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367 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1977
Sumner Locke Elliott is known to most of us as the winner of the 1963 Miles Franklin Award with his first and very poignant autobiographical novel
Careful, He Might Hear You
which I read years ago when it was made into a film in 1983. Much more recently I reviewed Fairyland (1990), which was the last of his novels and an autobiographical novel which reveals a rather grim Sydney in the days before homosexuality was decriminalised. Apart from Edens Lost (1969) and
Water Under the Bridge
(1977) which were both set in Australia, all the others were set in the US, where he lived from 1948. These included:
Some Doves and Pythons
(1966);
The Man Who Got Away
(1972);
Going
(1975);
Signs of Life
(1981);
About Tilly Beamis
(1985); and
Waiting for Childhood
(1987). In 1977 he won the Patrick White Award.The front hall light had been left on for him which would mean sixpence would be added to the rent. The house had a peculiar smell of old carpet, frying and stale beer. The vestibule was a slight cut above the neighbours', with threadbare carpeting rather than lino. There was a lithograph of 'Hope' crouched blindfold in despair over the globe of the world, and a framed mirror that had tarnished into golden measles. On the fumed-oak dropleaf table was a bowl of dusty wax grapes that looked like tumours and a china Tyrolean couple probably won at Luna park years ago. Mrs Chauncey reluctantly took telephone messages and one or two of these were propped up against the grapes. One read 'Neil'.
In the uncertain light he read 'Cave. V.B.M.' Chauncey liked a bit of Latin. Cave was Latin for Beware. [...] V.B.M. meant Very Bad Mood. Good old Chauncey, what a pal. Neil unlaced his shoes and took them off and went up the stairs using the extreme side which was less inclined to squeak. (p.57-8.)
She lay awake and thought about being rescued from the descending spiral of shabby rooming houses, each one worse. Of the diminishing of old pals, the eventual state home for the aged, recognised the fact that in all her born days of entertaining men in and out of bed, she'd never before had a legitimate proposal of marriage.
Most of all she thought about the horror of ending her life in any kind of hospital or institution. She could never forget going to visit broken-down old Queenie Dawn in one of those places, the stench of disinfectant, the rows of beds with the old women lying in their own wet or shuffling up and down the ward in their institutional grey cotton bathrobes, the cold disinterested attendants. And Queenie saying, 'You're the only one who's ever come to see me, Shast.' Even at that she couldn't ever go back. (p.285)