Books and reading
Judging a book by its cover (or, what’s in a name?)
I’m fascinated by the world of book design. I’m not a designer, nor is any part of me artistic, but I am very admiring of the beauty and power of a good book cover and design. Similarly, I love book titles: the way a few words (or sometimes just one word) can sum up a book’s essence, it’s very heart. Anyone who has struggled with the seemingly insurmountable challenge of writing a book synopsis – summarising a whole novel in 500 words, give or take – will know what I mean when I say that the ability to choose just the right title for a work is one to be admired.
Lately I’ve noticed some interesting trends in both book design and title choice.
Firstly, design. I’m focusing here on two main genres – historical fiction and contemporary fiction. Not crime, sci-fi, fantasy, horror, thrillers. These genres have their own very distinct styles and typical cover images and colours. Browse a book store or library shelves for a while and you’ll see this.
A current trend for historical/contemporary fiction of the kind that I read – typically by women authors, many Australian ones – is for covers redolent with gorgeous flower motifs. Here are a few examples:
Aren’t they beautiful? I’ve not read Tess Woods’ Love and Other Battles or Kayte Nunn’s The Forgotten Letters of Esther Durrant as yet, but I can speak to the other two as being lovely novels inside their lovely covers. These are good examples of the trend for flower-adorned covers. It is definitely a ‘thing’ right now, and one which I am enjoying. I love these kinds of cover images and the beautiful design features which often continue right throughout the novels.
Now to book titles. A trend I’m noticing here is the tendency for titles to say something about a protagonist in terms of either their own profession/occupation, or that of a family member. Examples of this are:
The Clockmaker’s Daughter by Kate Morton (this one also belongs in the ‘beautiful cover design’ category – see image below)
The Post Mistress by Alison Stuart
The French Photographer by Natasha Lester
The ZooKeeper’s Wife by Diane Ackerman
The Lighthouse Keeper’s Daughter by Hazel Gaynor
The Botanist’s Daughter by Kayte Nunn (another ‘lovely cover’ winner)
The Orchardist’s Daughter by Diane Ackerman
The Time Traveller’s Wife by Audrey NiffeneggerI don’t know the reason for these trends. Publishers and editors have a major say in how a book is styled and what it is called. Most probably these are fashions, and fashions come and go: remember a while ago when it seemed like every second book published had ‘girl’ in its title? (Gone Girl, Girl on the Page, Girl in the Window…)
I’ll wait with interest to see what will be the next big thing for book names and designs.What other titles or covers can you suggest that follow these latest trends? Can you think of past book trends that have come and gone ?
Short Story (some winter whimsy)
This was my effort for the https://www.writerscentre.com.au/category/furious-fiction/ contest in June. The parameters for the month were:
The story (500 words or less) had to have a ‘party’ of some kind in it, as well as a ‘button’, and include the words ‘The air was thick with…’
Australia had not long concluded a Federal Election so I guess that theme was foremost in my mind.
Here’s my entry:I Care by Denise Newton
‘Vote One for the I Care party?’ The volunteer’s face was hopeful. She clutched narrow black and white leaflets close to her chest like a protective shield.
I watched people pass by her on their way into the polling place. Some shook their heads in a curt dismissal. Others gave an apologetic smile. Most simply ignored her. None took the proffered paper. I was intrigued. She didn’t falter, even when a young man made a rude gesture at her with his finger and knocked the papers from her hand, scattering them like clumsy confetti on the ground. At that point, I stepped across to help her pick them up.
“Thanks!” She gave me a wide smile as I held out the leaflets to her.
“Hope you don’t mind me saying, it looks like no one’s interested in your party,” I said, as gently as I could. Why was she persisting in the face of such apparent disregard?
“I know.”
“So why do you bother?” My question was blunt, but I wanted to know what drove this young woman to volunteer her time on a chilly election day, standing in a blustery wind that nipped at the edges of comfort.
“Oh, well…” she undid a button on her coat, before slipping some of the leaflets into an inside pocket. “I want people to know there’s a point to it all, you know?”
