The Aunt’s Story
THE AUNT’S STORY (1948)
Grace Cossington Smith, The Sock Knitter (1915)
Plot: Theodora Goodman’s mother’s death is a freeing experience. As the unmarried sibling, it has been Theodora’s lot to be a carer, the doting spinster, the aunt. Not helped by her unusual nature, her wanderlust, her apparent inability to please her mother in the same way that her sister Fanny always could. So, discarding any chance at marriage, Theodora leaves her Australian home, Meroë, for Europe. In France, she finds herself in a hotel where – as often in that era – people from Europe and beyond cross paths. Here she is again cast in the role of sister, of spinster, of aunt, to the figures whom she befriends.
The drawcard of this little hotel is the Jardin Exotique. Here Theodora’s imagination lulls her into a strange state, perhaps madness, perhaps epiphany? It becomes less and less clear to the reader which figures are real and which are imaginary, which are Theodora inhabiting their being, which are hallucinations, and which real? Theodora experiences these alternate lives, tracing fragments of possibilities. When last we meet our maiden aunt, after the strange kaleidoscopic garden sequence, she has made it to the USA, seemingly having lost her mind, wandering, meeting a family but rejecting them in favour of the intangible. Perhaps there is just no place for her.
Full synopsis
Part one: Meroë
Chapter 1: In the mid-1930s, spinster Theodora Goodman wakes one morning to find her mother, with whom she lives, has died during the night. She summons her sister Fanny, who brings her husband Frank Parrott and their three children for the funeral and the accompanying activities. Theodora is known within her family for being unusual, eccentric, and plain if not ugly, while Fanny and her family are ambitious for the usual things in life. (The two boys enjoy touching Aunty Theo’s light moustache when she sleeps.) The adults discuss the will (there was ,apparently, little to leave), and Fanny assures Theo that it’s right for Theo to receive the bulk of the estate. In her heart, admittedly, Fanny focuses a lot on these small gains and would rather have them herself. Left alone with her niece, Lou, Theo tells her the same old story her niece always enjoys, that of Meroë, the old family estate.
Chapter 2: As a girl growing up with her parents and sister in the final days of the 19th century, Theo was very fond of their broad Australian property. Young Fanny was always focused on marriage, on beauty, on being a proper girl, while Theo was always at odds with what the family wanted. “The piano is not for Theodora”, Mother sighed, “Fanny is the musical one.” Their home help were two working class women, Gertie Stepper and Pearl Brawne, who “understood life”, it was known, even if they often seemed to talk rubbish. Father tells the children that their property name came from “a dead place, in the black country of Ethiopia”. Over the years, Father and Mother Goodman gradually sell the edges of their property, to the dismay of some of their neighbours. But Father does not have a head for business. Intermittently, a Syrian man who sells trinkets passes by. Theo senses something in him, and will sometimes walk with him to the edge of the property, to the dismay of Fanny. She likes her rifle, too, and learning from Father about the animals on the property, including a hawk. One day Pearl Brawne collapses while serving dinner. She is swiftly removed from service, and the girls are aware it is something to do with the property handyman Tom. Theo once caught Pearl and Tom half-naked together in the bush. Either way, Pearl is never spoken of by the adults again. On Theo’s 12th birthday, a large oak tree is struck by lightning and Theo – although several hundred yards away – is thrown to the ground but survives with no injuries. Later that same day, a man visits, saying he is a friend of Father’s. He is a prospector, who used to prospect with Father many years ago. Father – largely spurred on by Mother – refuses to let the man in; he’s not the type they should be associating with. But Theo convinces them to give the man dinner on the closed veranda, so he won’t have to enter the house. Theo and Fanny sit with him, and the man tells them about the old days. Theo walks with him to the edge of the property, and tells him she would go with him if she could. The man sees something in Theo, and tells her that the world will either break a person like her or she will survive in spite of it.
