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Poor Fellow My Country
In Poor Fellow, My Country, Xavier Herbert returns to the region made his own in Capricornia: Northern Australia. Ranging over a period of some six years, the story is set during the late 1930s and early 1940s; but it is not so much a tale of this period as Herbert's analysis and indictment of the steps by which we came to the Australia of today.
Herbert parallels an intimate personal narrative with a tale of approaching war and the disconnect between modern Australia and its first inhabitants. With enduring portraits of a large cast of local and international characters, Herbert paints a scene of racial, familial, and political disparity. He lays bare the paradoxes of this wild land, both old and wise, young flawed.
Winner of the Miles Franklin Award on first publication in 1975, Poor Fellow, My Country is masterful storytelling, an epic in the truest sense. This is the decisive story of how Australia threw away her chance of becoming a True Commonwealth. It is undoubtedly Herbert's supreme contribution to Australian literature.
Herbert parallels an intimate personal narrative with a tale of approaching war and the disconnect between modern Australia and its first inhabitants. With enduring portraits of a large cast of local and international characters, Herbert paints a scene of racial, familial, and political disparity. He lays bare the paradoxes of this wild land, both old and wise, young flawed.
Winner of the Miles Franklin Award on first publication in 1975, Poor Fellow, My Country is masterful storytelling, an epic in the truest sense. This is the decisive story of how Australia threw away her chance of becoming a True Commonwealth. It is undoubtedly Herbert's supreme contribution to Australian literature.
1443 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1975
29 people are currently reading
938 people want to read
About the author
Xavier Herbert
23 books23 followersBorn Alfred Jackson in 1901 (the year of Australia's federation), Herbert was the illegitimate son of a social climbing mother and an engine driver. After studying pharmacy, Herbert moved to Melbourne where he became a magazine short story writer, drawing on his often fantastic views of boyhood, having grown up in Western Australia on the edge of the untamed outback. Herbert then moved to Darwin where he had several jobs including being "Protector of Aborigines", a colonial role in an age when many Aboriginal Australians could not vote or find work. This role increased his belief in the injustice of white Australians towards black Australians.
Herbert's first book, "Capricornia", was published in 1938. A dense epic set in the Northern Territory, it tells the story of a white man who takes in his criminal brother's half-black child The novel was released alongside the sesquicentenary celebrations of white Australia. Herbert sought to portray racism and class bigotry in Australia. The novel won the Australian Literature Society Gold Medal and was much feted overseas. "Capricornia" is often cited as a contender for the Great Australian Novel.
Having married his wife Sadie, Herbert struggled with his writing during the subsequent decades. His next two novels - "Seven Emus" and "Soldiers' Women" - had reasonable sales but were not critically acclaimed'; they have largely been dismissed by modern critics. Herbert followed these with a short story collection, "Larger than Life", and his autobiography "Disturbing Element" (1963). Herbert was regarded as an important part of Australia's literary fabric - and he did a lot to push his own mythology. His autobiography, as with interviews - was full of stories that historians have come to see as exaggerations if not outright fictions.
Herbert and Sadie eventually moved to Queensland, where Herbert could avoid the literary world. He continued to have affairs and, even after Sadie's death, the aged Herbert continued to seek solace with female friends. A passionate believer in Australian self-determinism, and a critic of bigotry (as well as fighting for Aboriginal causes, Herbert's wife was Jewish, and he portrayed the corruption of the rich and landed classes in his novels), Herbert's views nevertheless came to be seen as dated by the 1970s. What had once been radical had become - in the eyes of younger people - unpleasant. But his charm and magnetism made him a fascinating figure to the public.
In 1975 (at age 74), he published his fourth novel and sixth book, "Poor Fellow My Country". At 1,463 pages and around 852,000 words, it is the longest Australian novel ever written and arguably the longest novel in English to be published in a single volume. Set during the 1930s, the novel deals again with matters of Australian nationalism bigotry and corruption, in a deeply satirical vein. It sold well, although Nobel laureate Patrick White privately confessed he didn't read all of it.