I shook my head, bemused. “A point?”
“People get all riled up about things. I just want them to know that some people care.”
“Care about what?”
“Care about them.” She smiled at an approaching couple, and held out a leaflet. They sidled past. Her smile didn’t falter.
“But…what does your party promise to do?”
“Oh, we don’t promise to do anything. Just care about people.”
I began to chuckle. “Don’t all parties promise that?”
“Of course not. They promise to build roads, or employ nurses, or turn back boats. No one promises to care. But the I Care party—that’s the only promise we make. Everything follows from that.”
I examined her. She didn’t appear to be psychologically disturbed, but then I was no expert. Perhaps the I Care party was a cult of some sort? She was dressed normally, no weird hippie gear, and she didn’t look undernourished, as I thought a cult member might.
“And what would you do if your party won a seat?”
She gave a small shrug, as if the answer was obvious.
“We’d care, of course!”
I gave a little shake of my head. “OK, well, nice to meet you. And—er—good luck.” I held out my hand. She shook it, her blue eyes crinkled in another smile.
I left her then, entering the polling place to cast my vote. The air was thick with the odour of antagonism, carefully hidden beneath a screen of civility.
In the voting cubicle, I watched in disbelief as my pencil marked a ‘1’in the box next to the I Care party candidate.
Book Review: ‘Nanberry: Black Brother White’ by Jackie French
Nanberry: Black Brother White, by Jackie French, published by Angus & Robertson 2011. This well researched historical fiction for young adults tells the story of Nanberry, a young Cadigal boy who was ‘adopted’ by John White, the Surgeon at the early colony of Sydney. Nanberry’s story is a remarkable one, as so many of the stories to be found in Australia’s history are. Orphaned when his parents and most of his clan died from the smallpox that devastated so much of the First Peoples communities of the Sydney region, Nanberry lived in Surgeon White’s house and learned to speak English, use English clothes and manners, yet maintained strong links with the remaining survivors of the Eora nation. As Jackie French tells it, in adulthood he gravitated between life as a sailor, travelling the seas on board English ships, and returning at times to the Cadigal people.
The novel is told from multiple viewpoints, which I appreciated because it’s an effective way to weave in some of those other stories that we don’t always hear about. The stories of Maria, for example, an ‘ordinary’ convict girl assigned to Surgeon White as servant, and that of Rachel Turner, another convict servant and a real figure from history, who after serving her sentence, became one of the wealthiest and most admired women in the early colony. Rachel’s son by the Surgeon, Andrew, also features—another remarkable life. The ‘white’ brother in the title, Andrew was left as an infant with his mother when White was recalled to England (though White made sure he and Rachel were well provided for.) Andrew later returned to England to attend school and went on to become one of the ‘heroes of Waterloo’, the crucial battle by the English against Napoleon’s army.
We also see the colony, with all it’s vice, filth, disease and despair, through the eyes of the Surgeon whose unenviable job it was to treat injury and illness with few medicines and fewer facilities. I marvel when I read accounts of life in these early days of Sydney. That anyone survived, let alone a settlement that developed into a global city, is something of a miracle.
Of particular note, of course, are the parts told from the viewpoint of Nanberry. Governor Phillip used the boy to interpret for him with Eora people he came across, because of the youngster’s facility with English. Through Nanberry we meet other Eora figures including Coleby, Bennelong and Balloonderry. Writing from an indigenous viewpoint when you are not yourself indigenous is a contested thing nowadays. However, I do think that this book manages to convey multiple viewpoints with skill and sensitivity.
Nanberry: Black Brother White is a terrific way for young people to see Australia’s history through story—the vibrant, tragic, astounding stories that make up the whole of this nation’s history since European colonisation.
Books for the tough times
If you are anything like me, you might pick up a book for all sorts of reasons. Sometimes it’s to escape into another world, or another life, or to learn things, or pass the time. Or just because I can’t bear passing an entire day without reading. And sometimes, reading can help me cope with difficult times or emotions.
