Robbie Arnott’s writing takes my breath away. Shortlisted for the Dylan Thomas Prize once and twice for the Miles Franklin Literary Award, Arnott plunged me into a unique setting in “Dusk.” In The Leaf Bookshop’s One Hundredth Author Interview, Arnott says that place is how he always begins his novels. Seemingly set in the Tasmanian highlands, the bones of ancient creatures rise from the soil and water, creating an eerie, almost haunting atmosphere. In reality, these bones don’t exist, at least not as Arnott depicts them in this novel. Arnott says that in his writing, place comes first, then characters, then the narrative. His organic approach to writing is evident in this story.
In “Dusk,” Arnott explores an intense sibling relationship through 37-year-old twins Floyd and Iris Renshaw. They live on the margins of society due to having been raised by convict parents who pillaged and murdered to survive, forcing their children to participate in crimes. At seventeen, they escape their parents’ way of life, but continue to struggle with finding somewhere they can call home. People cannot forget who they were, who their parents were. In a desperate bid for work, they leave the lowlands, seeking new territory, a place where their tainted heritage may still be unknown.
They’ve lived and worked in many different places, on sheep farms, on the coast, but never in a place like the one they’re traveling through now. The landscape begins to soak into Iris, pulling her deep.
Iris had heard this country described as harsh, desolate. And while in all this sharp rock and wide sky she could see where those words might come from, she found no truth to them. Instead of harshness or bleakness she felt a freeing, lung-emptying openness that bounced off the hard stone, that waved through the thick mounds of tufted grass, threaded through the gnarled trees, fell down the chalky textures of the small tors she and Floyd rode below. That lived most of all in the tarns that appeared without warning, rising through the rock, pooling in her peripheries, dark and glossy and mirror-like. The sight of one made her pause, each new body of water a strange delight.
A vivid visual feast is set out for the reader throughout the story. Equally expressive, the relationship between Floyd and Iris takes shape. From the physical pain that Floyd experiences from an old back injury, to Iris’s explorations of old memories and how the past has formed their present, I came to know them. Always disrespected, never belonging, they search for home and value as a person worthy of respect.
Then there’s the puma, Dusk. A man-killer. In this story, the species has been chased out of the coastal and lowland areas into the highlands. Now, they’ve all been killed except for Dusk. Forced to hunt in ever more restricted areas due to human encroachment, Dusk has begun killing humans. There’s a bounty on Dusk, one that the twins could use to kickstart new lives.
My grandfather used to talk of a panther, one that could be heard in the far-off at night, sounding, he said, like a woman screaming. My father and grandfather’s stories were peppered with talk of animals. Thankfully, we still have our domestic creatures, but wildlife has become sparse in most of our tales. This story took me back to a time when a wild animal was more than just a source of curiosity.
The pacing of the story increased as I moved through the book, going from slow to moderate to fast-paced. If you’re not carried away at first, give the story time to breathe. Enjoy the process, and you will be rewarded. I’m not as happy with the ending as I was with the rest of the story, but I understand it. I wish there were a second part, but so far Arnott has not written in a series. Arnott names as influences Annie Proulx, Max Porter, and Richard Flanagan.