AWW 2012 review: A Dissection of Murder (Felicity Young)

When I read this Fair Dinkum Crime review of Felicity Young’s A Dissection of Murder by bernadetteinoz, I added it to my already-excessively-long TBR* list. I’m a sucker for historical crime novels, especially when the lead character is female, and this one had the added relish of the protagonist breaking into a new, ‘suspect’ profession as an autopsy surgeon.

I fell into this book with relish. From the first scenes of the suffragette rally gone bad to the denouement, I was hooked.

The narrative opens with the arrival home of newly qualified Dr Dody McCleland, who has returned from Edinburgh where she completed her studies.

The immediate summons to the first job in her new capacity throws the first elements of latent and overt conflict into the mix: a relationship that is long overdue for pruning, the suspicion and open hostility towards her as a woman in what has been a profession for men only, torn loyalties when confronted with her first autopsy cases…and that’s just the first few pages!

 

Kids’ books: The Lorax (Dr Seuss)

The timelessness of the Dr Seuss books lend themselves to intergenerational bonding, and I can see how they retain their appeal.

Perhaps strangely, we never really had that many of these books read to us – or to read – as we grew up.

The one book I did have, a gift from someone in my family, was The Lorax. It’s a book I packed with us at each house move, and it has come to Victoria as well. Considering it was stored away haphazardly in the Brisbane suburbs for almost thirty years, it’s in fine form. The only damage it has suffered has been  recently at the hands of my kids: impatient fingers at the spine as they try to get it out of the shelves, sticky fingers swishing past a page and tearing off the tip. Small things. But things that remind me it’s now the property of the next generation, who will enjoy it for just about as long as I had it in storage.

Our kids have a set of Seuss books that are getting a workout these days. Each has their favourites, and the eldest is now starting to read the simplest ones by herself (i.e. Hop on Pop). They often quote Seussisms to us and each other.

 

Write Night 4

In process (Photo by Tseen Khoo)

Since I last notched up a Write Night post, two things to report: one major, and the other minor and good.

1. MAJOR: The Write Nights, as originally envisaged, are no more.

That’s not to say the writing is no more, just that the one-evening-a-week schedule for #shutupandwrite sessions with a local buddy are no more.

The problem, right from the start, was a basic mismatch in expectation and will. I was dead keen on the format and was ready to get into it each time we met. She had just finished a full day’s teaching and wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about the writing that she’d bring along to do. Thusly, she was much more interested in chatting than writing.

 

Once a wallflower

Emerging protea (Photo by Tseen Khoo)

I started this post wanting to write about the value of participating, and the context of not-participating.

It got a bit long.

When I was an undergraduate, meandering through my Arts degree and waiting for purpose to strike, I felt incapable of participating properly in tutorials. I hated them. I was happy to listen to the better lecturers and tutors discuss things about the subject, and I usually had no significant questions to ask during the smaller classes. If only there was more of an understanding of us introverted types (which seems all the vogue right now), and allowance for leveraging my listening skills as an introvert. Maybe I should’ve just faked it.

Dreading these forums for learning, and knowing that a percentage of marks were allocated to just showing up, my undergraduate years were conflicted. Being introduced to the scope of knowledge materials and the expert-led winnowing of topics (however biased) thrilled me, but the compulsory face-time that brought me very little insight and a lot of angst tempered my enthusiasm.

Conversely, I loved lectures. They required minimal engagement with the lecturer or your peers, and I could get excited or confused at my leisure. Excitement I’d channel through assignments and reading, confusion I’d address by visits to the library to read around topics or terms of which I was ignorant. This dynamic suited my learning style really well. Plus: double-bonus if there was no project work (yeah, not a fan of that either).

 

Launch of Chi Vu’s Anguli Ma

Anguli Ma (by Chi Vu; Giramondo, 2012) Image sourced from Giramondo Publishing website

It’s probably appropriate that the evening of Chi Vu’s booklaunch for her Gothic novella was a dark and stormy night.

On 24 April, upstairs at the Sidney Myer Centre, we were cossetted from the fickle weather and treated to drinks and nibblies before the main event.

