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The Timeless Land #1
The Timeless Land
An historical novel about the earliest days of the European settlement in Australia. These were times of hardship, cruelty and danger. They were also the times of conflict between the Aborigines and the white settlers.
554 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1941
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765 people want to read
About the author
Eleanor Dark
22 books17 followersEleanor Dark (1901 - 1985) was an Australian author, most known for her historical novel The Timeless Land (1941), which became a bestseller in Australia and the USA.
Dark was born on 26 August 1901 at Croydon, Sydney, second of three children of Sydney-born parents Dowell O’Reilly, schoolteacher and author, and his wife Eleanor Grace, née McCulloch, who died in 1914 after an unhappy marriage and a period of ill health. Small, dark and elfin, 'Pixie', as she was known to her family, attended several private schools before boarding at Redlands, Neutral Bay, from 1916 to 1920.
Although Pixie had written verse from the age of 7, as the family’s finances grew tighter her hopes of university and a writing career faded. After attending Stott & Hoare’s Business College, she worked as a stenographer for a firm of solicitors, Makinson, Plunkett & d’Apice, for eighteen months. She married Eric Payten Dark, a medical practitioner and a widower with an infant son, John, on 1 February 1922 at St Matthias’s Church of England, Paddington. Eric and Eleanor shared many interests: literature, history, tennis, bushwalking, mountain-climbing and gardening. Next year they moved to Katoomba. In the relative isolation of the Blue Mountains she resumed writing. Eric enthusiastically encouraged her. They were absorbed in each other; John moved back and forth between them and his mother’s family and later boarded at Sydney Grammar School, visiting the Darks for occasional weekends. Their son Michael was born in 1929; Eleanor was a devoted mother to him.
Dark used the pseudonyms 'P. O’R.' and 'Patricia O’Rane' for the verse which she wrote in the 1920s and early 1930s. It was published in Australia by journals including the Triad, Bulletin and Woman’s Mirror, but was not very significant. Her short stories were also published in these journals and in Motoring News, Home and Ink.
She wrote her ten novels between the 1930s and 1950s. Seven had contemporary themes, often utilising the techniques of modernism, exploring contemporary relationships and politics. Her other three novels - beginning with The Timeless Land - formed an historical trilogy and were her most popular and best-selling works.
Both Eleanor and Eric were openly leftist in their views throughout a period when Australia was increasingly conservative. They were monitored by the government during the "Red scare" of the 1940s and 1950s, for fear they were members of the Communist Party (they weren't).
Dark largely abandoned writing after 1960. Although she worked on manuscript novels and plays, she lost interest due to a combination of low sales and the changing tastes of the public. In the late 1970s, Dark was awarded an Order of Australia medal, and her books were gradually republished in the 1980s as a new wave of artists and feminists discovered her writings. By this time, she was ill, and died in 1985 in hospital.
Dark was born on 26 August 1901 at Croydon, Sydney, second of three children of Sydney-born parents Dowell O’Reilly, schoolteacher and author, and his wife Eleanor Grace, née McCulloch, who died in 1914 after an unhappy marriage and a period of ill health. Small, dark and elfin, 'Pixie', as she was known to her family, attended several private schools before boarding at Redlands, Neutral Bay, from 1916 to 1920.
Although Pixie had written verse from the age of 7, as the family’s finances grew tighter her hopes of university and a writing career faded. After attending Stott & Hoare’s Business College, she worked as a stenographer for a firm of solicitors, Makinson, Plunkett & d’Apice, for eighteen months. She married Eric Payten Dark, a medical practitioner and a widower with an infant son, John, on 1 February 1922 at St Matthias’s Church of England, Paddington. Eric and Eleanor shared many interests: literature, history, tennis, bushwalking, mountain-climbing and gardening. Next year they moved to Katoomba. In the relative isolation of the Blue Mountains she resumed writing. Eric enthusiastically encouraged her. They were absorbed in each other; John moved back and forth between them and his mother’s family and later boarded at Sydney Grammar School, visiting the Darks for occasional weekends. Their son Michael was born in 1929; Eleanor was a devoted mother to him.
Dark used the pseudonyms 'P. O’R.' and 'Patricia O’Rane' for the verse which she wrote in the 1920s and early 1930s. It was published in Australia by journals including the Triad, Bulletin and Woman’s Mirror, but was not very significant. Her short stories were also published in these journals and in Motoring News, Home and Ink.
She wrote her ten novels between the 1930s and 1950s. Seven had contemporary themes, often utilising the techniques of modernism, exploring contemporary relationships and politics. Her other three novels - beginning with The Timeless Land - formed an historical trilogy and were her most popular and best-selling works.
Both Eleanor and Eric were openly leftist in their views throughout a period when Australia was increasingly conservative. They were monitored by the government during the "Red scare" of the 1940s and 1950s, for fear they were members of the Communist Party (they weren't).
Dark largely abandoned writing after 1960. Although she worked on manuscript novels and plays, she lost interest due to a combination of low sales and the changing tastes of the public. In the late 1970s, Dark was awarded an Order of Australia medal, and her books were gradually republished in the 1980s as a new wave of artists and feminists discovered her writings. By this time, she was ill, and died in 1985 in hospital.
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September 28, 2018
4.5★ (Read Sept 2018)
“The hardly endurable heat of the day had culminated again in a storm, and even to a less lively imagination than Tench’s it might have seemed that all the evil of earth and heaven was let loose, and some reckless spirit of self-destruction in the settlement lifting itself in challenge to the destroying sky.
. . .
He had seen too many storms to be easily disturbed by them, but that last clap of thunder, he thought, ruefully, had seemed especially intended for his defenceless head. How was one to think of England in a country which bombarded one with reminders of itself in the shape of thunderbolts?”
Captain Tench wonders what on earth he’s in for, having arrived in Australia with Governor Arthur Phillip and the First Fleet, bringing the first convicts from the British Isles.
I have fond memories of unbearably hot Sydney summer days finally cooling off with the sometimes violent Southerly Busters that blew through the house, blasting out the heat and then crackling with lightning and driving down thunderous rain.
Eleanor Dark wrote this in 1941 as the first of a trilogy. The quality of her research and writing has been commended for many years, and I understand this has been regularly studied in schools. I can see why.
This covers the four years from the landing (invasion) in 1788 until 1792, when Phillip returned to England, leaving behind a more-or-less established colony. It is written as historical fiction, like a novel, but we get the benefit of her deep research in the language she uses for the officers, the soldiers and the convicts, who were mostly extremely poor peasants.
And there was barely a farmer or carpenter or skilled labourer among them! Trust me – this is a painless way to learn Australian history. There are real people and some colourful invented characters (not that the real people weren’t colourful!), and the descriptions of both the beauty and harshness of the landscape and the weather are terrific.
Here, Phillip and a group are pushing through the bush, trying to find a way to another river and the Blue Mountains, when Lieutenant Creswell notes that after a rainstorm there is
“a warm, queer, stimulating fragrance. It was all wrong. Woods should not be stimulating, but restful. In them one should instinctively loiter, not only physically, but mentally, one’s feet cushioned on softly springing ground, one’s thoughts cushioned on senses lulled by peacefulness. These woods were hot and dry and exhausting; the senses, far from being lulled, were strung to a painful alertness. The smells were too strong and heady; the sun was too bright and the shadows too dark; the silence was too intense, and the noises which broke it too harsh and violent; the ground was too hard underfoot, and the undergrowth too woody, and unfairly armed with hidden prickles.”
I have heard Australia called the Land of Too Much. Too much sun, too much rain, too much fire, too much flood. I suspect Creswell would have agreed.
Apparently, there have been accusations that Dark may have been too generous in her description of the Aboriginal people. I would say not. I’m no expert, but I’ve been reading the occasional book about their culture and history, and it was much more sophisticated and complex than the newcomers realised. I don’t think Dark gave them nearly enough credit myself. Here is one description.
They had, as children have, a deeply rooted sense of justice; like children they were generous, devoid of rancour or suspicion, driven by the impulse of the moment, vain, inveterate actors and mimics. Troubled by their instinctive awareness of qualities in the white man which must keep him always a stranger, they were still incapable of even guessing at the workings of his mind — the mind which had travelled so far from their primitive wisdom in its search for knowledge that it was already astray in the labyrinths of its own psychological chaos.”
The chaos of the white man’s mind refers to how they managed to profess a belief in “thou shalt not kill” while finding reasons to justify massacre.
I confess, I’ve never been able to reconcile those either.
“They could resent, but not for long; they could think, and think clearly with a sharp flash of logic and good sense, but their brains were not trained to the long chain of reasoning, the patient exploration of cause and effect, the tenacious pursuit of an idea, the cold, final pinning down of a conclusion. They could only swing between their natural reactions, meeting friendliness with delight, and injustice with fierce resentment.”
I find that that patronising, myself.
The stories are well-known of colonists starving while indigenous inhabitants live comfortably, but there’s more to Aboriginal culture and history than that they were clever hunter-gatherers. It’s simply that I imagine the author wasn’t aware of it nearly 80 years ago. It would be interesting to see what she’d do now with the new information. As it was, I think she was probably ahead of her time.
Famous Australian historian Manning Clark says that she inspired him to write his popular history of Australia, which has been so widely read. There are other excellent non-fiction books about Aboriginal culture, which give us some idea of its importance and intricacies, and I can recommend a few.