In his last years, Herbert's reputation for difficulty increased. He criticised a Jewish member of his publishing firm for correcting him on points of Jewish life, and stunned an audience when he detailed Sadie's death to such a level that similarly bereaved attendees complained (Herbert became enraged and stormed out). In 1980, when Herbert told the University of Queensland that he would not stand for the national anthem when the Governor-General formally presented the Herbert's archives to the university library, staff removed all the chairs in advance so that everyone had to stand.
In 1984, at the age of 83, Herbert set out on a solo driving trip from his Queensland home to the interior of Australia. In May, he refused to be awarded an Order of Australia as it was a colonial honour, bestowed by Queen Elizabeth II. On reaching the "heart" of the country he loved so much, Herbert collapsed and was taken to Alice Springs Hospital, where he died on 10 November.
Herbert's first book, "Capricornia", was published in 1938. A dense epic set in the Northern Territory, it tells the story of a white man who takes in his criminal brother's half-black child The novel was released alongside the sesquicentenary celebrations of white Australia. Herbert sought to portray racism and class bigotry in Australia. The novel won the Australian Literature Society Gold Medal and was much feted overseas. "Capricornia" is often cited as a contender for the Great Australian Novel.
Having married his wife Sadie, Herbert struggled with his writing during the subsequent decades. His next two novels - "Seven Emus" and "Soldiers' Women" - had reasonable sales but were not critically acclaimed'; they have largely been dismissed by modern critics. Herbert followed these with a short story collection, "Larger than Life", and his autobiography "Disturbing Element" (1963). Herbert was regarded as an important part of Australia's literary fabric - and he did a lot to push his own mythology. His autobiography, as with interviews - was full of stories that historians have come to see as exaggerations if not outright fictions.
Herbert and Sadie eventually moved to Queensland, where Herbert could avoid the literary world. He continued to have affairs and, even after Sadie's death, the aged Herbert continued to seek solace with female friends. A passionate believer in Australian self-determinism, and a critic of bigotry (as well as fighting for Aboriginal causes, Herbert's wife was Jewish, and he portrayed the corruption of the rich and landed classes in his novels), Herbert's views nevertheless came to be seen as dated by the 1970s. What had once been radical had become - in the eyes of younger people - unpleasant. But his charm and magnetism made him a fascinating figure to the public.
In 1975 (at age 74), he published his fourth novel and sixth book, "Poor Fellow My Country". At 1,463 pages and around 852,000 words, it is the longest Australian novel ever written and arguably the longest novel in English to be published in a single volume. Set during the 1930s, the novel deals again with matters of Australian nationalism bigotry and corruption, in a deeply satirical vein. It sold well, although Nobel laureate Patrick White privately confessed he didn't read all of it.
In his last years, Herbert's reputation for difficulty increased. He criticised a Jewish member of his publishing firm for correcting him on points of Jewish life, and stunned an audience when he detailed Sadie's death to such a level that similarly bereaved attendees complained (Herbert became enraged and stormed out). In 1980, when Herbert told the University of Queensland that he would not stand for the national anthem when the Governor-General formally presented the Herbert's archives to the university library, staff removed all the chairs in advance so that everyone had to stand.
In 1984, at the age of 83, Herbert set out on a solo driving trip from his Queensland home to the interior of Australia. In May, he refused to be awarded an Order of Australia as it was a colonial honour, bestowed by Queen Elizabeth II. On reaching the "heart" of the country he loved so much, Herbert collapsed and was taken to Alice Springs Hospital, where he died on 10 November.
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October 25, 2014
Before people get upset with me for saying this is Australia's greatest novel, let me say that I realise that it won't appeal to everyone, and perhaps especially to a younger generation less steeped in history than we were. However, whenever I am asked what is the finest piece of literature to come out of Australia, I unhesitatingly reply that this is it. It has everything that an Australian could wish for that is representative of that very eccentric land, and much more besides.
The name alone should give the alert reader something to think about. Isn't it odd? It is the starting point and central theme around which the whole turns and part of the majesty of this novel lies in that cardinal simplicity. It never gets lost. No matter into what dreamtime corner or shady southern political deal the author takes us, we understand that one central thing. And beyond that, where every truly giant novel must go ("For Whom the Bell Tolls," "Under the Volcano"), there is an underpinning of universal truth that makes us aware that this is no mere provincial affair, that Herbert is not just idly lamenting in some forgotten corner of the globe.