The launch was hosted by Asialink and Giramondo Publishing, and was a full house.

Giramondo has published quite a few Asian Australian literary works to date, including Adam Aitken (Eighth Habitation), Kim Cheng Boey (Between Stations), Brian Castro (Shanghai Dancing, The Garden Book, and The Bath Fugues), and Tom Cho (Look Who’s Morphing).

Chi’s novella is part of a new series by Giramondo that focuses on shorter works (including poetry, memoir and fiction). Also included in the ‘shorts’ series are Eliot Weinberger’s Wildlife and Michael Wilding’s Wild and Woolly: A Publishing Memoir. There are many more in the pipeline, if the entries on Giramondo’s website are anything to go by.

The formal blurb on Chi (from Giramondo) reads:

Chi Vu was born in Vietnam and came to Australia in 1979. After studying at the University of Melbourne, she worked as a theatre maker, dramaturg, writer, artistic director and arts administrator. Chi Vu’s plays, which include the critically acclaimed and widely studied Vietnam: a Psychic Guide, have been performed in Melbourne and Sydney, and her short stories have appeared in various publications, including The Macquarie PEN Anthology of Australian Literature.

Chi’s adept practice across forms and projects is infused with a consistent awareness of the constructedness of culture and language, a fierce engagement with emotion, and careful attention to the texture of interactions.

 

Kids’ books: Ten Little Mummies (Philip Yates/G. Brian Karas; 2003)

Ten Little Mummies (Philip Yates & G. Brian Karas; 2003)

In keeping with my ‘bargain bin’ reviews (see previous one of Tyrannosaurus Drip), this one features Philip Yates and G. Brian Karas’ Ten Little Mummies: An Egyptian Counting Book (2003).

While the idea of a hieroglyphic counting book is beguiling, and this was my first thought about its contents, this book is a standard 1-10 counting book, but with a great twist on typical children’s themes.

The number of farmyard, vehicle, jungle or housey counting books is huge. We’ve been through so many of this type from the library, and ditto to styles of alphabet books.

Having a book that is clever and playful, with a satisfying rhyming rhythm and endearing images is a real bonus.

 

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011)

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011) - Source: IMDb

Quite a while ago, Book Boy talked to me about Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (TTSS; 2011). It has taken us a while to get round to watching it.

Our household tends to gravitate towards action, horror and sci-fi movies, anything with chop-socky, zombies, Jean-Claude Van Damme, or monsters. It’s an eclectic palette. And kind of timeless (I sez…).

Most recently, we’ve been immersed in The Walking Dead, Sherlock and Firefly TV series. Plenty to like and keep us fixated in those shows, even though I’m deeply unimpressed with the many of the main characters in The Walking Dead and wouldn’t mind a few of them ending up as walker tacos.

Committing ourselves to a serious movie, one that takes a bit to draw us into the narrative, was something we hadn’t done for a while.

Even so, I found TTSS extremely hard to get into, despite the stellar cast and – on paper – riveting narrative of spies, double-crossing and clever secrets. The acting was considered and nuanced, and we’re given plenty of time to appreciate each glare and jibe.

The pacing of the entire film was gentle, even when nothing particularly gentle was happening on the screen. No doubt the film was beautifully made, with finely detailed recreations of the pedestrian and highly unattractive 1970s secret service offices and officers.

There was a meandering and pensive air about the film that one doesn’t find in many spy movies. I would suggest that’s because meandering and pensive doesn’t really engage very well and a spy movie audience needs to be engaged to stay with the sometimes twisting storyline and character flips. Well, I do, anyway.

Today, while lunching in some glorious April sunshine in St Kilda, I discussed the film with various family members. They were unimpressed and bewildered by the film in general. My sis was particularly incensed that the whole movie didn’t feel like it had ended properly before the credits rolled. The sheer weight of implied information left us feeling like we’d come up short in the insight stakes.