Meanwhile, this is historical fiction and a good (long) read, if you like that sort of thing. There are now other excellent historical fiction books based believably in colonial times but with much more fictionalised stories.
A few of the other non-fiction books I’ve enjoyed about Aboriginal culture and history follow.
Deep Time Dreaming: Uncovering Ancient Australia by author:BillyGriffiths|6604142] My review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
Dark Emu: Black seeds agriculture or accident? by Bruce Pascoe My review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
The Memory Code by Lynne Kelly My review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
Searching for Aboriginal Languages: Memoirs of a Field Worker by R.M.W. Dixon My review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
Singing the Coast by Margaret Somerville and Tony Perkins. This is Tony: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show....
My review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
“The hardly endurable heat of the day had culminated again in a storm, and even to a less lively imagination than Tench’s it might have seemed that all the evil of earth and heaven was let loose, and some reckless spirit of self-destruction in the settlement lifting itself in challenge to the destroying sky.
. . .
He had seen too many storms to be easily disturbed by them, but that last clap of thunder, he thought, ruefully, had seemed especially intended for his defenceless head. How was one to think of England in a country which bombarded one with reminders of itself in the shape of thunderbolts?”
Captain Tench wonders what on earth he’s in for, having arrived in Australia with Governor Arthur Phillip and the First Fleet, bringing the first convicts from the British Isles.
I have fond memories of unbearably hot Sydney summer days finally cooling off with the sometimes violent Southerly Busters that blew through the house, blasting out the heat and then crackling with lightning and driving down thunderous rain.
Eleanor Dark wrote this in 1941 as the first of a trilogy. The quality of her research and writing has been commended for many years, and I understand this has been regularly studied in schools. I can see why.
This covers the four years from the landing (invasion) in 1788 until 1792, when Phillip returned to England, leaving behind a more-or-less established colony. It is written as historical fiction, like a novel, but we get the benefit of her deep research in the language she uses for the officers, the soldiers and the convicts, who were mostly extremely poor peasants.
And there was barely a farmer or carpenter or skilled labourer among them! Trust me – this is a painless way to learn Australian history. There are real people and some colourful invented characters (not that the real people weren’t colourful!), and the descriptions of both the beauty and harshness of the landscape and the weather are terrific.
Here, Phillip and a group are pushing through the bush, trying to find a way to another river and the Blue Mountains, when Lieutenant Creswell notes that after a rainstorm there is
“a warm, queer, stimulating fragrance. It was all wrong. Woods should not be stimulating, but restful. In them one should instinctively loiter, not only physically, but mentally, one’s feet cushioned on softly springing ground, one’s thoughts cushioned on senses lulled by peacefulness. These woods were hot and dry and exhausting; the senses, far from being lulled, were strung to a painful alertness. The smells were too strong and heady; the sun was too bright and the shadows too dark; the silence was too intense, and the noises which broke it too harsh and violent; the ground was too hard underfoot, and the undergrowth too woody, and unfairly armed with hidden prickles.”
I have heard Australia called the Land of Too Much. Too much sun, too much rain, too much fire, too much flood. I suspect Creswell would have agreed.
Apparently, there have been accusations that Dark may have been too generous in her description of the Aboriginal people. I would say not. I’m no expert, but I’ve been reading the occasional book about their culture and history, and it was much more sophisticated and complex than the newcomers realised. I don’t think Dark gave them nearly enough credit myself. Here is one description.
They had, as children have, a deeply rooted sense of justice; like children they were generous, devoid of rancour or suspicion, driven by the impulse of the moment, vain, inveterate actors and mimics. Troubled by their instinctive awareness of qualities in the white man which must keep him always a stranger, they were still incapable of even guessing at the workings of his mind — the mind which had travelled so far from their primitive wisdom in its search for knowledge that it was already astray in the labyrinths of its own psychological chaos.”
The chaos of the white man’s mind refers to how they managed to profess a belief in “thou shalt not kill” while finding reasons to justify massacre.
I confess, I’ve never been able to reconcile those either.
“They could resent, but not for long; they could think, and think clearly with a sharp flash of logic and good sense, but their brains were not trained to the long chain of reasoning, the patient exploration of cause and effect, the tenacious pursuit of an idea, the cold, final pinning down of a conclusion. They could only swing between their natural reactions, meeting friendliness with delight, and injustice with fierce resentment.”
I find that that patronising, myself.
The stories are well-known of colonists starving while indigenous inhabitants live comfortably, but there’s more to Aboriginal culture and history than that they were clever hunter-gatherers. It’s simply that I imagine the author wasn’t aware of it nearly 80 years ago. It would be interesting to see what she’d do now with the new information. As it was, I think she was probably ahead of her time.
Famous Australian historian Manning Clark says that she inspired him to write his popular history of Australia, which has been so widely read. There are other excellent non-fiction books about Aboriginal culture, which give us some idea of its importance and intricacies, and I can recommend a few.
Meanwhile, this is historical fiction and a good (long) read, if you like that sort of thing. There are now other excellent historical fiction books based believably in colonial times but with much more fictionalised stories.
A few of the other non-fiction books I’ve enjoyed about Aboriginal culture and history follow.
Deep Time Dreaming: Uncovering Ancient Australia by author:BillyGriffiths|6604142] My review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
Dark Emu: Black seeds agriculture or accident? by Bruce Pascoe My review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
The Memory Code by Lynne Kelly My review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
Searching for Aboriginal Languages: Memoirs of a Field Worker by R.M.W. Dixon My review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
Singing the Coast by Margaret Somerville and Tony Perkins. This is Tony: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show....
My review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
December 26, 2024
The Timeless Land was released in 1941 and had a great impact in Australia at the time. Author Eleanor Dark had been annoyed at a reenactment of the First Fleets landing in 1938 in which the local tribe was chased away by the colonists. She wrote this historical fiction in reaction to that event.
Dark makes it abundantly clear in the preface that she wrote this as interpretation of the various writings available to her. Some of the protagonists are historical figures, while others are figments of her imagination. She has used available sources and occasionally quotes from them. This copy is also a long 600 pages and the first of a trilogy. At times this has been on the school curriculum in the various states and territories. I could imagine it may have been a difficult read for some students based on the length and the at times dense prose. This reader had no issues and enjoyed both the narration and the descriptions of both the land and the thoughts of the individuals. There are no heroes or villains, just people from differing tribes that have no understanding of the other and both tribes have their faults and strengths, their idiosyncrasies and the majority a lack of patience in understanding the other tribe.
The title is excellent as the timelessness of the land ended with the first fleet on the continent of Australia and the inhabitants of the previous thousands of years had their lives and land changed forever. It was timeless to them, to the new people it became a place to exploit in a way the ancient tribes could never understand. Though an historical novel the author attempts to understand that loss of its timelessness. That loss is evident today with the dominant tribe now utterly dismissive of the loss suffered to the other tribe.
Bennelong witnessing a hanging.
It was almost dark now. The swinging shape under the tree was all but invisible, and lights were appearing here and there among the tents, and on the ships moored in the Cove. Everything was very quiet. Bennilong was frightened. He had seen many men die, he had slain many himself, but he had never thought of death as a shameful thing before. It was a thing which came to all men, and sometimes in a terrifying guise; to fall in battle was a fitting end for a warrior, but even the stoutest heart might quail with the knowledge that sorcery had been invoked that somewhere for instance, an enemy was working an evil magic upon one's footprint in the sand, or that the pains inflicted vindictively upon an image of oneself would presently pass into one's real body, gnawing at one's vitals; or that the bone was being pointed, and one's death "sung' from afar. Yes, such death was terrible indeed, but here was a different kind of terror. He moved uneasily, glancing over his shoulder, the whites of his eyes showing, the hairs on the back of his neck pricking like a dog's. For this man had gone out of life in a dreadful silence. Where were his family, his women- folk, who should have been about him, beating their breasts and tearing their faces with their nails till the blood ran down? Where was the wailing, the grief which was not so much for the death of one man as for the defeat of mankind by the great enemy? 'Our brother we shall not see again... Where was the frenzy of the living who have seen a fragment of life annihilated, and who must express, in yells of fury, in fierce threats and savage maledictions, their hatred of the unseen power which can snatch a man from his fellows, and make him no more than the dust upon the ground?
Arabanoo witnessing a flogging.
When it was over Arabanoo went away by himself. He was as much alone as he was ever allowed to be. The guard detailed to attend him stood at a little distance, conversing with another man, glancing only occasionally at his charge – a grotesque figure in his ill-fitting European clothes and his bare feet, wearing a fetter on his ankle, and sitting on a rock by the water's edge wrestling with an overwhelming sense of shame and despair.
These were two emotions so foreign to him, and so agonising, that he wondered if he would, perhaps, die of them. Such a feeling in one's breast must be almost a death. And yet his body lived and moved, his breath came smoothly, he could teel the damp sand cool beneath his feet. He had seen blood and pain. That was nothing at all. His own people in their rites of initiation suffered far greater physical pain, shed far more blood. It was part of the lot of mankind and womankind that such things should be endured stoically, the spirit dominating the quailing flesh.