The other characteristic that makes it truly incomparable on the Australian scene, is that it can be read at so many levels. Herbert may be taking a hard look at many issues unresolved in the Australia of the forties and fifties, but have we come to terms with them today? And are the political shenanigans that take place in the land of Auz, so very different from those elsewhere? Whether you are interested in Australian history, or in learning something about the aborigines, or seeing the outback in all its glory, this is the book. And as for it being too long, I can almost guarantee that the reader who once gets a head of steam up, will still be puffing like billy-o at page 1,463. And if you are still ready for more by then, well you're in luck, because Herbert wrote a further volume about life in northern Australia, "Capricornia." It is not a sequel and it is not, in my opinion, of exactly the same calibre, but it is a very fine book nonetheless. "Poor Fellow, My Country" should not be out of print, ever. It is one of those books that will endure, because it goes beyond the run of everyday storytelling into the realm of great literature.
The name alone should give the alert reader something to think about. Isn't it odd? It is the starting point and central theme around which the whole turns and part of the majesty of this novel lies in that cardinal simplicity. It never gets lost. No matter into what dreamtime corner or shady southern political deal the author takes us, we understand that one central thing. And beyond that, where every truly giant novel must go ("For Whom the Bell Tolls," "Under the Volcano"), there is an underpinning of universal truth that makes us aware that this is no mere provincial affair, that Herbert is not just idly lamenting in some forgotten corner of the globe.
The other characteristic that makes it truly incomparable on the Australian scene, is that it can be read at so many levels. Herbert may be taking a hard look at many issues unresolved in the Australia of the forties and fifties, but have we come to terms with them today? And are the political shenanigans that take place in the land of Auz, so very different from those elsewhere? Whether you are interested in Australian history, or in learning something about the aborigines, or seeing the outback in all its glory, this is the book. And as for it being too long, I can almost guarantee that the reader who once gets a head of steam up, will still be puffing like billy-o at page 1,463. And if you are still ready for more by then, well you're in luck, because Herbert wrote a further volume about life in northern Australia, "Capricornia." It is not a sequel and it is not, in my opinion, of exactly the same calibre, but it is a very fine book nonetheless. "Poor Fellow, My Country" should not be out of print, ever. It is one of those books that will endure, because it goes beyond the run of everyday storytelling into the realm of great literature.
May 18, 2025
"Here we have different names for the stars".
This review will be rather lengthy. I mean, lengthy. It will spill over the Goodreads word limit and into the comments section. But, then again, Poor Fellow My Country is the longest single-volume novel in English ever written. So anything less would seem dismissive.
Born in 1901, Xavier Herbert embodied many of the most negative traits of Australian males of his generation. Aggressively nationalist, misogynistic even to his own wife, homophobic to the point of parody, extraordinarily vain; his list of attributes is a gourmet banquet of socially-endorsed machismo and toxic masculinity. My parents' friends can remember Herbert as a blustering figure in TV interviews of the '60s and '70s, establishing his own legacy by creating a series of myths and half-truths about himself. Although he had published one genuinely good novel, Capricornia (1938), Herbert's other works were underwhelming, but he remained a famous novelist in the public imagination due to his own efforts. By the time he published Poor Fellow My Country in 1975, at the age of 74, the book was a guaranteed bestseller, buoyed by the strong Commonwealth literary funding under the Whitlam government, which allowed for the hefty tome (1,453 pages!) to be subsidised, significantly reducing the cost in bookstores. Nevertheless, of the 70,000 copies the book sold within five years (a success in Australian literary terms), one must question how many people actually read the work cover-to-cover. Nobel Laureate Patrick White didn't make it to the end, and one contemporary made the expected joke: "poor fellow Xavier Herbert's typewriter".
Book One: Terra Australis ("Blackman's Idyll despoiled by White Bullies, Thieves, and Hypocrites")
We open in Australia's Northern Territory in 1936. In England, the new King lasts 10 months before abdicating to be with his divorced lover. In Germany, Hitler makes his first moves when - against the Treaty of Veresailles - the Nazis reclaim the Rhineland. 10,000 miles away, Australians watch these events in horror. Could there really be another Great War? Could the God-given British Empire ever crumble? Australians still regard themselves as British first, and the Government endorses that view. In January of 1936, Governor-General Sir Isaac Isaacs steps down; his appointment five years earlier had been a matter of public controversy with even King George opposing it. Why, you may ask? Because Isaacs was born in Australia. Many did not believe that a native-born person should hold such a key role in His Majesty's government; certainly not when a wonderful, special, perfect British aristocrat would have been available to do the job!