Chapter 3: For highschool, Theo and Fanny go to the boarding school run by the sisters, the Miss Spofforths. There are some familiar girls there, including Grace Parrott from the neighbouring Parrott family, but this school – with its focus on traditional skills such as music and sewing and French – appeals more to some than others. The headmistress, the older Miss Spofforth, is regarded as a superior, ugly, strange woman, but the other teachers are role models for the right kinds of girls. Theo eventually finds one seemingly real friend, Violet Adams, who is an aspiring poet and more self-consciously pretentious than the other girls. She doesn’t quite understand Theo, but they have a similar teenage outlook. All the same, Theo sometimes is glad to get away from her, when her poetry seems feigned and romantic rather than real. When her parents suggest inviting Violet to the property, it does not seem like the right fit. When the girls are home for holidays, young Frank Parrott takes them out for picnics. Eventually Violet leaves the school, but writes to Theo to tell her that she is continuing to read poetry and paint. Before she leaves Spofforths, Theo is called before the headmistress, the “ugly” and “Strange” one. Miss Spofforth has made her own happiness in spite of the world, and recognises that Theo is not the type who may marry or live a traditional life. She wants to tell the girl this, to advise that she will be despised by much of the world but will have the chance to carve our her own space in life. But she cannot do that, and so instead simply wishes the girl the best in the next phase of her life.
Chapter 4: Theo and Fanny return home full-time as young women now, and they’re both happy about it, Fanny because she’s now able to date and be a part of society, and Theo because she feels most “free” here. Mrs Goodman, who reportedly had a European immigrant mother and who cares about European languages and culture, tries to bring them into society in the best way possible. Frank Parrott continues to befriend the girls, but things are different now that they are young adults. Frank is kind and aware of the world, and there is clearly a connection between him and Theo. Perhaps he even could have feelings for her on some level. Theo clearly cares for him. But ultimately she cannot give the right signals, she cannot be the right kind of woman, and Fanny instead clearly portrays herself as a future wife, mother, companion. Ultimately Frank proposes to Fanny. Plans are made for an engagement. During this period, Father Goodman dies one night. Theo has a vision of Meroë crumbling, and cries.
Chapter 5: War comes to Europe. Frank and Fanny marry and settle into their life. Frank helps tie up Father’s estate, which results in the necessary sale of Meroë due to his poor handling of the accounts. Mrs Goodman and Theo have enough to live on, to move to the city and embark on their new life. Theo still writes to Violet Adams, as her only self-described friend. Mrs Goodman reads books, plays card games, and reminisces fondly about Europe. Theo takes a job serving food and drink at a canteen. The tension between the two women often plays itself out, as Mrs Goodman is reliant on her daughter but also feels the need to explain why she has a daughter who is strange, unmarried, unusual. Fanny and Frank buy a property which has a lovely new house and apparently good land (Fanny is not sure about this “because land is just land”, but Frank tells her it will be right for the type of farm work they shall do). Gradually, they have three children, two boys and a girl. Meanwhile, as modernisation comes to Sydney during the 1920s, Theo and Mrs Goodman develop their social circle. A charming solicitor, Mr Huntly Clarkson, a little older than Theo, asks her to dinner. He is a rich widower, and he finds Theo’s personality and interests intriguing, although he is not always sure why this is. He sometimes feels that he is drawn to her in spite of herself. The two gradually become friends, a relationship that develops over years in intermittent spurts. Theo and Huntly develop friendships with married couples of a similar age and appropriate social circle, but they are always outside of this and Theo clings defiantly to her “flatness”. A Greek cellist, Moräitis, is welcomed to Sydney for a week of concerts and dinner parties. One night he is seated next to Theo, where they make a connection between the often lonely and battered Greece of the 1920s and ’30s and the emptiness of Theo’s Australian past. Moräitis tells Theo that her lack of experience, of seeing things, is not necessarily a bad thing, if one knows. Theo is confronted by his ability to see into her, and resists attending his concerts or dinners. But when he