He squatted on his rock, rubbing his hands backward and forward along the coarse cloth of his trousers, his dark eyes fixed and opaque with the intensity of his thoughts. He had seen pain and blood, but it was not that which had aroused his every nerve to an agony of horror. It was that a man should be helpless while he suffered - that he should be bound, dragged, held up to contempt, humiliated in the eyes of his whole tribe. It was not that pain should be inflicted on him, but that it should be inflicted on him against his will; it was that he should struggle, and beseech, and beg for mercy. Arabanoo lifted his head slowly and looked round at the cove and the settlement, now sinking into dusk. His eyes had a searching, puzzled look. His land had not seen such things before. In his closeness to it he seemed to feel its aloof untouchability, and he made, for the first time in his life, a conscious effort to join its spirit with his own, and share its inviolability. This feeling of death within him. He had been shamed because he was a man and had seen another man suffering indignity. He had protested, he had cried out in horror. What did it matter what they had done? If they had attacked his tribe were not its menfolk warriors who could avenge them- selves? Could not the Dereewolgal see that this was an evil magic which they were spinning about themselves? Could they not see that for one man to shame another destroys them both? Let them release these men let his own people meet them in battle...
But it was no use. They had not seemed to understand. They had stood quite calmly, watching. Could it be that they were...?
Arabanoo jerked his head round like an animal cornered. The whites of his eyes shone in the twilight. For he, who had witnessed this thing only once, had the feeling of death in his heart. Could it be that they, who had witnessed it so often, were indeed not dying, but already dead within? Were they evil spirits - mawn - inhuman beings wearing the guise of humanity? Did this not explain everything their weapons which could slay without touching, their miraculous power over fire, the superhuman skill of their carrahdy, the strange wickedness which one could feel in them?
Ah, but it was not only wickedness. He sighed, tormented by the confusion of his thoughts; for he had felt goodness in them, too. Not only he, but his fellow-countrymen had felt the goodness in the Be-anga, the close firm bond of their common humanity. In many of the others he had felt it also - kindness generosity, even sometimes the blessed spark of gaiety which was so precious to his people. And he had played with the children, fondled them, told them the tales which his ow children loved to hear, joined in their games which his ow children also played...
No, they were men; but men terribly beset by an evil mag of unhappiness. Men without peace, men without serenity, men without law.
Barangaroo on religion and taboos.
They were quite kind people the Bereewolgal, and her docile and affectionate nature had taught her to obey them. Was it possible that one so great as Mr Dyon-ton, before whom even the Be-anga sometimes bowed his head, whose dignified gait and solemn mien marked him as spart from his fellows, who was obviously the chief sorcerer whole tribe, the leader of their weekly corroboree and the of the plunder of their Law, should speak other than truth? She could not believe it possible. She listened attentively when he spoke, stored his words in her retentive memory, repeated them glibly when so instructed. At first, learning to understand them tongue, she had been astonished and delighted to find their new words may clothe an old, familiar story. For she found that these people were trying to teach her of the Maker. of-all, though they called him by a different name, and they pointed, as her own people did, to the Heavens as his dwelling-place. Eagerly she had nodded her comprehension when Mrs Johnson was instructing her. The Law of the white tribe, she had thought cheerfully, was evidently very much the same as her own Law, so she would get along very well with them. But no. It was the same, and yet not the same. There were incredible things in it. She repeated them dutifully, and tried to understand them, but could not. This heavenly Being of theirs, it seemed, expected that one should love one's enemies, which was, obviously, nonsense. The white people themselves considered it nonsense, for they were always quarrelling. Booron had never seen so much hatred and vindictiveness as she saw in their camp. Immanuel said that if someone stole one's coat one should give him one's cloak also - another absurd saying which the white men never thought of heeding, for if any member of their tribe stole so much as a handkerchief, let alone a coat, he was promptly flogged or put to death. Immanuel said that if a man smote you upon one cheek you should turn the other so that he might smite you again, and this was surely a shameful saying which would enrage any warrior worthy of the name. She could understand why the white people ignored these ridiculous commands, but she could not understand why they went on repeating them. A Law, if it was anything at all, was surely something to live by, something to which one might anchor one's spiritual life.
Among her own people it was exactly that. It made hard, but not impossible demands upon their courage and their self-control. It was so intricately interwoven not only with their own physical and spiritual needs, but with the peculiarities of the land itself, that all three became one, a mystical trinity functioning in harmony the Law, the Land, the People.
But among these Bereewolgal what division! What conflict! A Law endlessly repeated and endlessly disobeyed! Booron grew quite melancholy in her bewilderment. They were kind to her; they were clever beyond words; surely, they must also be good? And yet, being clever, why were they so afraid? For they were afraid. Life itself seemed to terrify them. There were, for instance, certain simple matters the very mention of which seemed to throw them into a panic. There had been that extraordinary incident of the mirror. Mrs Johnson had a mirror magical, shining, silvery thing in which one might see the image of oneself as one did in a still pool, only much more clearly, and it had been to Booron, once she got over her first vague uneasiness, a perpetual delight. When she had been brought to the settlement she was just ceasing to be a child, just becoming aware of her body and her gently swelling breasts. Alone in the room with the mirror she had dragged off her frock and strutted delightedly, turning this way and that, practising those movements in which she had already received some instruction from the old women of her tribe, and which where some day, to enhance her desirableness in the eyes of her husband. When Mrs Johnson entered she had turned happily, proudly confident that this mature and experienced woman would commend and encourage her. But she saw only a stare of blank horror and disgust. What was the matter? With a chill of fear she turned back to the mirror. Was there some blemish - some deformity? Had she, in her still imperfect knowledge, done something amiss, offended against some mysterious taboo? She never discovered. She only knew that Mrs Johnson was terrified. ended. Her face was as red as sunset, her hand trembled, her voice trembled. She hustled Baroon into her dress again. She scolded violently in a voice which sounded shrill and unnatural. It was wicked, wicked, this thing that Booron had done! It was immodest and disgraceful! Weeree! weeree she kept on saying, that being, at the time, almost the only native word she knew.
Beeron had wept. She did not know why it was weeree, and she could not find out. Mrs Johnson had taken the tears a sign of repentance, and the incident had closed, but in Booron's mind it remained as a symbol of the inexplicable fear which haunted these people. It was a fear which affected her very nearly, for in those eighteen months she had changed from a child to a young woman, and she had had to do it quite alone. Things were not managed thus among her own people. When a girl neared marriageable age she was carefully watched and instructed. There were rites and ceremonies. Womanhood did not creep upon her silently and shamefully, shaking her with wild desires which must not be mentioned, strange ecstasies which must not be betrayed. It was welcomed, discussed, suitably dealt with, and made an occasion for pride, rejoicing, and congratulation.
Some may never return to their homeland.
Looking at the man's drab and earth-stained figure, Tench felt his imagination stirred. He remembered the shock with which he had realised, on that first day of their arrival, nearly three years ago, that there were some among them who would never see their native land again. Here was one. Already his roots, so rudely torn up from Cornish soil, were establishing themselves in the new land; already he was drawing sustenance from it. Already he had found himself a wife, and from the chimney of the tiny hut nearby the smoke of his hearth rose and faded into the clear air. To his children this land would be home, and England a name which their parents spoke sometimes when they had finished their long day's work, and sat wearily on their doorstep to watch the stars come out. For a moment Tench saw the truth which Phillip had also seen, though with the difference that, being Tench he saw it consciously, and, shaping it into epigram, lost some of its substance. 'We don't build the future after all, he thought wryly; 'we only beget and bear it.'
Tench considers theft.
He found himself worrying at the same question which had puzzled Patrick Mannion not long before. Would he himself, Watkin Tench, starve rather than steal? Steal? In such a community as this, words challenged one to examination and analysis. He found himself thinking of the black people and their system in a land which gave them enough, but only just enough, for survival. Here, they said, was the land, and no man had a greater claim than his neighbour upon what it offered in the way of subsistence. A shield, a spear, a canoe these were things which one fashioned out of one's own skill, and which became, therefore, immutably one's own personal property. But food - no! Food was the right of every man. One took it. The word 'steal' had no meaning here
Captain Tench shook his head impatiently. Impossible to compare the life and the laws of savages, he thought, with the life and the laws of civilised men. Property must remain sacred or the whole elaborate structure of the white man's world, its complicated social and economic system, its highly adaptable code of ethics, ins triumphant culture, must collapse; and though he was capable of compassion he was far from conceiving that as anything but an appalling calamity. He went on writing the fire gone out of him, his pen and his thoughts returning soberly to a recitation of gloomy facts: ‘Hence arose a repetition of petty delinquencies which no vigilance could detect, no justice reach. Gardens were plundered: provisions pilfered; and the Indian corm stolen from the fields where it grew for public use.’
It was inevitable. Life was so strangely precious that even those to whom it had become a burden refused to lie down tamely and die. Theft was the inevitable consequence of hunger: punishment was the inevitable consequence of theft: rebellion was the inevitable consequence of punishment; and so the vicious circle swung round to theft again. In it the inhabitants of Sydney Cove, from the Governor to the lowest of the convicts, moved as in a treadmill, captive, desperately, physically and spiritually exhausted, but still grimly alive.
Rain and Floods.
Prentice thought of the natives he had seen last night. These people knew; they had means of knowing. They talked mysteriously to other tribes over long distances, making signals with the smoke of their fires. They had said that it would be a big water. They had pointed high up into the branches of the trees. Prentice felt a pang of uneasiness thinking of his cattle, but he stilled it with reassurance. They would get up into the hills. Milbooroo was there; he would not let any harm befall them. Nor did it matter now, if his fields were inundated, or even if his hut were swept away. All the better, indeed! He had no further use for it, and it must be destroyed by fire if not by flood. Cunnembeillee would be safe enough. These natives knew how to look after themselves.