Yet times are also changing in Australia. The aeroplane has made the country feel less remote than ever before. The advent of film has led to a generation of young people as enamoured of the USA as they are of Great Britain. The generation of writers born after 1890 are beginning to direct Australian literature and theatre away from overseas concerns, attempting to complicate and explicate the Australian experience beyond the often crude bush poetry that typified 19th century Australian writing. A battle is looming for the souls and morals of the Australian people, from the ongoing concern about Australia's Communist Party to attempts to dilute the country's strict censorship laws on "obscene" foreign material, countered by government-sanctioned attempts at building nationhood and patriotism through acts such as the transplanting of Captain Cook's cottage from the UK to Melbourne's Fitzroy Gardens. And, although it will be a long time coming, the seeds of the Aboriginal self-determination movement are being planted, which will be formally announced in January 1938, on the sesquicentenary of white Australia. (The "my country" of the title is not, as one might assume, a reference to the modern nation of Australia, but to the Indigenous notion of country as in the particular area a person comes from and remains spiritually connected to.)
Something else happened in 1936 that is worth noting. The thylacine, or Tasmanian tiger, breathed its last. Hunters, encouraged by bounties, hastened its demise, no doubt helped by the introduction of dogs, and a reduction in habitat. If there were ever a symbol for all that has been lost since 1788 on the great landmass of Australia, the thylacine may just be it. Yes, the question of colonialism sits comfortably at the centre of Herbert's work.
Which brings me to the topic at hand. Book One of PMFC introduces us to Jeremy Delacy, a sixtysomething owner of a great estate in the Territory. We meet Jeremy hosting - somewhat reluctantly - the fiancee of the colonial-cum-corporate overlord of much of the surrounding area. Lady Lydia is a British Fascist and a white supremacist (although, she likes to say "let's not talk about politics"). Jeremy, on the other hand, burns with righteous anger. Anger at Australians who see themselves as less than their British counterparts. Anger at the rich and the landed gentry. Angry at white people for their greed, for their callous takeover of Aboriginal land. Anger, indeed, at anyone who is oppressed themselves - through class, gender, religion, or skin colour - yet continues to grovel and snivel before the oppressors. (His anger at an Irish immigrant who is also a sycophant to the British Empire is especially strong!) Herbert the novelist has very little time for the kind of Australians who would devote their existence to pretending they are in wet, cosy England, and not arid, open Australia. (There is no centre to a Commonwealth, notes one character, and yet has anyone - right up until the present day - ever really believed that?) And there is very little distinction between Herbert the novelist and Jeremy the character.
Jeremy has great reason to be angry. Despite being a member of the landed gentry himself, he holds a great affinity for the native people of the area. His second wife, Nanago, is Indigenous, and so is his beloved grandson, Prindy, the illegitimate offspring of Jeremy's son Martin and a native woman who works as a domestic. Jeremy's anger, which dominates the opening chapters of the novel, is mingled with a tendency to rhapsodise at length - no, I mean, at length - on history, religion, anthropology, culture, and any other subject that reaches his mind. Although his interlocutors - especially Lydia - challenge him, and Jeremy certainly has flaws, it is also clear that Herbert the mad professor is determined to share his endless political screeds with us. (Herbert's editor once said that it was his dream was to live long enough for the copyright to expire, so he could cut hundreds of pages of Jeremy, and reveal the true Great Australian Novel lurking within!)
"I hope these philosophical digressions don't spoil my story"
The first part of the novel dramatises a year in the life of Jeremy and his grey-eyed grandson Prindy, whose paths rarely cross, especially after the boy and his mother are sent northward to Port Palmeston (Herbert's fictional version of Darwin) in the aftermath of a tragic death with which they were inadvertently connected. In the racially-charged 1930s, the boy's "golden" skin renders him a thing of curiosity to white people, who find him handsome and impressive, but also something to be separated, isolated. He is too black to be given a defined role in society but not quite black enough to be dismissed outright. Conversely, Prindy's gradual discovery of his Aboriginal heritage is often checked by the reality that he doesn't quite fit there either. He is ultimately a lonely soul, even as a child, more delighted by his beloved "musics" (whether the ballads sung by an Indian immigrant or symphonies heard over the wireless) than he is by anything else. This solitude in the boy's personality especially sets him aside from his Indigenous people, since theirs is a culture predicated on complex and constant social engagement.