puts on one final concert, Theo attends, moved by the zeal of the cellist and perhaps the carnal, passionate relationship to the music, a full-blooded human feeling she has always resisted. Theo goes to visit Fanny and Frank at their property, Audley, where she gradually becomes the Respected Aunt to her niece and nephews. By the early 1930s, life has become deeply established. Huntly finally proposes to Theo, out of love perhaps but also out of a desire to yoke their lives together, and Theo has to reject him. One day at a funfair with Huntly and the other couples, she surprises everyone by winning at a stall where one shoots at ceramic ducks. Mrs Goodman, now old, continues to be dismayed by her daughter whom she thinks has “rejected life”. Theo finds some companionship in her young niece, Lou, who is interested in her stories and has an independent mind. One night, walking home, Theo is stunned to run into her childhood housemaid, Pearl, who is working as a prostitute. Theo buys her a drink in a pub, impressed by how much Pearl has lasted and stayed relatively young. Pearl explains that she had a little boy after leaving service at the Goodmans’, but that he dies. She’s happy, though, with friends and silk gowns and drink. There is no real connection between the women, and Pearl ultimately drifts into the night. Finally, the day comes when Theo wakes to find Mrs Goodman dead in her bed. It is a normal day in Sydney, but something has come to an end.
Chapter 6: Back in the present day, Theo is sitting with Lou in the drawing room of her home, ready for the funeral of her mother. She explains to Lou that she plans to go away. The girl is excited that this will lead to many stories from Aunty Theo, but her aunt thinks otherwise: “there are the people who do not have many stories to tell”. Even with her niece, whom she loves, Theo senses the distance that separates people, and that there is no inherent link from one life to another. She prepares her mind to go away.
Part two: Jardin Exotique
Chapter 7: Theodora Goodman arrives at a hotel in Southern France, the Hotel du Midi. From the moment of arrival there is an ethereal quality to the place, an otherworldliness distinct from Theo’s own Australian past yet also oddly suited to her nature. Theo’s interest is in the “exotic garden” (jardin exotique) which the hotel boasts as part of its appeal. The staff and clientele are from a variety of nationalities, creating a sense that the hotel is a nexus point between cultures, between those who for whatever reason are not well-suited to their native environment. Among them are long-term residents such as the Russian General Sokolnikov and the American couple, the Rapallos (Madame Rapallo is a boisterous, chatty sort while her husband easily fades into the background), as well as a Greek teenager, Katina Pavlou, and her governess, Grigg, and two Jewish French sisters, Marthe and Berthe, who are proud of their social status. The staff include Monsieur Durand, the maid Henriette, and a tight young boy (le petit) who helps to serve. When Theo enters the jardin, she seems to inhabit a dreamlike landscape where she enters into the lives of those around her, traversing between regular conversations with her unfamiliar fellow guests through to conversations inhabiting only her fantasy in which she enters into the role of governess, sister, best friend, agony aunt, and so on. Here, Theo is able to find a place of purpose and a sense of comfort.
Chapter 8: As the day wanders on, Theo continues to drift between fantasy and reality, intervening in the love affairs of a young British man, Weatherby, and a waiflike young German woman, Lieselotte. The people here are all exiles from the real world, and it seems that these are not merely interchanges in her head but actual two-way delusions, in which Sokolnikov can imagine that Theo is his sister, or Mrs Rapallo can bring Theo into her world as a society lady with whom she can share stories of her fabulous daughter, Gloria, married to an Italian Prince. Evening comes in, as Theo dissolves into numerous personalities in her mind, finding places to exist, even if they all seem to end in her playing the role of something rather similar to “aunt”.
Chapter 9: Theo arrives back late to the hotel, where Mademoiselle Berthe tells her that war has broken out in Spain. Lost, Theo wanders the hotel, encountering the figures once more. She enters so fully in her Sokolnikov fantasy that she finds herself in revolution-era Russia, and is then convinced to steal a nautilus brooch from Mrs Rapallo, which Sokolnikov tells her is his. Back in the hotel, this climaxes in the breaking of the nautilus, and a seeming breaking of the aura of fantasy that has been binding the residents together.
