This story opens with Lillian as a child, living in the bush with her parents and four siblings, her father a drover, constantly away for work, and her mother, therefore by default, ‘the Drover’s Wife’. In the prologue, Lillian’s mother and siblings, along with her uncle, perish in a raging bush fire, leaving the eight-year-old Lillian an orphan. However, instead of hardship ahead of her, a benefactor steps in, her father’s employer, who pays for her to attend a convent boarding school and then university beyond that. Her father only features in the story as the drover off working, who later passes away from a fever but never sees his daughter even once after the tragic fire.
At the age of sixteen, while at school, Lillian is exposed to Henry Lawson’s story, The Drover’s Wife, and immediately becomes obsessed with the idea that Henry Lawson must have met her mother and her family and then written about them. This then morphs into her believing that Henry Lawson has stolen her family’s story, specifically that of her mother, and become famous on the back of it. If you’re worried I’ve just spoiled the story, don’t be. All of this happens by the end of chapter two.
A flimsy theory, but Lillian was sixteen and alone when she formed this belief. I could credit it for a while, but the woman is beyond fifty years old before she really lets it go and accepts that there is almost no likelihood of Henry Lawson having written his story based upon her family, and also, moreover, that all stories are in effect taken from someone or something, that authors are always seeking inspiration from the real world. As an English teacher and avid reader, it took Lillian a very long time to arrive at this realisation.
Now, many of you who have been with me for the long run might remember that I began my blogging and reviewing days as editor of historical fiction with the Australian Women Writer’s Challenge. As such, it pains me to no end to not like this novel and to also feel compelled to draw attention to why. Historical fiction has come a long way, so far, and so much for the better. I still love reading historical fiction, but I read far less of it now than what I used to, for many and varied reasons. I digress here, but to circle back to my point, this novel, The Story Thief, is not an example of the finest in terms of Australian historical fiction.
For most of this novel, I just kept asking out loud, what is this even about? Because beyond the above outline, it is incredibly encyclopaedic. It’s like the author just put in everything to happen of significance in Australia between the years of 1900 and 1960. It was fact dump after fact dump, even woven into dialogue, which was not natural at all. By the halfway mark, I had started to skim read, and this was a long book too, near on 400 pages. Perhaps if the author had just stuck with making this a story about identity, with a few key themes and events thrown in, it would have worked better. I have no doubt that Trove is a treasure trove when it comes to finding out things about our history, but sometimes less is better, quality over quantity, and all that jazz.
As to Lillian, the protagonist of the story. For the most part, I liked her, enjoyed her as a character, until the point where she deliberately estranged herself from her daughter, her only living child. I found that bizarre in a character who had lamented for the majority of the story the loss of her own mother. From this point on, I just couldn’t wait to be done with it.
In the meantime, I really wish I’d picked a different book for my long weekend read.
Thanks to the publisher for the review copy.