When the novel leaves Delacy in the background at last, it is fair to say that we lose our centre somewhat, but we are rewarded with a rich, undeniably Dickensian clutch of characters. Herbert delights in a range of caricatures of the vicious, outspoken, money-grubbing, colonial types with whom he had lived during his youth when he worked in the role of Protector of the Aborigines in the Northern Territory. From snotty doctors to sour anthropologists, dugong-like public prosecutors to ambitious reporters, Herbert fills his world with a delicious, quintessentially Australian cast. Sean Monahan, in his insightful critical text The Long and Winding Road, argues successfully that the seeming flaws in Herbert's structure can be explained as an attempt to write not what we think of as a novel, but what Northrop Frye described as an "anatomy", putting the book on par with such chimeras as Gulliver's Travels, Candide, and another Australian classic, Such is Life. (Herbert's strongest characters tend to be those he bases on real people and then simplifies cartoonishly, the character type common to anatomies, which E.M. Forster called "flat".)
Book Two: Australia Felix ("Whiteman's Ideal sold out by Rogues and Fools")
Book Two advances the action to late 1938. Prindy is growing up, the country is preparing for a seemingly inevitable war, and white Australians are endlessly debating who they'd rather: communists or fascists. One of the challenges of understanding the era's history is that Nationalism and Communism - words we see in 2020 as polar opposites - flirted uncomfortably with each other in the years between the wars. Communism, of course, is a left-wing ideology, yet it so easily tended towards Fascism if left unchecked, as we saw in the "great" Communist empires of the 20th century. Nationalism, meanwhile, seems to us very right-wing. But of course Nationalism is inherently the opposite of Imperialism. As a result, Australians who sought to extricate their country from the yoke of the Empire found their ideals crossing over with those who sought to raise the working classes and the dispossessed. It was a union that could never last, and unsurprisingly found common ground in the things both groups seemed to hate: mostly non-white people. The White Australia policy, which lasted from 1901 to the late 1960s, was supported by conservatives on grounds of white supremacy and a fear of sharing resources, and was supported by so-called progressives on grounds of, well, white supremacy and a fear of having jobs taken from workers. (Interestingly this was a key area of dissent against the Empire. After all, hundreds of millions of citizens of the Empire were brown and black; Australia was one of the few countries in which this was not the case.)
Into this challenging environment, enter Rifkah (Rebecca) Rosen, a Jewish "reffo" (that is, refugee) who has fled unspeakable horrors, including the loss of her entire family and forced sterilisation. Rifkah quickly develops a connection with this solitary, musical boy and his grandfather, who are now reunited. Her fondness for the land is threatened by the actions of Australian nationalists, and the virulent anti-communist sentiment which often conflated communists and Jews. Before long, all three of our central characters are being hounded by civilised society: Rifkah for her status, Prindy for his skin colour, and Jeremy for his outspoken views.
"Simply to learn to love [the land] enough to find something of what those it was stolen from feel for it... so as not to die feeling like an alien and a thief."
Some of the novel's strongest material takes place in Book Two, so let me pause here and examine some aspects of this fascinating work, before we examine the problems.
The scope of Poor Fellow My Country is staggering. Herbert takes great pleasure in exploring the rugged Australian wilderness, the Aboriginal customs, the hypocritical or self-serving attitudes of all of those on the station, from the top of the hierarchy to the dregs. The novel relishes the bush, contrasting the expectations of international or urban visitors with the liveliness of every moment. He contrasts peaceful scenes of two characters debating politics on a long, dusty drive, with the vibrant sequence of the Beatrice races, in which hundreds of people descend on the small town for a weekend of sociological insight. (Later in the novel, as War descends and capitalism gains ground, the yearly cycle of the Beatrice races is an effective symbol of the negative changes to come.) While I mentioned that the sections without Delacy feel like they have no centre, this seems to me a deliberate choice. In the chapters focused on white people alone, or on everyone, there is usually a dominant force, or two passionate personalities trying to triumph over the other. In the chapters where white people are absent, we get a sense of an alternative way of living, the more holistic, socialist way that existed before the whites came.