Reason told him that there was no need for him to go. But he knew in his heart that nothing would have made him move from this spot while a chance still remained that he might see discomfiture overtake one of 'them.' Lying there in the rain watching avidly, he almost prayed.
When reading this I was reminded of a story that I was told in my late teens. In 1974 there was huge flooding in Queensland and NSW with other areas seeing flooding downriver even if they had received no rain. Brisbane where I live was inundated in low-lying areas and on the flood plains. I talked to a man who was working for the state Department of Primary Industries. He told me he was in outback Qld in mid-January 1974 and was driving an Aboriginal tracker they had hired. He said that the tracker was a very quiet man who said little unless asked. As they drove along a dry and dusty road the tracker said big rains coming. How do you know asked the driver. He pointed to pelicans up in a few trees. The man told me that he laughed at him and said how could he think that a few pelicans in trees could make him say there were big rains coming. The tracker just shrugged and said no more. Tropical Cyclone Wanda crossed the Queensland coast a few days later on January 24, 1974, and brought five days of torrential rain. Brisbane was flooded, 16 people died, 300 were injured, and 8,000 homes were destroyed. The damage bill was estimated at a then $980 million.
Highly recommended.
Dark makes it abundantly clear in the preface that she wrote this as interpretation of the various writings available to her. Some of the protagonists are historical figures, while others are figments of her imagination. She has used available sources and occasionally quotes from them. This copy is also a long 600 pages and the first of a trilogy. At times this has been on the school curriculum in the various states and territories. I could imagine it may have been a difficult read for some students based on the length and the at times dense prose. This reader had no issues and enjoyed both the narration and the descriptions of both the land and the thoughts of the individuals. There are no heroes or villains, just people from differing tribes that have no understanding of the other and both tribes have their faults and strengths, their idiosyncrasies and the majority a lack of patience in understanding the other tribe.
The title is excellent as the timelessness of the land ended with the first fleet on the continent of Australia and the inhabitants of the previous thousands of years had their lives and land changed forever. It was timeless to them, to the new people it became a place to exploit in a way the ancient tribes could never understand. Though an historical novel the author attempts to understand that loss of its timelessness. That loss is evident today with the dominant tribe now utterly dismissive of the loss suffered to the other tribe.
Bennelong witnessing a hanging.
It was almost dark now. The swinging shape under the tree was all but invisible, and lights were appearing here and there among the tents, and on the ships moored in the Cove. Everything was very quiet. Bennilong was frightened. He had seen many men die, he had slain many himself, but he had never thought of death as a shameful thing before. It was a thing which came to all men, and sometimes in a terrifying guise; to fall in battle was a fitting end for a warrior, but even the stoutest heart might quail with the knowledge that sorcery had been invoked that somewhere for instance, an enemy was working an evil magic upon one's footprint in the sand, or that the pains inflicted vindictively upon an image of oneself would presently pass into one's real body, gnawing at one's vitals; or that the bone was being pointed, and one's death "sung' from afar. Yes, such death was terrible indeed, but here was a different kind of terror. He moved uneasily, glancing over his shoulder, the whites of his eyes showing, the hairs on the back of his neck pricking like a dog's. For this man had gone out of life in a dreadful silence. Where were his family, his women- folk, who should have been about him, beating their breasts and tearing their faces with their nails till the blood ran down? Where was the wailing, the grief which was not so much for the death of one man as for the defeat of mankind by the great enemy? 'Our brother we shall not see again... Where was the frenzy of the living who have seen a fragment of life annihilated, and who must express, in yells of fury, in fierce threats and savage maledictions, their hatred of the unseen power which can snatch a man from his fellows, and make him no more than the dust upon the ground?
Arabanoo witnessing a flogging.
When it was over Arabanoo went away by himself. He was as much alone as he was ever allowed to be. The guard detailed to attend him stood at a little distance, conversing with another man, glancing only occasionally at his charge – a grotesque figure in his ill-fitting European clothes and his bare feet, wearing a fetter on his ankle, and sitting on a rock by the water's edge wrestling with an overwhelming sense of shame and despair.
These were two emotions so foreign to him, and so agonising, that he wondered if he would, perhaps, die of them. Such a feeling in one's breast must be almost a death. And yet his body lived and moved, his breath came smoothly, he could teel the damp sand cool beneath his feet. He had seen blood and pain. That was nothing at all. His own people in their rites of initiation suffered far greater physical pain, shed far more blood. It was part of the lot of mankind and womankind that such things should be endured stoically, the spirit dominating the quailing flesh.
He squatted on his rock, rubbing his hands backward and forward along the coarse cloth of his trousers, his dark eyes fixed and opaque with the intensity of his thoughts. He had seen pain and blood, but it was not that which had aroused his every nerve to an agony of horror. It was that a man should be helpless while he suffered - that he should be bound, dragged, held up to contempt, humiliated in the eyes of his whole tribe. It was not that pain should be inflicted on him, but that it should be inflicted on him against his will; it was that he should struggle, and beseech, and beg for mercy. Arabanoo lifted his head slowly and looked round at the cove and the settlement, now sinking into dusk. His eyes had a searching, puzzled look. His land had not seen such things before. In his closeness to it he seemed to feel its aloof untouchability, and he made, for the first time in his life, a conscious effort to join its spirit with his own, and share its inviolability. This feeling of death within him. He had been shamed because he was a man and had seen another man suffering indignity. He had protested, he had cried out in horror. What did it matter what they had done? If they had attacked his tribe were not its menfolk warriors who could avenge them- selves? Could not the Dereewolgal see that this was an evil magic which they were spinning about themselves? Could they not see that for one man to shame another destroys them both? Let them release these men let his own people meet them in battle...
But it was no use. They had not seemed to understand. They had stood quite calmly, watching. Could it be that they were...?
Arabanoo jerked his head round like an animal cornered. The whites of his eyes shone in the twilight. For he, who had witnessed this thing only once, had the feeling of death in his heart. Could it be that they, who had witnessed it so often, were indeed not dying, but already dead within? Were they evil spirits - mawn - inhuman beings wearing the guise of humanity? Did this not explain everything their weapons which could slay without touching, their miraculous power over fire, the superhuman skill of their carrahdy, the strange wickedness which one could feel in them?
Ah, but it was not only wickedness. He sighed, tormented by the confusion of his thoughts; for he had felt goodness in them, too. Not only he, but his fellow-countrymen had felt the goodness in the Be-anga, the close firm bond of their common humanity. In many of the others he had felt it also - kindness generosity, even sometimes the blessed spark of gaiety which was so precious to his people. And he had played with the children, fondled them, told them the tales which his ow children loved to hear, joined in their games which his ow children also played...
No, they were men; but men terribly beset by an evil mag of unhappiness. Men without peace, men without serenity, men without law.
Barangaroo on religion and taboos.
They were quite kind people the Bereewolgal, and her docile and affectionate nature had taught her to obey them. Was it possible that one so great as Mr Dyon-ton, before whom even the Be-anga sometimes bowed his head, whose dignified gait and solemn mien marked him as spart from his fellows, who was obviously the chief sorcerer whole tribe, the leader of their weekly corroboree and the of the plunder of their Law, should speak other than truth? She could not believe it possible. She listened attentively when he spoke, stored his words in her retentive memory, repeated them glibly when so instructed. At first, learning to understand them tongue, she had been astonished and delighted to find their new words may clothe an old, familiar story. For she found that these people were trying to teach her of the Maker. of-all, though they called him by a different name, and they pointed, as her own people did, to the Heavens as his dwelling-place. Eagerly she had nodded her comprehension when Mrs Johnson was instructing her. The Law of the white tribe, she had thought cheerfully, was evidently very much the same as her own Law, so she would get along very well with them. But no. It was the same, and yet not the same. There were incredible things in it. She repeated them dutifully, and tried to understand them, but could not. This heavenly Being of theirs, it seemed, expected that one should love one's enemies, which was, obviously, nonsense. The white people themselves considered it nonsense, for they were always quarrelling. Booron had never seen so much hatred and vindictiveness as she saw in their camp. Immanuel said that if someone stole one's coat one should give him one's cloak also - another absurd saying which the white men never thought of heeding, for if any member of their tribe stole so much as a handkerchief, let alone a coat, he was promptly flogged or put to death. Immanuel said that if a man smote you upon one cheek you should turn the other so that he might smite you again, and this was surely a shameful saying which would enrage any warrior worthy of the name. She could understand why the white people ignored these ridiculous commands, but she could not understand why they went on repeating them. A Law, if it was anything at all, was surely something to live by, something to which one might anchor one's spiritual life.
Among her own people it was exactly that. It made hard, but not impossible demands upon their courage and their self-control. It was so intricately interwoven not only with their own physical and spiritual needs, but with the peculiarities of the land itself, that all three became one, a mystical trinity functioning in harmony the Law, the Land, the People.
