr. Hussey the driver’s watch stops ticking, as well as one of the teacher’s, which had “Never stopped before” (p.18). From that moment on, the travelling shadow of the Hanging Rock becomes the only measure of time, indicating how it starts to cast its spell and suck the picnic party in. 

            There are several instances throughout the opening of the novel where the future is being teased and events are being foreshadowed. One particular passage even shifts the narrative perspective for a brief moment: When one of the students, Miranda, calls back to her fellow boarder Edith on the way to the rock formation, it is referred to how Michael witnesses this and later thinks back to it (p.25), evoking the interpretation that something terrible happens between these two timelines which makes this mundane sight somehow more important. In fact, this will turn out to be the last time somebody saw the group of girls together, but all characters are unsuspecting of this truth then. At the picnic grounds, the girls and their supervisors suddenly lose the devices to measure time properly, yet they try to stick to their schedule (compare again pp.18f). Meanwhile, the girls venturing off into the outback experience something similar: At first, they, too, refer to passing of time in form of minutes, and Miranda keeps reminding the others about how they had to get back soon (e.g. p.28). But at some point of going deeper into the rock formation, their conception of time seems to vanish, the loss of a sense of time even increased by them falling asleep (p.31), as do their inhibitions (p.28). The atmosphere shifts to one that is detached from the order of society and that is almost ethereal, and the girls seem to lose touch, taking off their shoes and dancing on the rocks (p.30). It is then that time seems to slow down, caught in a mysterious haze, until Edith – the only one who has not become a victim of whatever it is that bewitches her friends – snaps and hastily returns to the picnic grounds (p.32). From the later police report of Mr. Hussey, it becomes apparent that Edith’s disruptive reaction triggers time to speed up when panic breaks lose (p.40). As Mr. Hussey also states in his account that by the time they started searching for the girls, they had no way of telling the time at all anymore (p.41) – the Hanging Rock had begun its witching hour. 

            As the perspective switches to the impatient Mrs. Appleyard waiting for her staff and students to return, the perceived time stands still. Both the headmistress and the readers are anxious to know what is going on, fearing something tragic has happened (p.37). The woman creates an unbearable atmosphere of impatience, checking the clock a dozen times and straining to hear a nearing carriage (p.36). Remembering that the days at Appleyard college are usually strictly time managed and organized, everything seems to fall out of place, strengthening the assumption that bad news ought to be expected. 

After that, everything is in a mess, reality appears warped and time not linear: “For the inmates of Appleyard College, Sunday the fifteenth of February was a day of nightmare indecision: half dream, half reality […].” (p.43) The report on the happenings of Sunday the 15th are rather lengthy (pp.43-47), similar to the ride to the picnic grounds. Monday, the college apparently tries to go back to how things were before (“Meals were served with their customary clockwork precision, but only a few of the usually ravenous young women […] did more than trifle with the mutton and apple pie.”, p.47), but the lives of everyone touched by the incident are changed. Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday are overloaded with more dates, time specifications, and detailed conversations with witnesses, so that it appears as if time had to have slowed down in order to encompass so many little things taking place, and the 3 days after the vanishing of the girls and their teacher seem like the longest ones in history (pp.43-59), especially to those who are left with the mystery.

Final thoughts

Joan Lindsay is incredibly skilled in utilizing time for her storytelling. Elements like clocks and time telling are used to signify a contrast between the mundanity of the real world, and the bewitching aura that encases the Hanging Rock. A mix of overly detailed reports of what is happening and what is said stretch the perceived time in the novel, while rapid time jumps and changes of behavior like Edith’s speed it up, to the effect that Lindsay’s audience can feel the insufferableness that is the mystery of the students and their teacher who disappeared during their picnic at Hanging Rock.

Othering and Orientalism in “A Pearling Tale” by Maxine McArthur

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The short story A Pearling Tale by Maxine McArthur is about Jiro Aoyanagi, a diver who is forced to go on a boat ride with his crew at the end of the diving season. His job is to dive for pearl shells which the crew later sells for profit. On this boat ride, however, Kamei, another diver of the crew, dies underwater. For this reason, the crew decides to return home after Jiro was tasked to obtain Kamei’s lost shell bag. While on their way home, they are approached by a ghost ship. The ghosts onboard demand to have Kamei’s body and threaten the crew, even though giving them what they want would also mean death for the crew. Jiro is the only one who knows how to deal with the ghosts and saves his crew by throwing Kamei’s broken shell bag onto the ghost ship, earning some respect from Flynn, the boat’s master and tender.

In A Pearling Tale readers can find many situations in which both “Othering” and “Orientalism” play a huge role. Already at the beginning of the short story, Jiro is characterized as different than those
around him. His otherness is not kept a secret, and instead often referred to, especially in comparison to Flynn, who is portrayed as Jiro’s direct counterpart.

Jiro is depicted as an Asian who believes in Ebisu, the God of the Sea. His worship for Ebisu is frowned upon not only by other citizens but also by Flynn, who is presumably white and, just like other people, doesn’t think that Ebisu can exist in their country. He is equally convinced that the Sea doesn’t belong to all countries, only to his own, and shuts down Jiro’s attempts at arguing with him, forcing him to work instead. This power dynamic between Flynn and Jiro is constantly evident throughout the short story and only flipped at the end.

On board the ship, Flynn is focused on making money and doesn’t care about the consequences. He doesn’t fear the mysteries that lie beneath the sea; nor does he fear ghosts, unlike the rest of his crew, which seems to mostly consist of Asians. Portrayed as calm and rational, Flynn stays focused on making profit even when Kamei dies and doesn’t feel unease like Jiro and the rest of the crew. He forces Jiro to dive back down to retrieve Kamei’s lost shell bag and only then agrees to sail back home due to the complaints and worries of the crew.