From my vantage point in 2020, the country - like the Western world - is engaged in a noisy debate about the lingering effects of colonialism and racism. So often we are told that people just didn't understand it back then but, as I learn more, I find this just isn't true. We may have more words to understand gender theory or intergenerational trauma, but there is very little our Indigenous or female or queer ancestors didn't understand. And, strikingly, this turns out to be true of the (far, far fewer) white people who listened also. Herbert details cultural practices such as name avoidance after someone has died, differences between - and even among - Aboriginal nations, and questions of land rights, language, and gendered racism. Jeremy Delacy is fully in favour of reparations being paid to Indigenous people - and I genuinely had no idea any white person would have written about this subject in 1975! On one of his rare trips to the big city, Jeremy finds himself in fierce debate with a group of wealthy people about paying a tax back to Aboriginal people to do with as they will. After deflecting the usual complaints about "they'd just spend it on drink" (well, isn't that their right if so?) and "they'd sit around not doing anything positive with their wealth ("like rich white Australians do?", Jeremy points out), we get to the crux of the matter. A reparation tax is about expunging a crime that sits at the heart of the idea of the Australian Federation.
[continued below]
This review will be rather lengthy. I mean, lengthy. It will spill over the Goodreads word limit and into the comments section. But, then again, Poor Fellow My Country is the longest single-volume novel in English ever written. So anything less would seem dismissive.
Born in 1901, Xavier Herbert embodied many of the most negative traits of Australian males of his generation. Aggressively nationalist, misogynistic even to his own wife, homophobic to the point of parody, extraordinarily vain; his list of attributes is a gourmet banquet of socially-endorsed machismo and toxic masculinity. My parents' friends can remember Herbert as a blustering figure in TV interviews of the '60s and '70s, establishing his own legacy by creating a series of myths and half-truths about himself. Although he had published one genuinely good novel, Capricornia (1938), Herbert's other works were underwhelming, but he remained a famous novelist in the public imagination due to his own efforts. By the time he published Poor Fellow My Country in 1975, at the age of 74, the book was a guaranteed bestseller, buoyed by the strong Commonwealth literary funding under the Whitlam government, which allowed for the hefty tome (1,453 pages!) to be subsidised, significantly reducing the cost in bookstores. Nevertheless, of the 70,000 copies the book sold within five years (a success in Australian literary terms), one must question how many people actually read the work cover-to-cover. Nobel Laureate Patrick White didn't make it to the end, and one contemporary made the expected joke: "poor fellow Xavier Herbert's typewriter".
Book One: Terra Australis ("Blackman's Idyll despoiled by White Bullies, Thieves, and Hypocrites")
We open in Australia's Northern Territory in 1936. In England, the new King lasts 10 months before abdicating to be with his divorced lover. In Germany, Hitler makes his first moves when - against the Treaty of Veresailles - the Nazis reclaim the Rhineland. 10,000 miles away, Australians watch these events in horror. Could there really be another Great War? Could the God-given British Empire ever crumble? Australians still regard themselves as British first, and the Government endorses that view. In January of 1936, Governor-General Sir Isaac Isaacs steps down; his appointment five years earlier had been a matter of public controversy with even King George opposing it. Why, you may ask? Because Isaacs was born in Australia. Many did not believe that a native-born person should hold such a key role in His Majesty's government; certainly not when a wonderful, special, perfect British aristocrat would have been available to do the job!
Yet times are also changing in Australia. The aeroplane has made the country feel less remote than ever before. The advent of film has led to a generation of young people as enamoured of the USA as they are of Great Britain. The generation of writers born after 1890 are beginning to direct Australian literature and theatre away from overseas concerns, attempting to complicate and explicate the Australian experience beyond the often crude bush poetry that typified 19th century Australian writing. A battle is looming for the souls and morals of the Australian people, from the ongoing concern about Australia's Communist Party to attempts to dilute the country's strict censorship laws on "obscene" foreign material, countered by government-sanctioned attempts at building nationhood and patriotism through acts such as the transplanting of Captain Cook's cottage from the UK to Melbourne's Fitzroy Gardens. And, although it will be a long time coming, the seeds of the Aboriginal self-determination movement are being planted, which will be formally announced in January 1938, on the sesquicentenary of white Australia. (The "my country" of the title is not, as one might assume, a reference to the modern nation of Australia, but to the Indigenous notion of country as in the particular area a person comes from and remains spiritually connected to.)