Chapter 10: One day, the residents of the hotel head out on a picnic. Katina Pavlou is full of secret worries, and the young man Weatherby finds himself taken with her – to the despair of Lieselotte. Mrs. Rapallo has been boasting of the imminent arrival of her glamorous daughter, Gloria, but it seems that Gloria is continually detained in Rome.
Chapter 11: As time goes on, Theo spends much of her time knitting in the lounge, wondering if she should go. She has been seeking her place, and perhaps this is not the place for her dream life after all. Weatherby seeks her guidance on whether he can really love Katina, or if it is a fantasy. But fantasies are falling apart all over the place. People such as Sokolnikov must now begin to admit that the life they have presented to their fellow residents is not quite as ideal as it seems. On return from a walk with Katina, Theo visits Mrs Rapallo in her room where the American confirms that Gloria doesn’t exist; it has all been a wondrous presentation that has moved her into social circles under, perhaps, a shared illusion. Later, Theo falls asleep in her room and is awoken after dark by Lieselotte. Searching for Weatherby, Lieselotte was carrying an oil lamp. She dropped it (perhaps in a confrontation) and has set the hotel on fire. Weatherby is dead, Lieslotte says, and the hotel is being evacuated. Most people escape, but Mrs Rapallo is consumed by the flames, as is presumably Lieselotte and Weatherby. Katina Pavlou seems missing but manages to survive. The residents and onlookers stand gazing as the hotel burns down, all of them filled with horror but also excitement for the moment when the roof caves in – the best bit, they all agree.
Part three: Holstius
Chapter 12: Theodora resolves to head home, but first finds herself taking the long way. We meet her again on a bus in Middle America, surrounded by cornfields, where all the talk is that Europe is on the brink of a major war. Theo sends letters to Fanny and Frank back in Australia, who are considering ways – in a self-justifying manner – that they can fund Theo’s life when she returns to Australia without having to take her in themselves, for example putting them in a home for women where she can happily share her stories with other single middle-aged women, the loneliest of all human types. Unsure of where she is going, Theo presents a confusing vision to the people of middle America. A handsome man named Jake drives her to a town, where she walks until she finds a house owned by the Johnson family. Warm and hospitable, although somewhat bewildered, the Johnsons take her in for the night. The children find her fascinating, although one child – Zack – tells her that she shouldn’t stay there. He is the quietest child and seems to notice something in her, like all of the noticeably different people she has found before. Impulsively, Theo leaves without telling the Johnson adults, and wanders until she finds an empty and seemingly abandoned lodge. She sets about lighting the fire and cleaning as night draws in. An American gentleman enters, telling her his name is Holstius. He seems familiar to her, like the man to whom they gave dinner when she was a little girl, but she can’t quite place it. Holstius sagely tells her that she has experienced many lives and that she does not have to reconcile herself to normality like most people. He leaves, but she is sure he will be back. After a night’s sleep, Theo wanders by the river and woods near the lodge until Mrs. Johnson shows up. She has been looking for Theo, and is surprised to hear of Holstius since the man who owned the lodge took off many months ago and is believed to be dead. Mrs. Johnson leaves to get help, and Holstius returns for Theo, telling her that the men in white coats will come for her, and that those of us rare individuals who know better about life must sometimes keep it to ourselves. Conformity is easy but those of us who can multiply ourselves can accept a kind of peace. Theo feels this inner peace. Holstius is gone somehow by the time the Johnsons return with a Doctor. Theo is escorted to the car. Mrs Johnson hands Theo her hat, which she had forgotten, but which is of course appropriate for her to wear. As the car takes off, Theo’s hat sits straight, but the rose on it trembles and glitters, as if it has a life of its own.