Here’s my go-to collection of books that have helped me at various times and for various reasons.About ten years ago I came across two beautiful books that I connected with strongly.
Brenda Walker’s Reading by Moonlight (Penguin, 2010) is a meditation on how particular books helped the author through her experiences of diagnosis and treatment for breast cancer. In it, she writes:
A good book laces invisible fingers into the shape of a winter armchair or a hammock in the sun. I’m not talking about comfort, necessarily, but support. A good writer might take you to strange and difficult places, but you’re in the hands of someone you trust.
‘Reading by Moonlight’ p 8The other book that was meaningful for me around that time was Worse Things Happen at Sea by William McInnes and Sarah Watt (Hachette, 2011). This collection of anecdotes, reflections and photographs celebrates the author’s marriage, creative partnership, children, families and neighbourhood and is made especially poignant by the knowledge that Sarah later died of breast cancer. I loved the book because of its inherent optimism and the spirit of thankfulness that imbues the writing of both authors. Here’s a snippet from Sarah:
I began to count what I had. Not my blessings, just what I had: a car, a healthy child, a lovely man, enough money to pay the mortgage, not enough to cause worry, Australian citizenship, ten pairs of shoes. A pathetic amount in some eyes, absurdly wasteful in others.
‘Worse Things Happen at Sea’ p 145Another kind of inspirational book is Rise by Ingrid Poulson (Pan MacMillan 2008) Ingrid endured what many would consider the worst kind of trauma: in 2003 her estranged husband murdered her father and her two small children in front of her, and tried to kill her also. Her book is both a reflection on these events and her own survival, and a guide to developing and practicing resilience. It’s a very practical book while also being full of compassion and kindness for the suffering of others. Here is Ingrid at the end of her book:
My journey continues on, as does yours. There is always room for improvement, but much more for appreciation and gratitude...I have never regretted love I have given…I seek joy and I survive well. I live for those who cannot.
Rise p 226And now, some books to allow for the experience of various emotions:
Anne of Green Gables by LM Montgomery, first published 1908. I read and re-read all of the Anne books so many times in my childhood and teens, I have lost count. Full of sweet humour and poignant moments, it’s a perfect book to indulge in a good cry – especially the scene when Mathew dies. Never fails for me.
The House at Pooh Corner and all the other books about Winnie- the- Pooh by A A Milne, first published 1928. These books are all mini philosophy lessons wrapped up in simple stories for children. So many quotable quotes! Here’s one of my favourites:
Christopher Robin thought that if he stood on the bottom rail of a bridge and leant over to watch the river slipping slowly away beneath him, then he would suddenly know everything there was to be known, and he would be able to tell Pooh, who wasn’t quite sure about some of it.
The House at Pooh Corner, p 102I’ll finish with some poetry, because poems are always good to turn to in difficult times. There are two poems by the American poet Mary Oliver that I especially love: ‘A Summer’s Day’ and ‘Wild Geese’, both in the collection Wild Geese (Bloodaxe Books, 2004)
And Judith Wright, a favourite Australian poet, with her poem ‘The Trap’ (in The Penguin Book of Australian Women Poets, 1986. Here’s a stanza from this poem:‘I love you,’ said the child,
The Penguin Book of Australian Women Poets, p 75
but the parrot with its blazing breast and wing
flaunted in the high tree, love’s very beckoning,
and would not be beguiled.What are some of the books or poems that have supported you in difficult times? Let me know in the comments.
An exploration of art: Book review ‘The Museum of Modern Love’ by Heather Rose
Australian author Heather Rose’s 2016 novel The Museum of Modern Love’ is her eight novel and the winner of the 2017 Stella Prize.
Published by Allen & Unwin 2016 It is unlike any book I have read before. Literary in its style, it is an accessible read and populated by a varied cast of characters, most of whom could be described as ‘creative types’ – musicians, artists, writers, poets, broadcasters, journalists. The novel takes the viewpoint of several characters, though it circles back to two main protagonists: Arky Levin, a film score composer, and Marina Abramovic, a well known performance artist.