Something else happened in 1936 that is worth noting. The thylacine, or Tasmanian tiger, breathed its last. Hunters, encouraged by bounties, hastened its demise, no doubt helped by the introduction of dogs, and a reduction in habitat. If there were ever a symbol for all that has been lost since 1788 on the great landmass of Australia, the thylacine may just be it. Yes, the question of colonialism sits comfortably at the centre of Herbert's work.
Which brings me to the topic at hand. Book One of PMFC introduces us to Jeremy Delacy, a sixtysomething owner of a great estate in the Territory. We meet Jeremy hosting - somewhat reluctantly - the fiancee of the colonial-cum-corporate overlord of much of the surrounding area. Lady Lydia is a British Fascist and a white supremacist (although, she likes to say "let's not talk about politics"). Jeremy, on the other hand, burns with righteous anger. Anger at Australians who see themselves as less than their British counterparts. Anger at the rich and the landed gentry. Angry at white people for their greed, for their callous takeover of Aboriginal land. Anger, indeed, at anyone who is oppressed themselves - through class, gender, religion, or skin colour - yet continues to grovel and snivel before the oppressors. (His anger at an Irish immigrant who is also a sycophant to the British Empire is especially strong!) Herbert the novelist has very little time for the kind of Australians who would devote their existence to pretending they are in wet, cosy England, and not arid, open Australia. (There is no centre to a Commonwealth, notes one character, and yet has anyone - right up until the present day - ever really believed that?) And there is very little distinction between Herbert the novelist and Jeremy the character.
Jeremy has great reason to be angry. Despite being a member of the landed gentry himself, he holds a great affinity for the native people of the area. His second wife, Nanago, is Indigenous, and so is his beloved grandson, Prindy, the illegitimate offspring of Jeremy's son Martin and a native woman who works as a domestic. Jeremy's anger, which dominates the opening chapters of the novel, is mingled with a tendency to rhapsodise at length - no, I mean, at length - on history, religion, anthropology, culture, and any other subject that reaches his mind. Although his interlocutors - especially Lydia - challenge him, and Jeremy certainly has flaws, it is also clear that Herbert the mad professor is determined to share his endless political screeds with us. (Herbert's editor once said that it was his dream was to live long enough for the copyright to expire, so he could cut hundreds of pages of Jeremy, and reveal the true Great Australian Novel lurking within!)
"I hope these philosophical digressions don't spoil my story"
The first part of the novel dramatises a year in the life of Jeremy and his grey-eyed grandson Prindy, whose paths rarely cross, especially after the boy and his mother are sent northward to Port Palmeston (Herbert's fictional version of Darwin) in the aftermath of a tragic death with which they were inadvertently connected. In the racially-charged 1930s, the boy's "golden" skin renders him a thing of curiosity to white people, who find him handsome and impressive, but also something to be separated, isolated. He is too black to be given a defined role in society but not quite black enough to be dismissed outright. Conversely, Prindy's gradual discovery of his Aboriginal heritage is often checked by the reality that he doesn't quite fit there either. He is ultimately a lonely soul, even as a child, more delighted by his beloved "musics" (whether the ballads sung by an Indian immigrant or symphonies heard over the wireless) than he is by anything else. This solitude in the boy's personality especially sets him aside from his Indigenous people, since theirs is a culture predicated on complex and constant social engagement.