Editions:
- Routledge (UK, September 1948, 346pp)
- Viking (US, October 1948, 281pp, reprinted 1974)
- Macmillan (Canada, October 1948)
- Casini (Italy, 1951, “Mai un Passo Amico”, trans: Emma Cremonese)
- Eyre & Spottiswoode (UK, December 1958)
- Compass Books [subdivision of Viking] (US, 1962)
- Penguin (AU and UK, 1963)
- Milliyet Yayinlari (Turkey, 1973, “Teyzemin Hikayesi”, trans: Kemal Vardarli)
- Taeundang (South Korea, 1973, “Ajumoni iyagi”, trans: Myong Chin)
- Luis de Caralt (Spain, 1974, “El Peso de las Sombras” [The Weight of the Shadows], trans: C. de Azpiazu)
- Shufu no Tomosha (Japan, 1976)
- Queensland Braille Writers Association (Braille edition, 1976)
- Slovo Ljubve (Yugoslavia, 1979, “Priča Teodore Gudman”, trans: Snezana Stojanovic)
- Education Department of Victoria (Audiobook, 1981, read by Brenda Swift)
- Australian Listening Library (Audiobook, 1983, read by Flore Collis-George)
- Hear-a-Book (Audiobook, 1984, read by Diana Jeffrey)
- Hestia (Greece, 1988, “Η ιστορία της θείας” [Historia tes theas], trans: Seraphim Velentzas)
- Forum (Sweden, 1991, “Tant Theodora”, trans: Ingegard Martinelli)
- Am Oved (Israel, 1992, “Sippura shel doda” / “שיפור של דודה“, trans: Amatzya Porat)
- Vintage (UK, 1994)
- Louis Braille Audio (Audiobook, 2001, read by Jenny Seedman)
- Atlas (Netherlands, 2006, “Het verhaal van Theodora Goodman”, trans: Guido Goluke)
- Vintage (AU, 2008 / Penguin 2018)
- Penguin Random House (eBook, 2011)
- Bolinda (Audiobook, 2019, Deidre Rubenstein)
Original price: UK 10s, 6d // US $3 // Paperback reissue: 4/6 and 7s
Dedication: For Betty Withycombe
Epigraphs:
Part One: “She thought of the narrowness of the limits within which a human soul may speak and be understood by its nearest of mental kin, of how soon it reaches that solitary land of the individual experience, in which no fellow footfall is ever heard.” – Olive Schreiner, The Story of an African Farm
Part Two: “Henceforward we walk split into myriad fragments, like an insect with a hundred feet, a centipede with soft-stirring feet that drinks in the atmosphere; we walk with sensitive filaments that drink avidly of past and future, and all things melt into music and sorrow; we walk against a united world, asserting our dividedness. All things, as we walk, splitting with us into a myriad iridescent fragments. The great fragmentation of maturity.”- Henry Miller, Black Spring
Part Three: “When your life is most real, to me you are mad.” – Olive Schreiner, The Story of an African Farm
Cover art: Sidney Nolan did the cover for the revised E&S Aunt’s Story, and the 1963 Penguin paperback release. White and Nolan hadn’t previously met, and would go on to develop an intense friendship and then an equally intense feud.
“Her contentment filled the morning, the heavy, round, golden morning, sounding its red hibiscus note. She had waited sometimes for something to happen. Now existence justified itself.”
[left: Roy de Maistre, “Figure in garden (The aunt)”, 1945
History: PW conceived the novel in the mid-1930s, before he had written any of his others, when he penned a few embryonic notes of what would become The Aunt’s Story. PW put aside his scraps to work on other projects, including his first two novels Happy Valley and The Living and the Dead. After the war, PW spent three years in disarray, relocating to Australia, putting down roots, and managing the tough life of a farm. In January 1946, while still in London, PW’s mind was stirred by a Roy de Maistre painting called “The Figure in the Garden (The Aunt)”, set in the grim rubble of the war. (The painting was purchased by PW and would adorn the cover of the first edition).