But among these Bereewolgal what division! What conflict! A Law endlessly repeated and endlessly disobeyed! Booron grew quite melancholy in her bewilderment. They were kind to her; they were clever beyond words; surely, they must also be good? And yet, being clever, why were they so afraid? For they were afraid. Life itself seemed to terrify them. There were, for instance, certain simple matters the very mention of which seemed to throw them into a panic. There had been that extraordinary incident of the mirror. Mrs Johnson had a mirror magical, shining, silvery thing in which one might see the image of oneself as one did in a still pool, only much more clearly, and it had been to Booron, once she got over her first vague uneasiness, a perpetual delight. When she had been brought to the settlement she was just ceasing to be a child, just becoming aware of her body and her gently swelling breasts. Alone in the room with the mirror she had dragged off her frock and strutted delightedly, turning this way and that, practising those movements in which she had already received some instruction from the old women of her tribe, and which where some day, to enhance her desirableness in the eyes of her husband. When Mrs Johnson entered she had turned happily, proudly confident that this mature and experienced woman would commend and encourage her. But she saw only a stare of blank horror and disgust. What was the matter? With a chill of fear she turned back to the mirror. Was there some blemish - some deformity? Had she, in her still imperfect knowledge, done something amiss, offended against some mysterious taboo? She never discovered. She only knew that Mrs Johnson was terrified. ended. Her face was as red as sunset, her hand trembled, her voice trembled. She hustled Baroon into her dress again. She scolded violently in a voice which sounded shrill and unnatural. It was wicked, wicked, this thing that Booron had done! It was immodest and disgraceful! Weeree! weeree she kept on saying, that being, at the time, almost the only native word she knew.
Beeron had wept. She did not know why it was weeree, and she could not find out. Mrs Johnson had taken the tears a sign of repentance, and the incident had closed, but in Booron's mind it remained as a symbol of the inexplicable fear which haunted these people. It was a fear which affected her very nearly, for in those eighteen months she had changed from a child to a young woman, and she had had to do it quite alone. Things were not managed thus among her own people. When a girl neared marriageable age she was carefully watched and instructed. There were rites and ceremonies. Womanhood did not creep upon her silently and shamefully, shaking her with wild desires which must not be mentioned, strange ecstasies which must not be betrayed. It was welcomed, discussed, suitably dealt with, and made an occasion for pride, rejoicing, and congratulation.
Some may never return to their homeland.
Looking at the man's drab and earth-stained figure, Tench felt his imagination stirred. He remembered the shock with which he had realised, on that first day of their arrival, nearly three years ago, that there were some among them who would never see their native land again. Here was one. Already his roots, so rudely torn up from Cornish soil, were establishing themselves in the new land; already he was drawing sustenance from it. Already he had found himself a wife, and from the chimney of the tiny hut nearby the smoke of his hearth rose and faded into the clear air. To his children this land would be home, and England a name which their parents spoke sometimes when they had finished their long day's work, and sat wearily on their doorstep to watch the stars come out. For a moment Tench saw the truth which Phillip had also seen, though with the difference that, being Tench he saw it consciously, and, shaping it into epigram, lost some of its substance. 'We don't build the future after all, he thought wryly; 'we only beget and bear it.'
Tench considers theft.
He found himself worrying at the same question which had puzzled Patrick Mannion not long before. Would he himself, Watkin Tench, starve rather than steal? Steal? In such a community as this, words challenged one to examination and analysis. He found himself thinking of the black people and their system in a land which gave them enough, but only just enough, for survival. Here, they said, was the land, and no man had a greater claim than his neighbour upon what it offered in the way of subsistence. A shield, a spear, a canoe these were things which one fashioned out of one's own skill, and which became, therefore, immutably one's own personal property. But food - no! Food was the right of every man. One took it. The word 'steal' had no meaning here
Captain Tench shook his head impatiently. Impossible to compare the life and the laws of savages, he thought, with the life and the laws of civilised men. Property must remain sacred or the whole elaborate structure of the white man's world, its complicated social and economic system, its highly adaptable code of ethics, ins triumphant culture, must collapse; and though he was capable of compassion he was far from conceiving that as anything but an appalling calamity. He went on writing the fire gone out of him, his pen and his thoughts returning soberly to a recitation of gloomy facts: ‘Hence arose a repetition of petty delinquencies which no vigilance could detect, no justice reach. Gardens were plundered: provisions pilfered; and the Indian corm stolen from the fields where it grew for public use.’
It was inevitable. Life was so strangely precious that even those to whom it had become a burden refused to lie down tamely and die. Theft was the inevitable consequence of hunger: punishment was the inevitable consequence of theft: rebellion was the inevitable consequence of punishment; and so the vicious circle swung round to theft again. In it the inhabitants of Sydney Cove, from the Governor to the lowest of the convicts, moved as in a treadmill, captive, desperately, physically and spiritually exhausted, but still grimly alive.
Rain and Floods.
Prentice thought of the natives he had seen last night. These people knew; they had means of knowing. They talked mysteriously to other tribes over long distances, making signals with the smoke of their fires. They had said that it would be a big water. They had pointed high up into the branches of the trees. Prentice felt a pang of uneasiness thinking of his cattle, but he stilled it with reassurance. They would get up into the hills. Milbooroo was there; he would not let any harm befall them. Nor did it matter now, if his fields were inundated, or even if his hut were swept away. All the better, indeed! He had no further use for it, and it must be destroyed by fire if not by flood. Cunnembeillee would be safe enough. These natives knew how to look after themselves.
Reason told him that there was no need for him to go. But he knew in his heart that nothing would have made him move from this spot while a chance still remained that he might see discomfiture overtake one of 'them.' Lying there in the rain watching avidly, he almost prayed.
When reading this I was reminded of a story that I was told in my late teens. In 1974 there was huge flooding in Queensland and NSW with other areas seeing flooding downriver even if they had received no rain. Brisbane where I live was inundated in low-lying areas and on the flood plains. I talked to a man who was working for the state Department of Primary Industries. He told me he was in outback Qld in mid-January 1974 and was driving an Aboriginal tracker they had hired. He said that the tracker was a very quiet man who said little unless asked. As they drove along a dry and dusty road the tracker said big rains coming. How do you know asked the driver. He pointed to pelicans up in a few trees. The man told me that he laughed at him and said how could he think that a few pelicans in trees could make him say there were big rains coming. The tracker just shrugged and said no more. Tropical Cyclone Wanda crossed the Queensland coast a few days later on January 24, 1974, and brought five days of torrential rain. Brisbane was flooded, 16 people died, 300 were injured, and 8,000 homes were destroyed. The damage bill was estimated at a then $980 million.
Highly recommended.
May 10, 2015
So this was very good but I'm glad I'm done now :)
Timeless Land is a historical novel about the very beginning of the penal colonization of Australia, viewed from both the native and the white viewpoint. I thought the native insight was extremely well done, sensitive without being condescending, and really quite insightful, especially when you see how the natives, while not exactly prospering were self sufficient, while at the same time the "enlightened" whites starved for lack of ship's stores.
I think its important for prospective readers need to know that this is very much a historical novel. The history is well researched and many actual letters and diary entries are quoted which are a real peek into the past but can also be just a bit dry.
As far as characters go, many are factual but for one reason or another, I never really became invested in them. Admittedly, some people were more interesting than others (I was especially fascinated with an escaped convict who went native, as well as a boy who kept running away to live with the tribes--both of which were fictional, go figure) but when circumstances stepped in to kill someone off, I was able to look on in a pretty detached way. And I do like to feel a bit more. Call me sentimental, but that's how I roll.
Oh and by the way , if frequent POV changes irritate you, this book is full of them. I found it jolting at first but eventually got into the swing of it and it didn't bother me so much.
Still, its worth reading and the writing is excellent.
Recommended for lovers of chunky, historically- heavy sagas. (By the way this is only book one in a trilogy, so if you like what you read there's mooooore!)
CONTENT: Mild PG
SEX: alluded to but not shown
VIOLENCE: Some mild violence but not overly descriptive
PROFANITY: Mild (D and B)
Timeless Land is a historical novel about the very beginning of the penal colonization of Australia, viewed from both the native and the white viewpoint. I thought the native insight was extremely well done, sensitive without being condescending, and really quite insightful, especially when you see how the natives, while not exactly prospering were self sufficient, while at the same time the "enlightened" whites starved for lack of ship's stores.
I think its important for prospective readers need to know that this is very much a historical novel. The history is well researched and many actual letters and diary entries are quoted which are a real peek into the past but can also be just a bit dry.
As far as characters go, many are factual but for one reason or another, I never really became invested in them. Admittedly, some people were more interesting than others (I was especially fascinated with an escaped convict who went native, as well as a boy who kept running away to live with the tribes--both of which were fictional, go figure) but when circumstances stepped in to kill someone off, I was able to look on in a pretty detached way. And I do like to feel a bit more. Call me sentimental, but that's how I roll.
Oh and by the way , if frequent POV changes irritate you, this book is full of them. I found it jolting at first but eventually got into the swing of it and it didn't bother me so much.
Still, its worth reading and the writing is excellent.
Recommended for lovers of chunky, historically- heavy sagas. (By the way this is only book one in a trilogy, so if you like what you read there's mooooore!)
CONTENT: Mild PG
SEX: alluded to but not shown
VIOLENCE: Some mild violence but not overly descriptive
PROFANITY: Mild (D and B)
August 20, 2015
‘Bennilong and his father had come down to the cliffs again, alone.’
The Timeless Land (first published in 1941) is a work of historical fiction by Eleanor Dark (1901–1985). It is the first novel in The Timeless Land trilogy, which is about the European settlement and exploration of Australia.