I know Book Boy is very keen on John Le Carre‘s books; I must admit to barely remembering reading one. I do remember hunting down his newly published books for my father, who was a big fan; he also loved Martin Cruz Smith and Robert Ludlum. These blockbusters made birthday and Christmas presents very easy. Because they were my father’s favourite kinds of books, I’ve always had a soft spot for them, even though I’ve read no Cruz Smith and only one Ludlum (I think).

Having found myself at sea with the film, however, I’m contemplating reading the book. Maybe it will provide the plot details that will allow some narrative lightbulbs to flare. I’m not big on spy novels per se, even though I did like reading Jeffery Deaver’s Carte Blanche (Stephanie Merritt’s review in The Guardian captures the reasons why I liked it, as someone who has watched many Bond movies but hasn’t necessarily read Ian Fleming).

I never thought I’d find a movie that starred Gary Oldman, Colin Firth, Benedict Cumberbatch, Ciaran Hinds, and John Hurt disappointing, but there it is.

 

Write Night 3

In process (Photo by Tseen Khoo)

I felt a bit of a fraud writing the last post about work on my fiction and, for this one, I feel even more so.

After the household illnesses came the catching up, then the realisation that I’d possibly over-committed myself on the writing front. I used to over-commit myself on the academic front all the time, saying yes to committee work, events organisation, joining associations and doing project things. It felt good to be collaborating with a broad network of people, doing different types of work. That’s how I thought of the amount of stuff I said ‘yes’ to, anyway.

While shedding academic commitments, I’ve filled the space with writing and blogging ones, including a bunch of promised guest blogposts and other short pieces and interviews.

 

Fiesta Malaysia 2012 – One view

I found out about Fiesta Malaysia 2012 the way I usually find out about events these days: on my Twitterfeed. While our household still gets the paper delivered every day, I never read it anymore. My mum does, and so does my partner. My kids like cutting it up and using it for projects, or mucking around with strips to make papier-mache animals.

I’ve acquired some bower-bird habits since becoming so dependent on Twitter. One of them is noting things for the different feeds I maintain (current count: 4), which is what I used to skim my email for. Usually, this noting doesn’t mean I intend to act on events/gigs myself. My weeks are usually fully subscribed with work, kiddie time, family time, writing, and occasional other things.

Lygon St bombing (Photo by Tseen)

Something that did catch my eye, though, was the Fiesta Malaysia the other weekend (23-25 March).

My partner and I used to be great food/culture festival people, then we had kids. But it’s not as if the kids kept us from going anywhere; we just ended up going to different events: local school fetes, shopping for an endless parade of shoes, library-runs, zoo trips…

Anyway, we thought this might be fun, and my mother would definitely want to go along, if only to declare that her char kway teow was better.

We made it to Fiesta Malaysia on its last day – Sunday – and arrived just as it started at about 11am. We’d parked at the Melbourne Museum and had a glorious stroll to Lygon Street, encountering some great yarn-bombing on the way (pictured left).

That day also happened to be the Melbourne City Romp and spotting marauding crazy-hatted / costumed teams can sure whet one’s appetite for roti.

 

When is a career interruption not a career interruption?

One of these is not like the other (Photo by Tseen Khoo)

The issue of career interruptions is a difficult one in higher education. Particularly given the gendered nature of many ‘interruptions’ (i.e. maternity leave, and who often ends up as the carer for family), I think this is a facet of life that funding bodies – and promotion systems in universities in general – don’t handle particularly well.

Major funding bodies churn through a lot of applications and are most often desperately under-staffed. So, in writing this post, I’m not looking to blame them for not being incredibly considerate of every snowflake situation.

I do wish, though, that there were more effective overall systems in place to consider the nuances of people’s track-records. Or at least a smidge more honesty in what they’re really looking for: unproblematic high performers without ongoing (or potential for) negative issues/conditions.

It bothers (and angers) me that accommodating the interruptions that life sometimes throws at you is often inadequate and perfunctory in research and higher education. Because some basic processes are in place, it feels as if this is assumed to take care of things.

The opacity of how funding bodies decide what counts as an ‘eligibility exemption’ (whether your career interruption justification is accepted) is frustrating.