The Aunt’s Story – written during PW’s final months in Europe, and on the ship back to Australia – represented a growth in his talent and self-awareness. The only novel he wrote during his 30s, it is a work of ideological, surrealist complexity – what Mark Williams calls “the violent distortion of expressionism” – which he would never attempt in the same way again. At the same time, The Aunt’s Story is one of his most daunting. The prose in all of his subsequent works is dazzling and even dense but it is rarely again as complicated! Reviews of the novel were, broadly speaking, more positive than his previous two, with a recognition that PW was evolving into a serious artist. Americans were at the forefront of the praise, while Australians lagged behind. Reviewers noted that the novel’s surrealism could sometimes lead to moments of opacity.
After two novels in which one of the protagonists was clearly PW himself, here the author disappears into all the characters. He is still prominent, of course, in that instantly recognisable narrative voice, but now he fragments himself, reflected in the minds of each figure. The narration is no longer so overbearing, more willing to be subjective. And no longer is this a novel drawn directly from life. Instead, PW picks at images, people, moments, and ideas, to create something wholly original. Although PW’s own preference for his favourite novel would change throughout his life, The Aunt’s Story was one he frequently mentioned.
The novel was supposed to be translated into French by Gallimard, as Happy Valley had been, but the publishing house eventually lost interest. The translator, Marie Viton, who had been corresponding with PW for months about the novel, died, and the project never came to fruition.
Sales: Viking sold 6,000 copies in the US within a month, leading to a second printing. The UK and overseas market, through Routledge, struggled to get through the 4,000 they printed, with 1,500 ultimately remaindered. Routledge dropped PW as an author in the aftermath. The author’s UK royalties from this run, David Marr reports, were £108, 12s, 5d. When re-released for the UK market in 1958 by Eyre & Spottiswoode, the novel sold another 6,000 copies across the Commonwealth and remained in print until 1974, reflecting the rise in PW’s fame over the intervening decade.
The first US volume contained an errata slip with fourteen corrections to the text. Viking had neglected to send PW final proofs, and he was incensed at the last minute to discover the numerous errors. (These were corrected for the second printing.)
Notes: Frank Parrott’s boast about swimming a horse across the Barwon is based on PW’s own experiences as a jackaroo in 1931. The Hotel du Midi is modelled on the hotel in southern France where PW finished writing Happy Valley. The character Theodora began as a portrait of his godmother, Gertrude Morrice.
The Jardin Exotique section reflects popular subject matter of the time, the decay of European civilisation, while also conveying the increasing schizophrenia of Theodora. The disconnect between Australia and Europe is reflected throughout; the aural beauty of the name of Theodora’s home, Meroë, loses its European “suggestiveness” when pronounced in the Australian manner.
Reviews:
- Bulletin 1/11/1947
- Emily Kennedy, Library Journal 1/12/1947
- Walter Havinghurst, Saturday Review of Literature 3/1/1948
- Iris Barry, The NY Herald Tribune Book Review, 4/1/1948
- Feike Feikema, Chicago Sun 6/1/1948
- Orville Prescott, NY Times, 7/1/1948:
- “Brilliant ,original, and highly intelligent… It is also gay and witty as well as tragic and sometimes profound…. [not everyone will enjoy it but] “the reader who drains the book to the last drop will feel he’s had a full bottle chosen by a connoisseur.”
- Hamilton Basso, The New Yorker, 10/1/1948:
- “If this were the best of all possible worlds, in which writers got their just deserts, The Aunt’s Story would sell as many copies as the current best sellers… Patrick White’s prose is as much a delight as the story he tells.”
- Kirkus Reviews, 1/11/1947:
- “A strange and rather confusing story which unfortunately echoes a pattern recognizable to many- the growing into mental unbalance of a woman who has never savored life in her own right…The period of her childhood had a certain poignancy, but for this reader the novel loses flavor and interest as the bitter and approaches. — A psychological novel, dealing with mental problems- of appeal to a fairly defined audience.”