The narrative is told from English and Aboriginal points of view. It opens with Bennilong’s memory of being with his father Wunbula, waiting for the boat with wings which Wunbula had seen some time earlier. When the boat does not return, its sighting becomes less significant. But when the First Fleet arrives in January 1788, Bennilong remembers what his father had seen and spoken of.
The novel describes the first years of the colony, the attempts by Captain Arthur Phillips to impose European values and standards on the Aborigines and to involve them in European settlement. It also describes the famine suffered by the settlement, and the devastating effects of introduced disease (particularly smallpox) on the Aboriginal population. The novel ends in 1792, but the epilogue returns focus to Bennilong and provides a glimpse of how his life has been dislocated.
I first read this novel in the early 1970s, and loved it. It was the first novel I’d read that tried to look at the European settlement in 1788 from both an Aboriginal and European perspectives. And Australia itself, the ‘timeless land’ seen through very different eyes.
Lieutenant Tench thought: ‘This place did not welcome you, like Rio; it did not look particularly fertile, and it was certainly not languorous. Nor did it repel you, like Table Bay; it offered no enmity, no resistance. It simply waited.’
Wunbula’s earlier knowledge was that ‘Nothing could change the land, the eternal land, to which each generation of men was but one indrawn breath of its endless survival.’
Rereading this novel reminded me of the joy I found in reading it the first time, my sense that Eleanor Dark had captured something of the mystery of the land, as well as a sense of the impact of European arrival on both Europeans and Aboriginals. There are always some elements of the past which we could wish were handled differently. I’m currently rereading the second novel in the trilogy, ‘Storm of Time’, seeing Australian history though slightly different eyes.
Jennifer Cameron-Smith
The Timeless Land (first published in 1941) is a work of historical fiction by Eleanor Dark (1901–1985). It is the first novel in The Timeless Land trilogy, which is about the European settlement and exploration of Australia.
The narrative is told from English and Aboriginal points of view. It opens with Bennilong’s memory of being with his father Wunbula, waiting for the boat with wings which Wunbula had seen some time earlier. When the boat does not return, its sighting becomes less significant. But when the First Fleet arrives in January 1788, Bennilong remembers what his father had seen and spoken of.
The novel describes the first years of the colony, the attempts by Captain Arthur Phillips to impose European values and standards on the Aborigines and to involve them in European settlement. It also describes the famine suffered by the settlement, and the devastating effects of introduced disease (particularly smallpox) on the Aboriginal population. The novel ends in 1792, but the epilogue returns focus to Bennilong and provides a glimpse of how his life has been dislocated.
I first read this novel in the early 1970s, and loved it. It was the first novel I’d read that tried to look at the European settlement in 1788 from both an Aboriginal and European perspectives. And Australia itself, the ‘timeless land’ seen through very different eyes.
Lieutenant Tench thought: ‘This place did not welcome you, like Rio; it did not look particularly fertile, and it was certainly not languorous. Nor did it repel you, like Table Bay; it offered no enmity, no resistance. It simply waited.’
Wunbula’s earlier knowledge was that ‘Nothing could change the land, the eternal land, to which each generation of men was but one indrawn breath of its endless survival.’
Rereading this novel reminded me of the joy I found in reading it the first time, my sense that Eleanor Dark had captured something of the mystery of the land, as well as a sense of the impact of European arrival on both Europeans and Aboriginals. There are always some elements of the past which we could wish were handled differently. I’m currently rereading the second novel in the trilogy, ‘Storm of Time’, seeing Australian history though slightly different eyes.
Jennifer Cameron-Smith
April 23, 2017
It's very hard to know how to review this book: it is wonderfully written, an engaging saga of colonisation and invasion that provides both insight and enjoyment. Dark's triumph is her creation of Bennelong and his people, whose perspective is the centre of the book. Dark describes two fully realised and coherant societies, with radically different worldviews and values. For probably the first time for many of her readers, we see the British as a brutish, without law, capable of cold savagery not seen in Australia before, and with no respect for land ownership or basic courtesies. As a triumph of revisionist history, it is extraordinary. Yet, none of that changes the fact that in dreaming up imaginary Eora peoples (informed, it is true, by as much research as Dark has access to in the 1930s) Dark has created a people, not accurately reflected the actual Eora nations. It is something no non-Indigenous writer would attempt today, and for some good reasons.
This tension is palpable in the introduction. Here, Dark makes clear her anger at the state of a `dying people', and her frequent use of words like 'superstitious' and 'emotional' betray some of her prejudices. Her Aboriginal characters are beloved by children, because their simplicity is seen as childlike. Dark herself values this approach, delineating between a British drive for activity, change and work with a harmonious disturb-no-more-than-necessary hunter-gatherer existence: her patronisation is not exactly intentional, but that doesn't change the impact.
The limits of her understanding also bring her to grief in aspects of the story - she tells great swathes of the most important events for the Eora people from the perspective of the white settlers, including the incidents around violence from Bennilong and Colbee towards individual indigenous women, which sparked strong conflict.
The book is a great tale, engagingly told, and having read it, I can well understand the storm of racist controversy it brought up. Dark dares to imagine a people as rich, intelligent and motivated by rationality as other human societies, and then places a very uncomfortable lens upon the British who turned up and took what they wanted. That is was such an achievement, however, points to he stronger need for the Eora to tell their own stories.
This tension is palpable in the introduction. Here, Dark makes clear her anger at the state of a `dying people', and her frequent use of words like 'superstitious' and 'emotional' betray some of her prejudices. Her Aboriginal characters are beloved by children, because their simplicity is seen as childlike. Dark herself values this approach, delineating between a British drive for activity, change and work with a harmonious disturb-no-more-than-necessary hunter-gatherer existence: her patronisation is not exactly intentional, but that doesn't change the impact.
The limits of her understanding also bring her to grief in aspects of the story - she tells great swathes of the most important events for the Eora people from the perspective of the white settlers, including the incidents around violence from Bennilong and Colbee towards individual indigenous women, which sparked strong conflict.
The book is a great tale, engagingly told, and having read it, I can well understand the storm of racist controversy it brought up. Dark dares to imagine a people as rich, intelligent and motivated by rationality as other human societies, and then places a very uncomfortable lens upon the British who turned up and took what they wanted. That is was such an achievement, however, points to he stronger need for the Eora to tell their own stories.
July 21, 2013
Thanks to the wonderful New Zealand library system, this was yet another old Australian classic I could download and borrow for free when living there(take note UK libraries). The Timeless Land is a fictional exploration of the Australian land as 'character' - brooding, fickle, unchanging - and the various figures who move upon it. We begin with Bennelong, the aborigine, who remembers sighting Captain Cook, and so we have a sense of ominous doom as the First Fleet arrive loaded with the convicts of Britain. There are so many memorable scenes - the gruelling exploration of the labyrinthine, tussocky land itself, the escaped convict (Prentice) setting up his own free settlement, and the rich Irishman aghast at the low life he slowly sinks into.
One reason this is a classic of Australian fiction is the moving viewpoint and sympathy towards characters such as Bennelong, whose boastful, vibrant character is put at such risk by the newcomers.
The atmosphere is dark and tense, and though a long and intense read, it offers a wonderful insight into the founding (or destruction) of Australia.
One reason this is a classic of Australian fiction is the moving viewpoint and sympathy towards characters such as Bennelong, whose boastful, vibrant character is put at such risk by the newcomers.
The atmosphere is dark and tense, and though a long and intense read, it offers a wonderful insight into the founding (or destruction) of Australia.
August 18, 2021
I love the eloquence of the language used in writing from this period (early to mid 1900's). You've got to pay attention. The writing is dense, making the reward likewise substantial. It is one of those books I started to read many years ago, but gave up because you really need to commit and listen. Thankfully I came back to it recently (trying to get away from any 'device'...thanks covid). It felt like you have to push through the initial parts of the book, until the character development takes over. As soon as Watkin Tench made an appearance, I was hooked. I read 'Watkin Tench 1788' edited by Tim Flannery in 2001 and have often recommended it to anyone who will listen. While walking through The Rocks with my sisters a few years ago on a trip to Sydney, I almost went into raptures when a large brass plaque on one of the alleyways paid homage to his influence in the settlement at Sydney Cove. Eleanor Dark fleshed out further his character, and this for me was one of the key reasons that 'The Timeless Land' became more 'un-put-downable' the further I read. Credibility and authenticity add dimension when original sources are cited from The Mitchell Library, at which point you reread that quote to really ponder the words! For the entire length of the book, I had a pencil in hand because there were so many descriptions and observations worthy of note. For example, the reaction of Governor Arthur Phillip when he had to carry out his first official duties in behalf of Great Britain..."He saw this proclamation of ownership, with its pathetic bravado of pomp and ceremony, as a piece of infantile impertinence, or presumption so colossal and grotesque as to be worthy of nothing but aloof indifference with which the land was treating it." The book describes with such clarity the smells, sights and sounds of the Australian landscape that appear so alien to any newcomer, but familiar to those born here. I thought I was fairly well informed about so much of the early settlement years, but the book gives breadth and depth to how tenuous and desperate the early years were. One of the most insightful aspects of the book was the development of the character of Andrew and Johnny Prentice, and the swirling complexities of their struggle. I feel that the 'haves' and the 'have nots' were treated with equal respect and insight by Eleanor Dark, a very even-handed and neutral approach. Yes, this was a book with much more depth than I anticipated. A big story well told.