Now, part way through the book I had to stop and ‘Google’ Marina Abramovic. I needed to check if the performances described by Rose in the novel were based on real events. They struck me as especially far-fetched. To my astonishment, there they all were, listed on various websites describing Abramovic’s artistic career. For example, Let’s See what happens, 1972, in which the artist sat in a room equipped with seventy two items (including wine, scissors, a knife, a whip, a gun – with a single bullet – paper, flowers…) and invited people to use the objects on her as they wished; Balkan Baroque, 2000, in which the artist sat scrubbing an enormous pile of cow bones; and the performance at the centre of this novel, The Artist is Present, which took New York by storm in 2010.
In this piece, Abramovic spent seventy five days in a bare room, at a table with two chairs facing each other. She sat in one, and audience members took turns to sit in the other. During each sitting, the artist and participant did nothing except gaze on each other’s face. A sitting could last between several minutes to several hours. When one participant vacated the seat, another took their place and the gazing resumed. Abramovic kept up this still, silent sitting every day until the Museum of Modern Art closed each evening. She did not move, drink, speak, visit a toilet – she did nothing but sit and gaze at the revolving cast of people in the chair opposite.
Before reading this book, I knew very little about performance art, and thought even less of it, to be honest. If asked, I probably would have dismissed it as ‘indulgent nonsense.’ While I’m not sure that this novel has convinced me to rush to the next performance art piece I hear of, but it has made me stop and reflect on the place and value of art – in all its forms – in our human world.
In The Museum of Modern Love, Heather Rose describes the impact of sitting across from the artist, on those who chose to do so and those who watched but did not participate. A surprising number were visibly moved or shaken by the experience. In the novel, we get an inside view of this impact, from the point of view of several of the characters.
Reading this book has made me realise that art can take many more shapes than I had previously thought, that it is not always static – as in looking at a painting or sculpture, or listening to a piece of music, for example. It can also be an exchange between two or more people. Each participant will take from the experience their own meaning.
The other pleasure in this novel is Rose’s beautiful language. Here is just one example:
He saw how her students must see her. This bird of a mind leaping from branch to branch.
And here’s another little snippet, which I think sums up one of the main themes of the novel:
Art is really a sort of sport. To master the leap is essential. It is the game of the leap. Practice, practice, practice,then leap. The starting point may be different for each, but the goal is the same. Do something worthwhile before you die.
As an aside – a shout out to Blue Mountains Library Services, who have introduced a range of books printed in a font style that is easier for readers with dyslexia. The copy of The Museum of Modern Love that I borrowed from there just happened to be in that format. What a great innovation!
Book Review: The French Photographer by Natasha Lester
The French Photographer by Natasha Lester. Hachette, published 2019.
The French Photographer is this Perth-based author’s fourth work of historical fiction. Her books have been published in fairly quick succession from 2016-2019. I do marvel at such an output, as Lester’s novels are meaty with historical detail which would involve much research (although, as she pointed out at an author talk at Newtown’s ‘Better Read than Dead’ bookstore recently, research involving travel to Paris and a French chateau isn’t all hard slog.)
Her historical fiction works are also lush with settings like New York, Paris, and the French countryside, handsome heroes and beautiful protagonists. Now, if that sounds like a recipe for your classic ‘romance’, perhaps think again. Yes, her novels have a strong romance element with love and heartbreak often sharing the stage. The covers are lusciously beautiful, something I greatly enjoy. What I most enjoy about books like The French Photographer, though, is that they pay homage to those women from the past, who chose a path not normally available to women in their time.
In the case of The French Photographer, the heroine is Jessica May, fashion model turned war photographer and correspondent for Vogue magazine during the Second World War. Inspired by and based on the life of real-life model turned war correspondent Lee Miller, Jessica’s path takes her from posing for photographs to taking them, and from New York’s high life at the beginning of World War Two, to the blood, filth, butchery and despair of the war fronts in Italy, Belgium, France and Germany. On the way she meets and eventually falls in love with Dan Hallworth, the requisite handsome hero who becomes her loyal and honourable friend, then lover.