- James Stern, “Spinster aunt from down under”, The NY Times Book Review, 11/1/1948
- A+. “Patrick White’s third novel is a brilliant, original and highly intelligent piece of work. It is also, thank heaven, gay and witty — as well as tragic, sometimes profound… The reader who drains the last drop from The Aunt’s Story will feel he’s had a full bottle chosen by a connoisseur.”
- Booklist, 15/2/1948
- John Woodburn, The New Republic, 16/2/1948
- Diana Trilling, The Nation, 21/2/1948
- The English Journal, 3/1948:
- “A study of a thwarted lost personality, complex and appealing as reality gives place to delusion.”
- Swanee Review, Summer 1948:
- “Patrick White is confidently located as the narrator… When we reflect that the technique of irony requires one to be inside an object and outside it at the same moment, we see what Mr. White has done… Mr White knows exactly what he wants us to feel at every point… he makes his sentences bend in the middle when he wants them to sink from the clear air of the normal world to the refractions of Theodora’s mind…he is a storyteller, sure of what he wants to do with the story he is telling, sure that the story is authentically his.”
- Melbourne Herald, 29/5/48:
- “It is not a book that will appeal to the casual library subscriber… but… a significant piece of creative writing in the modern style, and as such is rather difficult to read…White has no doubt been considerably influenced by Virginia Woolf and by that school of writers which has abandoned conventional prose forms the more faithfull to express conviction that reason and its step-child, logic, are insignificant characters in the play of human existence… in a nutshell [it is] a book for highbrows. It can only be hoped that, for the sake of the author’s royalty statements, it will also hold some appeal for the people who think they are highbrows.”
- L.V. Kepert, SMH 7/8/1948 (reprinted in Launceston Examiner 14/8/48):
- “His style is as polished as his psychology, which builds the queer character up from effective incident to effective incident. Yet a lingering feeling of staginess and unreality persists, as though the artifice has plastered itself too thick.”
- John Betjeman, Daily Review 21/9/1948:
- “Patrick White must be one of the best living writers of English prose. But this does not mean he will necessarily be popular. He demands effort and he has his R.G. mannerisms. He is a dead loss to the libraries; a great asset to English literature.”
- Vernon Young, “Five Novels, Three Sexes, and Death”, The Hudson Review, Autumn 1948:
- “[There are] “many treasures of observation style and method… White has a lyric poet’s contempt for the prose order of living and the poet’s ability to make reality out of symbol, symbol out of reality. He has trained his style to catch texture and to weigh substance, to express stillness and movement and to penetrate…the banalities and the secret rivalries of the common mind… In spite of White’s mollifying blend of appearance and reality, the extraordinary femininity of his perceptions and the lability of his manner, he seems to me to have pulled off a highly artistic stunt. His prose… gets annoyingly precious and, ultimately, one has the bizarre impression of…dancing with a partner who, though supple in every manipulated rhythm, is in reality a beautiful corpse.”
- TLS, B rating, 2/10/1948
- George Farwell, ABC Radio Current Books 28/11/1948
- The Age, 12/2/1949:
- “Where the writing is graphic and literal it is strong… This book is interesting for its unusual treatment and the force of the writing, but it is hard to accept the character of a woman who is so completely controlled by her feelings that she never thinks at all.”
