During Bookweek in August last year, the Children’s Book Council of Australia’s prestigious Book of the Year Awards were announced, having been won in all four categories by texts with Aboriginal themes. This is not to say that they were written exclusively by Aboriginal people; two of the entries were penned by non-Aboriginal Australians with a pertinent message.
The choice of these books, by judges representing each state, proved somewhat contentious. It was not a conscious selection, as the judges held a secret ballot comprising the six shortlisted books in each category. Also, the Eve Pownall Award for Information Books was chosen by a separate panel from the fiction judges, with no communication between the two panels during the judging process. The eleven judges were delighted when the results became obvious, especially in the light of the fact that the Sorry Book had been circulating the country throughout 1998, eliciting some heartfelt and empathetic responses, especially from young children. But there have been and continue to be adverse comments from some older students and adults, including the criticism that these selections were ‘politically driven’; that they are ‘too politcally correct.’; that they afford Aboriginal people too much special attention when Australia is no longer simply a bicultural society; that ‘we’re sick of being made to feel guilty’; that (Aboriginal issues are) ‘like a tired persecution complex…they should get over it.’
Without a doubt the most controversial of the four books is the winner of the Picture Book category, The Rabbits, by John Marsden, illustrated by Shaun Tan. This is an example of an increasingly popular genre of picture books appropriate for all ages. Both author and illustrator are non-Aboriginal and their powerfully horrific metaphor of invasion and domination has offended the sensibilities of some, who regard it as affrontingly didactic to European Australians and their forebears. Its brilliant imagery of the Crusades and the Industrial Revolution is at once historical and futuristic, so that even the criticism that ‘..it’s too clever..’ has been levelled at it.
Yet audiences comprising young children have been overwhelmingly positive about this book. They seem to be unperturbed by the allegorical nature of the story, (the foreign invaders are characterised as rabbits and the Aboriginal people as native fauna such as bilbies), and can generally appreciate - without prompting - the notion that these represent people as well as other fauna and flora. The evocative opening, The rabbits came many grandparents ago. … to the final, plaintive Who will save us from the rabbits? is narrated, significantly, by the native fauna.
Young children even seem to recognise the inherent universality of the story, making comments like ‘…it’s just like in Kosovo …just like East Timor.’ The Rabbits is a text that is undeniably Australian and thus drives its theme home to Australian people, yet it acknowledges a common humanity, wherein lies the basis of true reconciliation.
The 1998 winner of the Younger Readers award is My Girragundji, by Meme McDonald and Boori Pryor. This is the fictionalised autobiography of an Aboriginal boy who suffers bullying at school and nightmares when the ‘Hairyman’, a bad spirit, plagues his dreams. Girragundji is a little green tree frog sent by the old people to protect the boy’s spirit. The little frog assumes a spiritual dimension which is completely unthreatening and non-sectarian and could serve to encourage all readers to come to terms with a spirituality in their own lives. It is proudly indigenous, ...Mum reckons our people are the strongest in the world yet aware of the problems that can beset them, ...They’re drowning inside with all that drink. Aboriginal words are integrated into the text rather than set apart, providing a metaphor for a more ideal society. Pryor travels Australia telling Aboriginal stories to school children and playing traditional music. His aim, however, is to help unite all children. He encourages children to articulate their fears - and joys and triumphs - and suggests that they draw, make or bring in to show what is to them their girragundji. Fear and other things drive you, Pryor said in a recent interview. It is up to you to make a decision and be strong. The boy in the book is not named. It is everybody and anybody and it is not racial. This is another text which shows how much all humanity has in common. Everybody has fears; everybody entrusts their faith in something to help them survive into adulthood. Also in an age of technological gratification, such a book describing simple pleasures can give children an awareness of the natural treasures around them.
That month I grew warts on my fingers. Sharyn said my warts are revolting and I should go to the doctor. 1 kissed them in front of her and said 1 didn’t care. She dropped me the next day. 1 was already thinking she wasn’t my type, but.
The fiction category for Older Readers attracted several novels with an Aboriginal focus, including James Moloney’s follow-on to Dougy and Gracey, entitled Angela, and Melissa Lucashenko’s Killing Darcy. The successful entry is by first-time author Phillip Gwynne with Deadly, Unna? Gwynne, like Moloney and Marsden, is a European Australian and this inevitably raises the question about non-Aboriginal authors dealing with Aboriginal issues in their writing. While Moloney’s book is hard-hitting and almost moralistic in tone, Gwynne’s is characterised by understated humour and observation. The story is told from Blackie’s point-of-view. Blackie is really Gary, a Goonya - non-Aboriginal - who is in awe of Dumby Red, a Nunga and star footballer in the South Australian port of their youth. The two adolescents become friends in a town where the two races rarely mix, other than to play football.
This novel is full of insights, implied rather than overtly stated. It must surely serve to dispel several of the misconceptions that much of white Australia still has about indigenous people and lifestyle. It is Gary’s family that’s the dysfunctional one, making a mockery of the popular myth that Aboriginal families are fragmented; their homes wrecks. It is still a common cry amongst some Australians, especially in country towns, that Aboriginal people shouldn’t be given houses by the government because ‘they’ll just trash them.’ Gary sees the bigger picture. When he visits Dumby’s family, scones are baking, tea is made for him and as he sat on the sofa ...my bum sank right down, almost to the floor. The springs were busted - just like our sofa at home. Probably for the same reason, too. Kids jumping up and down on it, pretending it was a trampoline.