When the crew is attacked by a ghost ship on their way home, however, Jiro is the only one who can save them. But even when confronted with the truth that Jiro’s beliefs were correct and that ghosts do exist, Flynn still largely keeps his composure, except for a brief moment during which even he prays to his own God. Flynn refuses to hand over Kamei’s body to the ghost ship, convinced that no one would believe them if they claimed that they were attacked by ghosts who demanded Kamei’s body. He argues against the other crew members who believe that their only way out of the situation is to give the ghosts what they want.

Jiro, who had no choice but to do everything Flynn asked of him whether he liked it or not, gains power at this point of the short story. He is the only one who knows how to deal with the ghosts and ends up saving his crew. It is his Otherness that prevails in the end and manages to earn him the respect of Flynn. While Flynn continues to order the crew around as if nothing happened at the end of the short story, he also acknowledges that Jiro was correct about his God.

Flynn grinned and clapped him on the shoulders.

“Sea god all country, eh, boyo.”

(p.120)

A big part of Jiro’s otherness lies in the depiction of orientalism connected to him. He believes in different Gods, as well as in ghosts and other mysteries. The power one culture holds over another, mostly represented through Flynn and Jiro, is equally typical in orientalism. This superiority is also portrayed through Muratsu. Muratsu is a character who also owns boats, speaks the same language as his crew, and believes in the same Gods as Jiro. But it seems to be this exoticness of Muratsu which hinders him from being as successful as Flynn. He doesn’t own the newest diving dress which offers more protection to divers, allowing them to find more pearl shells and thus gain more profit. His counterpart Flynn does own the state-of-the-art diving gear and is for that reason more successful and superior.

However, in comparison to other works in which orientalism and otherness play a huge role, A Pearling Tale uses them to defuse some of the usual depictions of white superiority, and of the Other being something abhorrent. It succeeds in doing so by inverting Jiro and Flynn’s positions at the end, making Jiro the hero of the story who manages to gain the respect of someone who had previously seen him as the Other and thus considered him inferior.

Bibliography

  • McArthur, Maxine. “A Pearling Tale.” In Baggage. Tales of Speculative Fiction, edited by Gillian Polack. Borgo Press, 2014. 110-120

Cargo (2017): Australian Horror and Aboriginal Culture

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by Robin Burger

Cargo is a 2017 Australian Netflix original horror film based on a 2013 short film of the same name. However, it is debatable whether it really can be described as horror since while it is certainly a “zombie movie”, it shifts away from typical horror film elements in favour of emotional storytelling, making it more of a drama film set in a horror environment rather than a brutal, gory zombie horror film, similarly to The Cured, an Irish “zombie drama” from the same year.

The film is set in rural Australia during a zombie virus pandemic where infected people completely turn 48 hours after being bitten, which is what happens to Kay and later on her husband Andy who is bitten by her. Together with their baby daughter Rosie Andy now tries to find people to take care of and raise Rosie when he turns, and soon teams up with Thoomi, a young Aboriginal girl who was kidnapped and caged by a man named Vic who uses healthy humans as bait for zombies. Thoomi’s father has already turned when she and Andy first meet and she hopes to find the “Clever Man” – a shaman who she believes could cure her father, whom she tries hiding from the rest of her community since they would most likely kill him.

The exact origin of the virus is unknown, however there is quite a plausible theory as to how it started spreading; there are numerous references to a company collecting natural gas via fracking on native Aboriginal land which is opposed by the Aboriginal community as shown by their flag at a fracking station which has “Frack off!” written on it as well as the Clever Man talking about how man was poisoning the Earth, making man sick as well, so it does seem likely that the virus originated in the gas and then spread through the air, or perhaps it is more symbolic as humans, being part of nature, poison themselves while poisoning it.

It is also noteworthy that the word “zombie” is not used in the movie, putting it in the same category as the American TV show The Walking Dead in which the concept of zombies is not known to the characters, implying both are set in a universe in which media using that word simply does not exist.

The 2013 short film of the same name has a similar storyline, but it does not feature any Aboriginal characters, while the 2017 version has a remarkable extent of Aboriginal representation as shown by Thoomi and her community who are hunters fighting against zombies – as some of the only humans successful in fending them off. During the film there are multiple scenes depicting Aboriginal customs, such as putting on white face paint to keep away ghosts and hitting one’s head with a stone after a tragic incident, believing that the heartache would stop as well once the physical pain stops. There is also a scene in which Thoomi teaches Andy Aboriginal words, after calling him “gubba” (“white fella”), which is actually a quite commonly used term in Australia, dating back to the colonial period when English convicts would call each other “guv’ner” (governor), which Aboriginal Australians picked up and turned into “gubba”, referring to white people. The film also briefly depicts an instance of racism when Vic follows Thoomi who was just freed by Andy, calling her a “black bitch” as they are hiding from him, and while “gubba” is not at all a derogatory term for whites, Thoomi’s way of using the word might indicate bad experiences she or her people have had with white people in the past (perhaps also related to the fracking taking place on native Aboriginal ground), which would also explain her initially slightly frightened reaction to Andy.

Cargo manages to fuse a classic horror movie trope with an emotional story and criticism of society, while depicting real issues Aboriginal Australians have to face in modern day Australia.

Adding to the Aboriginal representation, the film is dedicated to Geoffrey Gurrumul Yunupingu, an Aboriginal Australian singer who passed away shortly before it was released.