- HM Green, Southerly, 10.3 (1949)
- R.G. Howarth, Southerly 11.4 (1950)
- Simon Raven, “Maiden Voyage”, Spectator 5/12/1958
- John Davenport, “Genius down under”, Observer, 14/12/1958
- Roy Perrott, “Two Australians”, Manchester Guardian, 16/12/1958, with Randolph Stow’s To the Islands
- Adelaide Advertiser, 27/12/1958
- Times Literary Supplement, 2/1/1959
- Ian Roger, BBC World of Books radio broadcast, 10/1/1959
- Clive Kelly, “Australian novelists’ brilliant work”, Adelaide Advertiser 17/1/1959, reviewed with Randolph Stow’s To the Islands
- Peter Coleman, “Sublime Madness?”, Observer 7/2/1959, reviewed with Randolph Stow’s To the Islands
- Sidney J. Baker, “Patrick White’s virtuosity”, SMH, 21/2/1959:
- “[T]his is an uneven book… The main hurdle for readers is Part Two… a swirling muck of dreamlike hallucinations…. As a close-up of mental derangement it is often extremely good, but it does not dovetail well with the smoother narration in the first and third parts of the novel. Rather, it presents a chasm which some readers may prefer to leap almost entirely.”
- Peter Hastings, “The erratic brilliance of Patrick White”, Sunday Telegraph, 1/3/1959
- Marjorie Barnard, “Theodora Again”, Southerly 20.1 (1959)
- James McAuley, Quadrant, 3.4 (1959)
- John K. Ewers, “The feel of a book”, West Australian 4/4/1959
- Alan Nicholls, “This is a brilliant and memorable book”, The Age, 11 (or 19?)/4/1959
- Nancy Keesing, Bulletin, 4/11/1959:
- [Jardin Exotique] “marks Patrick White as an author of the most powerful imagination and rigid control… This scene of tremendous climax and weird comedy could almost be subtracted from the book to display White’s pyrotechnic virtuosity and skill as a novelist.
- James McAuley, Quadrant, 3.4 Spring 1959
- Z. Ghose, Spectator, 17/4/1964
Quotes:
“Theodora did not turn because she knew that Mr. Rapallo would not possess a face. She accepted his dark hand. No one remembered Mr. Rapallo’s face. He was Nicois, perhaps, or even a Corsican. Mr. Rapallo, you felt, would disappear.” (165)
“Oh, but I am right”, said Lieselotte. “We have destroyed so much, but we have not destroyed enough. We must destroy everything, everything, even ourselves. Then at last when there is nothing, perhaps we shall live.” (176)
“It is strange, and why are we here?”, said the voice of Theodora Goodman, parting the water.
“I guess we have to be somewhere,” replied Mrs. Rapallo (201)
“You are intoxicated by your own melancholy”, said Sokolnikov. “You expect too much of life”. (214)
“[T]here was no end to the lives of Theodora Goodman. They met and parted, met and parted, movingly” (300)
“Life is full of alternatives but no choice.”
‘You’ll see a lot of funny things, Theodora Goodman. You’ll see them because you’ve eyes to see. And they’ll break you. But perhaps you’ll survive.’
Adaptations:
- Film: The great English actress Glenda Jackson was interested in a film version of the novel around 1975, but does not seem to have got very far with the project.
- Radio: Adapted for radio in five episodes, produced by Richard Buckman, and airing on the ABC in June and July 1989.
- Theatre: The Aunt’s Story (2001)– play – adapted by Adam Cook
- First produced by the Melbourne Theatre Company as part of the Melbourne Festival 25 Oct – 10 Nov 2001, Playhouse. Directed by Adam Cook himself, with music by Sculthorpe; cast: Andrew Blackman, Julia Blake, Ralph Cotterill, Sarah Kants, Helen Morse, Roger Oakley, and Genevieve Picot
- Belvoir Street Theatre – 14 Aug to 15 Sep. Same cast. Designer: Dale Ferguson [rehearsal recording taken, University of New England, Stage on Screen Collection]
- Energex Brisbane Festival at Optus Playhouse, QPAC 19 -26 September 2002. Same production and cast as above.
Also published in 1948: F.R. Leavis, The Great Tradition; Graham Greene, The Heart of the Matter; Norman Mailer, The Naked and the Dead; Ruth Park, The Harp in the South; Shirley Jackson, The Lottery and Other Stories.
Previous novel: The Living and the Dead
Next novel: The Tree of Man
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