Another misconception is that Aboriginal families fit - or should fit - into the British context of nuclear family units with easily definable extensions and labels. This confuses many white Australians who wonder how Aboriginal people can possibly have so many cousins and uncles and it can lead to problems for children who take time off school to attend a funeral or other family gathering but cannot convince school authorities - who see it as yet another attempt to play truant - of the legitimacy of such an event. Gary is gently made aware that the structures he understands are not necessarily the only authentic ones.
‘ Is Lovely really your cousin?’ 1 asked Clarence as 1 followed her inside.
‘ You know we all cousins out the Point,’ she said.
‘ But is he really your cousin? Is Sid Lovely’s old man?’
‘ That’s right.’
‘ And Sid is Tommy’s brother.’
‘ That’s right, too.’
‘ Then Lovely’s your first cousin?’
Clarence smiled.
Dumby’s family’s ready acceptance of Gary and their appreciation for his presence at a tragic family gathering help to belie the notion that Aboriginal people are inherently resentful of whites and feel uncomfortable in their presence. There still exists a ‘them and us’ categorisation in Australian society as though antagonism is of necessity the natural state. During a recent radio talkback program (Triple J) discussing reconciliation there were several callers who demanded quite belligerently why ‘we’ need to say sorry (for genocide and the stolen children) because ‘we’ (this generation) ‘didn’t do anything’ - demonstrating a complete misunderstanding of the ‘sorry’ concept. Other stereotypes, such as a perceived sexual promiscuity are brought into question; shockingly brutal in their articulation, You be careful of these gins, now, lad. Nice girls, but they’ve all got the clap. Every last one of ‘em.
A paradoxical ‘touch’ is when Gary, his erstwhile ‘girlfriend’ Cathy and his mates are at the beach and Dumby’s family comes down to swim.
‘ Are they allowed up here?’ said Cathy.
‘ Yeah, of course they are,’ I said.
‘ They shouldn’t be,’ said Pickles. ‘It’s our jetty, not theirs.’
‘ Don’t they wear bathers?’ said Cathy.
‘ Nuh, too shamed,’ said Pickles....
‘ That Abo wasn’t really your girlfriend?’ asked Cathy when they’d gone.
‘ No way. It’s Pickles’ idea of a joke. Pathetic as usual.’
‘ But you know her?’
I hesitated.
‘ No of course not. How would 1 know her?’
I screwed the lid back on the Tropical Island Deep Tanning oil.
‘ Here you go,’ I said, handing it back to Cathy.
Anyone, surely, can remember denying being associated with someone, regretting it even as they said it. What is fascinating is the desire of so many caucasians for sun-browned skin, while concurrently nurturing opinions that are essentially white supremicist in varying degrees.
Like Pryor’s story, Gwynne’s novel radiates hope and compassion as the children ‘show the adults up’ with an inherent understanding of reconciliation. Such empathy saw Gary soliciting the help of all his siblings to paint over some of the town’s racist graffiti - BOONGS PISS OFF - thereby risking their abusive father’s wrath if the Carruther’s Camel Hair brush and tin of paint and they themselves were discovered missing.
‘ What’s a boong?’ asked Greggy.
‘ A bad word for an Aborigine.’
‘ Why do they want the boongs to piss off?’
‘ Because they’re racist,’ said Tim.
‘ What’s racist?’
‘ Somebody who doesn’t like the Aborigines,’ said Tim.
‘ Why don’t they like the Aborigines?’
‘ Because they’re racist.’
‘ Oh. Where will they go if they piss off?’
‘ Okay, enough questions,’ I said. ‘Let’s get started. Open the tin.’
Going For Kalta, by Yvonne Edwards and Brenda Day is the winner of the 1998 Information Books award. The community involvement in the authorship is acknowledged on the cover (Yvonne, Brenda & Tjitji Tjuta - all the kids) and this could be seen as symbolic as it is essentially a celebration of family values, where the job of catching, cooking and eating the kalta (blue-tongue or ‘sleepy’ lizard) is a family affair. The written text reflects the narrator’s speaking voice and doesn’t have ‘standard’ English edited in. In keeping with one of the criteria for children’s Aboriginal literature laid down by the Aboriginal Studies Review Committee, this book recognises the cultural diversity of indigenous people. A map at the start of the story locates it very specifically in the Yalata region and the language of the Pitjantjatjara people is integrated into the text which is even more effective than the glossary, since language becomes a living entity; something to be actually used by all who read the book. A pronunciation chart is another useful inclusion. The use of the language in this story shows the folly of the notion (which is still prevalent) that Aboriginal people had no sophisticated language system and that they were and are all the one race. This kind of text can help to educate children into an awareness of the numerous distinct dialects and sociocultural groupings which make up all human societies.
It is encouraging that, while Australians are becoming increasingly aware of the need to be informed about Aboriginal issues, careful of sensitive and/or spiritual areas and respectful of cultural mores, many non-Aboriginal authors and publishers are confident to venture into the realm of Aboriginal themes in their writing. There are bound to be mistakes along the way to ‘enlightenment’, and, indeed, it could be said that, as in all things, it is impossible to satisfy everyone. Any literature or art is due the same subjective scrutiny. However, the fact that there is an attempt to dissolve the impediments to understanding and to advocate some measure of unity must certainly be a positive thing.
The publishers’ confidence in these texts is evident in the quality of the presentation; Aboriginal literature until recently having been relegated to low-budget or self-publications. This strongly endorses the view that thinking people are becoming more aware of the need to share the indigenous past of this nation with children in the hope of fostering the kind of understanding which would, by extension, embrace all cultures that make up contemporary Australia.
Liz Thomas presented this paper at the University of Tasmania in 1999