Amidst the political nonsense and misogynistic attitudes of the US Army, and concerted efforts to prevent women correspondents from getting anywhere near the war action in order to write about it, Jess has to fight her own battles, just to be allowed to do her job. The author has researched this aspect of the story particularly well and readers can trust that the more outlandish sounding reasons why women were not allowed the freedom to do this work properly, were actually trotted out at the time. Some of it is jaw dropping stuff.
Like her previous novel The Paris Seamstress (2018), this one has a dual timeline and involves complicated relationships between a modern day granddaughter, D’Arcy, her mother Victorine, and her grandmother. I won’t spoil the ending for anyone who has not yet read the novel by saying more about that. But I will mention that the character Victorine is based on a little girl that the author saw, in a newsreel about the exodus from Paris as the German army approached.
Natasha Lester’s admiration for Miller, the woman who inspired this story, shines from every page. Miller did not have an easy life and after the war, her ground-breaking work, photographing and writing about what she saw and experienced in Europe, was virtually forgotten. Jessica May, similarly, faces heartbreak and loss. There is no ‘happy ever after’ ending in this story – perhaps another feature which distinguishes it from the conventional romance story arc.
As with all good historical fiction, while reading this book I was inspired to look up Miller, to learn more about her and to see examples of her astounding photographic work, as well as her pre-war work as a model.
So thank you, Natasha Lester, for opening another door in the hidden history of women.
Book Review: ‘Fled’ by Meg Keneally
Published by Echo Publishing 2019 What a rip-roaring tale this is! Based on the adventurous and tragic life of Mary Bryant, a convict in the First Fleet, this historical novel tells the story of Jenny Trelawney, a Cornish woman transported for ‘highway robbery’ on the First Fleet ship Charlotte.
Author Meg Keneally says in her author’s note that she chose to fictionalise her protagonist because it felt better to have a fictional character who could fully own her ‘thoughts, emotions and beliefs’. This speaks to how rare it is to find first person accounts by convict women. We have written records (journals, letters and so on) by privileged women, such as Governor Macquarie’s wife Elizabeth amongst others, but very few accounts by the less fortunate women who made the trip from England, Scotland, Wales or Ireland in the hold of a convict ship, rather than as free emigrants. I assume this is, in part, because many convict women could not read or write. Perhaps the expense of paper and ink was another barrier to recording their experiences. And I can also guess that the crowded, often damp convict quarters below decks would not have been kind to paper, had they been able to afford it.
Meg Keneally has done a sterling job of working with the historical records as they stand, and imagining the rest. She has changed some historical events and timelines to better fit her narrative.
We meet Jenny in her home town in Cornwall, coping with the death of her father and then of her baby brother, and her mother’s subsequent descent into depression, poverty and self neglect. Jenny begins thieving to support herself and provide food for her mother. And then she is caught, arrested, tried and sentenced. Off to the new colony of New South Wales, the great social and judicial experiment embarked on by England to rid itself of its ‘criminal class.’
Jenny is a not entirely sympathetic character, but we quickly begin to empathise with her and her situation. She falls pregnant to a man on the hulk she is imprisoned on before her transportation and so bears a daughter on the voyage to Australia, a girl named for the ship on which she is born. Jenny survives the horrors of the voyage and on arrival at Sydney Cove, almost immediately marries a convict. This was a choice made by many convict women – marriage offered some protection in an environment in which there was almost no duty of care shown by guards and officials towards the convicts.
Jenny and her husband Dan have a son, but little Emanuel is born into a colony facing starvation. Watching her children become thinner and weaker by the day, Jenny makes a decision – she and her husband must take the two little ones and escape. As they are both from Cornwall, skilled at fishing and boats, the logical escape route seems to be by the sea itself.
And that’s what they do – steal the government cutter and some supplies, and in the dark of night they sail out of Sydney Heads and set their course north. And here their adventures begin…as if they had not already had enough adventures for one lifetime!