July 4, 2020
Second time I've read The Timeless Land with a thirty-odd year gap but a world of understanding in between. Incredibly researched novel which deserves a place in historical as well as literary fields. Especially interesting to read the events of this novel with Black Lives Matter and Covid-19 as a backdrop, especially made more remarkable given it was written in the 1930/40s. Eleanor Dark is a highly accomplished writer who weaves a vivid and complex image of Australia at the time of colonisation; you can feel the impending doom of disruption to Aboriginal existence and the conflicted mindset of the British leadership as they observe their impact. Highly recommended ... no, compulsory reading!
April 21, 2017
This is an epic retelling of the first years of European settlement in Australia, from just before the arrival of the First Fleet in 1788 until 1793 (and a bit beyond in the epilogue). It's a classic that I'd somehow never heard of but which all Australians (and others) should read. Eleanor Dark wrote this from 1937-1940 and it was published in 1941. It's the first in a trilogy. It's a remarkable achievement built from countless hours of research and reading of the original correspondence but also works hard to imagine the Aboriginal point of view in a way that I think is largely successful and if nothing else is a feat of empathy that many would do well to emulate.
March 10, 2014
This is a really fascinating fictional but historically-based exploration of the founding of the first European colonies in Australia. It is unusual in a number of respects. The point of view moves from character to character including several of the aborigines which makes for a very balanced presentation. Also, there is very little dialogue. Most of the action is viewed from or takes place in the heads of the characters. And not just the main characters. Some readers may find this approach tedious but I found myself fully involved from beginning to end. Finally, it is worth noting that this novel is very sympathetic to the dilemmas of the aboriginal peoples who are confronted with the seemingly unstoppable expansion of the white settlements on their land. A must-read for anyone who is particularly interested in Australian history.
September 25, 2020
Almost earned five stars. Dark was an exquisite writer and her fictional retelling of the key moments in Australia's history, from the days when our first peoples "Saw the tall ships come" remains compelling after many decades.
January 19, 2025
This is an excellent re-telling of the British colonization of Australia. It is a work of historical fiction that has clearly been meticulously researched with Dark using a combination of historical and imaginary figures, often quoting from primary sources to bring her characters to life. Given the time in which it was written (1937 - 1940), Dark was ahead of her time, depicting the Aboriginal people with sensitivity and empathy as well as respect for their culture and way of life. I enjoyed this book immensely.
September 7, 2018
ok on audio book. waffles on at times
January 12, 2021
As an Australian decendant of convicts I have a great interest in the period covered in this novel - this is the most illuminating work I have read on the European colonisation of Australia. The author has a great talent for utilising historical documents to imagine well realised characters, and successfully conveys a real sense of the hardships and challenges facing the colony in its first years. She also successfully illustrates the profound impact of colonisation on the indigenous population. Considering the time in which this was written, and the fact that she is European, the author represents the POV of the indigenous characters sensitively and empathetically.
April 2, 2010
a really great book about the settling of australia from the perspective of three groups. the aboriginees, the prisoners and the army/guards.
eleanor was ahead of her time.
eleanor was ahead of her time.
January 19, 2025
p 55: There was no sense of Time here. To-night - was it Now, or a thousand years ago? What was it in the life of a man which gave him that reassuring sense of the passage of Time? On his little journey from the cradle to the grave, how comforting to feel that Time moves forward with him - how chilling, how strange, how awesome, to feel, as one felt here, that Time was static, a vast, eternal, unmoving emptiness through which the tiny pathway of one's life ran from darkness into darkness, and was lost!
p 87: They heard his voice only as a familiar noise, long since shorn of any meaning or of any true bearing upon their lives. 'Be just,' religion said to them, sheltering in the skirts of the society which meted out injustice. 'Steal not,' leaving them to a life in which not to steal was not to eat. 'Be temperate, be continent,' it said to them whose harsh existence was only made endurable by spells of black oblivion.
p 128: He felt the relentlessness of time, as if the second of his death was travelling towards him, would overtake him, and pass on, dropping his bones indifferently in this foreign earth...
p 409: Didn't they know that they would be used just as long as they were useful and then annihilated as indifferently as if they were ants? Didn't they know yet that there was no mercy to be expected from them? Were they still being taken in by friendly words, beads, looking-glasses, smiles? The poor, miserable, ignorant savages! They didn't know that thousands of miles away across the sea the law of the white men, the great law of Possession, was implacably at work stretching out greedy hands towards their continent.
p 412: Unconsciously he was trying to counteract that poisonous belief which every convict held, and which came near enough to the truth. They had been sent here merely to be rid of them, and it mattered little if they lived or died. They were cumberers of the earth - but at least they need no longer cumber the soil of their native land.
pp 415-416: The generations of civilised life which had gone to the building up of his sophisticated capacity for self-torture fell away from him, leaving him no less primitive than Bennilong - no less whole in his desire.
p 416: He had gone too far in his orgy of spiritual self-abasement, and now he could not rescue himself. The habit had grown upon him, like the habit of his solitary drinking, and he could no more forgo the perverse pleasures of remorse and self-loathing than he could resist the promise of oblivion which only liquor had to offer him. He made of his connection with Ellen a new lash for self-flagellation. The cynical indifference with which she met him became the measure of her viciousness, and the proof of his own degredation. He began by trying to shame her, and when he found he could not, her shamelessness became one more goad with which he could stab his self-respect to death.
p 542: That was mankind. One knew him; he hunted, he fought, he mated, he laughed and danced, he made songs and pictures, and then he slept. No longer. No.
p 87: They heard his voice only as a familiar noise, long since shorn of any meaning or of any true bearing upon their lives. 'Be just,' religion said to them, sheltering in the skirts of the society which meted out injustice. 'Steal not,' leaving them to a life in which not to steal was not to eat. 'Be temperate, be continent,' it said to them whose harsh existence was only made endurable by spells of black oblivion.
p 128: He felt the relentlessness of time, as if the second of his death was travelling towards him, would overtake him, and pass on, dropping his bones indifferently in this foreign earth...
p 409: Didn't they know that they would be used just as long as they were useful and then annihilated as indifferently as if they were ants? Didn't they know yet that there was no mercy to be expected from them? Were they still being taken in by friendly words, beads, looking-glasses, smiles? The poor, miserable, ignorant savages! They didn't know that thousands of miles away across the sea the law of the white men, the great law of Possession, was implacably at work stretching out greedy hands towards their continent.
p 412: Unconsciously he was trying to counteract that poisonous belief which every convict held, and which came near enough to the truth. They had been sent here merely to be rid of them, and it mattered little if they lived or died. They were cumberers of the earth - but at least they need no longer cumber the soil of their native land.
pp 415-416: The generations of civilised life which had gone to the building up of his sophisticated capacity for self-torture fell away from him, leaving him no less primitive than Bennilong - no less whole in his desire.
p 416: He had gone too far in his orgy of spiritual self-abasement, and now he could not rescue himself. The habit had grown upon him, like the habit of his solitary drinking, and he could no more forgo the perverse pleasures of remorse and self-loathing than he could resist the promise of oblivion which only liquor had to offer him. He made of his connection with Ellen a new lash for self-flagellation. The cynical indifference with which she met him became the measure of her viciousness, and the proof of his own degredation. He began by trying to shame her, and when he found he could not, her shamelessness became one more goad with which he could stab his self-respect to death.
p 542: That was mankind. One knew him; he hunted, he fought, he mated, he laughed and danced, he made songs and pictures, and then he slept. No longer. No.
October 14, 2017
While The Timeless Land was personally a very challenging read, I'm glad I stuck with it until the very end because it really is a beautifully written story that contains what I believe are distinctly important Australian themes.
The reasons I found it difficult to maintain interest was because the book was written in the 1940s and therefore is full of verbose sometimes unfamiliar language and long sentences (as was the literary style at that time). The book also has sprinkled within it actual historical letters written by the colonists during 1788 - 1792, which, while I appreciate the research Dark put behind this work, definitely slowed down the pace of the novel. Thirdly, preferring plot-driven as opposed to character-driven historical fiction (which the Timeless Land is), also contributed to my slowness in finishing the book. The things mentioned above altogether lengthened what was already a impressive 600 pages of small print.
However, despite my mentioning of all the things above, I did find this book to be incredibly well-written with great character progression (as in you really get to understand every aspect that makes up the identities of main characters like Bennilong, Governor Phillip and Andrew Prentice). The characters were what I loved the most about the book, and the reason I kept coming back to read.
Having read Coonardoo earlier this year (which thoroughly annoyed me), I would also like to applaud Dark for the effort she put into making sure her book contained a balance of both Indigenous and White settler perspectives. While I'm not Indigenous myself, I do think she was ahead of her time, in that her portrayal of Aboriginals and their culture was not expressed as inferior to white settler society. I think she did a really good job at expressing how miscommunication occurred between the two cultures during those early days, as well as displayed how there were many times when the white people were ignorant in their thinking and hypocritical when it came to their laws and deeming of Aboriginal people as savages.
This book is also full of foreboding (perhaps because, thanks to the gift of hindsight, we know what's coming), and the ending bittersweet. I still thoroughly enjoyed it because overall, The Timeless Land left me really thinking about Australian society, our treatment of Aboriginals, and our relationship to the land.
I think that even though this is a challenging read, it's a challenge definitely worth undertaking if you love Australian historical fiction or simply want to know more about topics like Indigenous culture, what the convicts had to endure, and colonialism.