I won’t give away any more of the plot, although if you know the original Mary Bryant’s story you can guess at much of the rest, with a few differences. It’s a tale of heroism, determination, tragedy and love, with some stupidity and cruelty thrown in. Another reminder of the dramas of our history – crammed full as it is with ordinary people facing the sorts of dangers and hardships that most of today’s Australians could only try to imagine.
Meg Keneally has done a wonderful service to this incredible, larger- than- life story. Her Jenny Trelawney is an Australian literary heroine to be proud of.
Local treasures
It’s not too often I get a thrill from reading my local newspaper, Blue Mountains Gazette. I did last week, though,when I came across an article about the awarding of an honorary doctorate degree by Western Sydney University, to Blue Mountains author Jennifer Rowe.
Blue Mountains Gazette 1/5/19 At first Ms Rowe’s name didn’t register, until I read on further and realised that she is also known as Emily Rodda.
Now, if you have children who like to read, that is a name you’ll recognise. When in primary school, my son and his friends loved her Rowan of Rin books, first published in 1993. She is also the author of the very popular Deltora Quest series. Emily Rodda has written over 50 books for children and young adults and is a five times winner of the Children’s Book Council of Australia Younger Readers Award. And this year, 2019, her most recent book His Name was Walter, was shortlisted for the Children’s Book of the Year.
So, quite a writing career. You can learn more about Emily Rodda here:http://www.emilyrodda.com/about
And as Jennifer Rowe, she writes crime novels for adults.
The WSU Honorary Degree was awarded in recognition of that significant career and her contribution to Australian literature. In January 2019, Jennifer Rowe was also made a Companion of the Order of Australia for her services to literature.
And until last week, I had no idea that she lived in the Blue Mountains, just up the road! Of course it matters not where she lives. But I did get a little thrill. There is something about stumbling across someone you admire, in whatever field or pursuit, and finding out that you are almost neighbours.
Book Review: ‘Nevermoor’ by Jessica Townsend
‘Nevermoor: The Trials of Morrigan Crow’ by Jessica Townsend
LothianBooks 2017
This is the first in the Nevermoor series of YA/children’s author, Australian Jessica Townsend. It has won many awards and commendations, including: Winner, Dymocks Book of the Year 2018, QBD Children’s Book of the Year 2018, Book of the Year for Younger Children, ABIA 2018, Indie Books Awards 2018, Aurealis Awards 2017, Waterstones Children’s Book Prize (UK) 2018, a CBCA Notable Book.
I don’t read a lot in the fantasy genre nowadays, but this book was recommended to me by a friend. It is a rollicking tale of magic, centred around the adventures of young Morrigan Crow, who lives an unloved life in a drab and predictable town. Marked at birth as a ‘cursed child’ along with others born on Eventide, held to be an unlucky day, Morrigan is blamed for all the misfortunes of others, and doomed to die on Eventide when she turns eleven.
Enter Jupiter North, her mysterious rescuer, who whisks Morrigan away from the threat of the Hunt of Smoke and Shadow and brings her to the magical city of Nevermoor. Here Morrigan is ensconced in the Hotel Deucalion, which magically changes the shapes of its rooms and fittings, and she learns that she must pass a series of trials if she is to be allowed to remain…
I liked several things about this book. One is the humour that imbues every chapter. Despite some scenes that are a bit scary, even younger readers will appreciate the insouciance of Jupiter, the mild cynicism of his nephew Jack, the daredevil nature of Morrigan’s new friend Hawthorn, and especially, the sarcasm and bossiness of Fenestra, the giant Magnificat in charge of hotel housekeeping.
Another is of course, the magic. Occasionally reminiscent of the brilliant world building to be found in the Harry Potter novels by JK Rowling, Nevermoor’s magic is nonetheless unique, surprising and sometimes laugh-out-loud funny.
Morrigan is an endearing protagonist. Smart and brave but full of self- doubt and uncertainty, she yearns for friendship and belonging, both of which she finds in Nevermoor. There are plenty of heart-warming moments, along with the magic and quirky humour.
And speaking of heart, a real theme of the novel is exactly that. There is a strong element of exploration of what it means to belong. Because Morrigan has not yet successfully completed the trials which will allow her to remain in Nevermoor, she is dogged by the City’s police force for being a ‘filthy illegal’. Inspector Flintlock berates Jupiter North for not handing Morrigan over for immediate deportation: reminders of the decidedly unmagical and unsympathetic scenes being played out in real life, all over our globe. So, while Nevermoor is a fantasy novel, it manages to hold within it messages to us all about caring, humanity and belonging.
Book Review & Reflections: ‘Teacher’ by Gabbie Stroud
A copy of this book should be handed to anyone who expresses the view that “Teachers get so many holidays”, or “Teaching must be an easy job – look at the hours they work – 9 to 3 Mon to Fri and no weekend work.”For much of my working life, I was a teacher. Mostly in adult education, but a couple of years as a casual primary teacher, working across ages from kindergarten to year six. So I read Gabbie Stroud’s memoir of teaching in primary schools with interest. It might surprise you to know that much of what she describes about her experiences in working in primary education in Australia and the UK, is increasingly relevant to the vocational education and training situation as it currently stands, here in Australia.
The tag line on the front cover of ‘Teacher’ reads: One woman’s struggle to keep the heart in teaching. The author’s heart shines out through her portrayal of her childhood years, her decision to train to become a teacher, her first job in an East London school, teaching in Australian schools, including in socioeconomically disadvantaged regions and in a brand new school. Her approach to teaching was all about relationship – with her students of course, and also with parents, colleagues, and her schools’ communities.
She describes her experience of burnout – an overwhelming workload, juggling time with too many things on the “to do” list, and the “stealthy encroachment of more and more demands for accountability, “evidence”, assessment grids and rubrics…A teacher could literally spend their working week creating the documentation required to teach.”
You might be thinking: Other occupations have these sorts of pressures. And you’d be right. Many people – nurses, social and community workers, doctors, aged care workers, people who work in childcare, would nod in recognition of the issues discussed in this book.
For me, the fact that these workplace issues are so widespread, makes the arguments put forward in this book more important, not less. Ms Stroud describes struggling with unsympathetic systems imposed from above, usually by people with no experience or understanding of education or teaching, and very little knowledge of what teachers, schools and students need to excel. The introduction in Australian schools of “NAPLAN” testing (standardised testing in literacy and numeracy), and a National Curriculum, are two examples examined here.
One of my favourite lines in the book is a quote from one of the author’s colleagues: “All this collecting of evidence. Evidence for everything. I feel like I work for a crime squad.” (p.221)
Sadly, this reliance on standardisation of teaching and assessment practices and “evidence” (a belated effort to stem the rise of less than reputable training organisations) has crept into the vocational education and training sector in Australia. It’s a lucrative market nowadays.
What is often lost, is the importance of relationship and heart in the teaching and learning process. Teachers and students can get so focused on their grades and on completing assessment tasks that they have little time to think about actually teaching and learning. They lose sight of what they have achieved and what they can do. As the author states, it becomes a deficit approach to teaching and learning.
I’ll leave the final word to Gabbie Stroud:
“We need to contemplate not only what we should teach our children, but also how we should teach them. And we must start valuing our teachers.” (p334)Postscript: Over the first weekend in March, my husband and I went to the Cobargo Folk Festival. It’s a lovely little festival in a beautiful part of the south coast of NSW. I was pleased and surprised to see in the program, a discussion panel called “What’s Happened to our Education System?” The three speakers were all enthusiastic, creative, professional teachers – who had all left teaching. (Though one of them, Nick Thornton, is about to return to the classroom, to focus on the educational needs of children who have experienced trauma. And the second, Kate Liston-Mills, has completed a Librarian Studies course.) The third speaker was none other than Gabbie Stroud. It was a delight to meet her and hear her speak about her experiences and what prompted her to write the book.
If you are interested in finding out more about her work, check out her website (I love the retro illustrations! Classic 1950’s twee) https://gabbiestroud.com/