The reasons I found it difficult to maintain interest was because the book was written in the 1940s and therefore is full of verbose sometimes unfamiliar language and long sentences (as was the literary style at that time). The book also has sprinkled within it actual historical letters written by the colonists during 1788 - 1792, which, while I appreciate the research Dark put behind this work, definitely slowed down the pace of the novel. Thirdly, preferring plot-driven as opposed to character-driven historical fiction (which the Timeless Land is), also contributed to my slowness in finishing the book. The things mentioned above altogether lengthened what was already a impressive 600 pages of small print.
However, despite my mentioning of all the things above, I did find this book to be incredibly well-written with great character progression (as in you really get to understand every aspect that makes up the identities of main characters like Bennilong, Governor Phillip and Andrew Prentice). The characters were what I loved the most about the book, and the reason I kept coming back to read.
Having read Coonardoo earlier this year (which thoroughly annoyed me), I would also like to applaud Dark for the effort she put into making sure her book contained a balance of both Indigenous and White settler perspectives. While I'm not Indigenous myself, I do think she was ahead of her time, in that her portrayal of Aboriginals and their culture was not expressed as inferior to white settler society. I think she did a really good job at expressing how miscommunication occurred between the two cultures during those early days, as well as displayed how there were many times when the white people were ignorant in their thinking and hypocritical when it came to their laws and deeming of Aboriginal people as savages.
This book is also full of foreboding (perhaps because, thanks to the gift of hindsight, we know what's coming), and the ending bittersweet. I still thoroughly enjoyed it because overall, The Timeless Land left me really thinking about Australian society, our treatment of Aboriginals, and our relationship to the land.
I think that even though this is a challenging read, it's a challenge definitely worth undertaking if you love Australian historical fiction or simply want to know more about topics like Indigenous culture, what the convicts had to endure, and colonialism.
January 2, 2026
I grew up in Williamsburg, VA, within a few miles of Jamestown, the first permanent English settlement in North America, so was very well steeped in colonial history. However, what I learned about the colonization of Australia that started 160-odd years after Jamestown was exactly zero, other than a few tidbits I picked up when visiting Sydney a couple of times. I found The Timeless Land while clearing out my parents' house. My father had always wanted to visit Australia and I assume he probably owned the book although he never got to visit that continent. That's too bad, because Eleanor Dark's epic novel filled in the blanks from our superficial American education with a thorough historical description of the first English colonists of Australia with some very nice prose. It is a very long, dense book and I stopped several times to read some shorter books while traveling as I didn't want to bring such a big book along while flying, plus mine is a hard-cover version from its publication in 1941 and is a little fragile.
Dark did an excellent job of describing the establishment of English colonization of what is now Sydney and its environs. What I found particularly remarkable was that she also included it from the perspective of the aboriginals, which was not very common at that time. Her descriptions of all parties seem to be mostly honest and unbiased. I have often wondered about what the native Americans must have though when the English invaders arrived. The historical records are similar to what Dark describes in Australia and consistent with human nature everywhere - some counseled friendship, others were hostile and some just wanted to get what they could and move on. In contrast the the USA, Australia seems to be doing much more lately to honor the original inhabitants of their land and I was very impressed that Dark tried to present their side of the story with depth and justice. She stuck very closely to the known history for the most part including direct quotes from letters written by some of the colonists. Of course, most of what happened, particularly from the aboriginal side, is unknown so she had to make up plausible behaviors. I'm not sure how much of her information is dated or whether there are more accurate versions available, but this book really gave an excellent introduction to the history of Australia and I will try to read the subsequent two novels in the series if I can get ahold of them.
Dark did an excellent job of describing the establishment of English colonization of what is now Sydney and its environs. What I found particularly remarkable was that she also included it from the perspective of the aboriginals, which was not very common at that time. Her descriptions of all parties seem to be mostly honest and unbiased. I have often wondered about what the native Americans must have though when the English invaders arrived. The historical records are similar to what Dark describes in Australia and consistent with human nature everywhere - some counseled friendship, others were hostile and some just wanted to get what they could and move on. In contrast the the USA, Australia seems to be doing much more lately to honor the original inhabitants of their land and I was very impressed that Dark tried to present their side of the story with depth and justice. She stuck very closely to the known history for the most part including direct quotes from letters written by some of the colonists. Of course, most of what happened, particularly from the aboriginal side, is unknown so she had to make up plausible behaviors. I'm not sure how much of her information is dated or whether there are more accurate versions available, but this book really gave an excellent introduction to the history of Australia and I will try to read the subsequent two novels in the series if I can get ahold of them.
August 12, 2023
Sydney 1788, cross check time to Hamilton, george III, the end of the Jacobites.
The Dense poetic prose with very little dialogue added to the credibility of the story, though it was often hard going.
Nomadic tribes, violent male dominance
Colonial leaders had a set timeframe and tenure in the new land, their superiority snd class distinction Vs convicts, and yet their complete dependence on their labour to establish the new colony, is well conveyed.
8 month voyage to get here
Convicts, hard labour, never to return, escape could be on the cards
Told in equal measure from multiple perspectives.
Adult / child
Male / female
Leader / servant
Colonist / convict / indigenous
“There was nothing in his life that spurred him on to change.”
“I have never felt more an intruder in my life.”
“He slept as soundly as the mosquitos allowed”.
The Dense poetic prose with very little dialogue added to the credibility of the story, though it was often hard going.
Nomadic tribes, violent male dominance
Colonial leaders had a set timeframe and tenure in the new land, their superiority snd class distinction Vs convicts, and yet their complete dependence on their labour to establish the new colony, is well conveyed.
8 month voyage to get here
Convicts, hard labour, never to return, escape could be on the cards
Told in equal measure from multiple perspectives.
Adult / child
Male / female
Leader / servant
Colonist / convict / indigenous
“There was nothing in his life that spurred him on to change.”
“I have never felt more an intruder in my life.”
“He slept as soundly as the mosquitos allowed”.
November 8, 2021
3.5 - This story is a fantastic piece of researched history. The accuracy, depth and then inclusion of the collected facts was very impressive. As an example, on the night that the female convicts are first being brought onshore, Eleanor Dark in her novel describes a night of lightning and storms. When I then researched the facts of what truly happened, sure enough on that very night, there actually was lightning and storms. But here also lies a problem. I found that by trying to write fiction based on such accurate historical facts that the novel comes across as being too dry, and I couldn't engage with the characters. The inclusion of two fictitious families was a smart idea, but not enough to make a difference.
August 15, 2018
I’ve read a few books about these first days of Australian history. The story shows the English arrogant stupidity and their sheer pig headed ness. I suspect the first years would have been very different if those first settlers were other than military goalkeepers and the downtrodden starved convicts all under the control of Arthur Phillip. I accepted the historical account thought haven’t investigated the writers reputation. The first Australians - the natives - could live happily in the harsh land following their Law which valued their life. The invaders only just survived through brute determination unable to reassess their messed up English belief system.
December 26, 2017
An interesting book, that I found a hard slug. Detailing the originally settling of Australia, it told the story with characters both European and Aboriginal, with all being treated with sympathy. The problem I had with the book, was that much it read less like a piece of fiction, and more like an historical non fiction, which made it hard to engage with many of the characters. Despite that, an interesting read.
March 1, 2021
A flawed classic, but five stars for the fact she did such heavy historical lifting in 1941. Probably makes Governor Phillip appear a bit too sympathetic - given his mission - and the Indigenous languages and stereotypes don't hold up to scrutiny, but Dark herself seemed remarkably aware of this at the time, so credit for trying to tell a new story like this and make Australian history fascinating.
October 10, 2021
A fiction written in the late 30's early 40's that's a great insight into the views and thoughts of people involved in the first few years of settlement in Australia, especially in light of the prevailing view of aboriginals in the 40's. There must have been a lot of research into the diaries and letters from early settlement. The aboriginal viewpoint is perceptive and was well written. I enjoyed the read and will look at others she has written.
December 28, 2025
a challenging read.
written in 1940, the author offers a very different perspective of colonial history. this history includes the story of the aboriginal culture and experiences.
extensive research and created narrative woven together.
reading this in 2025 it feels a little tired.
still an interesting book and one that stands as an important historical stepping stone in breaking what was known as the great Australian silence.
written in 1940, the author offers a very different perspective of colonial history. this history includes the story of the aboriginal culture and experiences.
extensive research and created narrative woven together.
reading this in 2025 it feels a little tired.
still an interesting book and one that stands as an important historical stepping stone in breaking what was known as the great Australian silence.
May 30, 2024
"The Timeless Land" contrasts the irreconcilable world views of European and Aboriginal peoples, explaining why their respective societies cannot coexist. Paradoxically, this historical novel helped me better understand contemporary Western society. The descriptions of locale are highly evocative. Reading this novel, I am immediately transported to the spell-binding Aussie bush.
August 19, 2025
Great insight into history
I found the writing style verbose but the story underneath was interesting and gave insight into the early days of white mans colonisation of Australia and the slow destruction of indigenous Australians and their culture and lifestyle.
I found the writing style verbose but the story underneath was interesting and gave insight into the early days of white mans colonisation of Australia and the slow destruction of indigenous Australians and their culture and lifestyle.
December 30, 2019
what was that
December 18, 2020
an Australian classic; courageous discussion of the invasion and dispossession of the continent; becoming ever more relevant
Read
March 4, 2021I found it a struggle to read.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
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