When the novel leaves Delacy in the background at last, it is fair to say that we lose our centre somewhat, but we are rewarded with a rich, undeniably Dickensian clutch of characters. Herbert delights in a range of caricatures of the vicious, outspoken, money-grubbing, colonial types with whom he had lived during his youth when he worked in the role of Protector of the Aborigines in the Northern Territory. From snotty doctors to sour anthropologists, dugong-like public prosecutors to ambitious reporters, Herbert fills his world with a delicious, quintessentially Australian cast. Sean Monahan, in his insightful critical text The Long and Winding Road, argues successfully that the seeming flaws in Herbert's structure can be explained as an attempt to write not what we think of as a novel, but what Northrop Frye described as an "anatomy", putting the book on par with such chimeras as Gulliver's Travels, Candide, and another Australian classic, Such is Life. (Herbert's strongest characters tend to be those he bases on real people and then simplifies cartoonishly, the character type common to anatomies, which E.M. Forster called "flat".)
Book Two: Australia Felix ("Whiteman's Ideal sold out by Rogues and Fools")
Book Two advances the action to late 1938. Prindy is growing up, the country is preparing for a seemingly inevitable war, and white Australians are endlessly debating who they'd rather: communists or fascists. One of the challenges of understanding the era's history is that Nationalism and Communism - words we see in 2020 as polar opposites - flirted uncomfortably with each other in the years between the wars. Communism, of course, is a left-wing ideology, yet it so easily tended towards Fascism if left unchecked, as we saw in the "great" Communist empires of the 20th century. Nationalism, meanwhile, seems to us very right-wing. But of course Nationalism is inherently the opposite of Imperialism. As a result, Australians who sought to extricate their country from the yoke of the Empire found their ideals crossing over with those who sought to raise the working classes and the dispossessed. It was a union that could never last, and unsurprisingly found common ground in the things both groups seemed to hate: mostly non-white people. The White Australia policy, which lasted from 1901 to the late 1960s, was supported by conservatives on grounds of white supremacy and a fear of sharing resources, and was supported by so-called progressives on grounds of, well, white supremacy and a fear of having jobs taken from workers. (Interestingly this was a key area of dissent against the Empire. After all, hundreds of millions of citizens of the Empire were brown and black; Australia was one of the few countries in which this was not the case.)
Into this challenging environment, enter Rifkah (Rebecca) Rosen, a Jewish "reffo" (that is, refugee) who has fled unspeakable horrors, including the loss of her entire family and forced sterilisation. Rifkah quickly develops a connection with this solitary, musical boy and his grandfather, who are now reunited. Her fondness for the land is threatened by the actions of Australian nationalists, and the virulent anti-communist sentiment which often conflated communists and Jews. Before long, all three of our central characters are being hounded by civilised society: Rifkah for her status, Prindy for his skin colour, and Jeremy for his outspoken views.
"Simply to learn to love [the land] enough to find something of what those it was stolen from feel for it... so as not to die feeling like an alien and a thief."
Some of the novel's strongest material takes place in Book Two, so let me pause here and examine some aspects of this fascinating work, before we examine the problems.
The scope of Poor Fellow My Country is staggering. Herbert takes great pleasure in exploring the rugged Australian wilderness, the Aboriginal customs, the hypocritical or self-serving attitudes of all of those on the station, from the top of the hierarchy to the dregs. The novel relishes the bush, contrasting the expectations of international or urban visitors with the liveliness of every moment. He contrasts peaceful scenes of two characters debating politics on a long, dusty drive, with the vibrant sequence of the Beatrice races, in which hundreds of people descend on the small town for a weekend of sociological insight. (Later in the novel, as War descends and capitalism gains ground, the yearly cycle of the Beatrice races is an effective symbol of the negative changes to come.) While I mentioned that the sections without Delacy feel like they have no centre, this seems to me a deliberate choice. In the chapters focused on white people alone, or on everyone, there is usually a dominant force, or two passionate personalities trying to triumph over the other. In the chapters where white people are absent, we get a sense of an alternative way of living, the more holistic, socialist way that existed before the whites came.
From my vantage point in 2020, the country - like the Western world - is engaged in a noisy debate about the lingering effects of colonialism and racism. So often we are told that people just didn't understand it back then but, as I learn more, I find this just isn't true. We may have more words to understand gender theory or intergenerational trauma, but there is very little our Indigenous or female or queer ancestors didn't understand. And, strikingly, this turns out to be true of the (far, far fewer) white people who listened also. Herbert details cultural practices such as name avoidance after someone has died, differences between - and even among - Aboriginal nations, and questions of land rights, language, and gendered racism. Jeremy Delacy is fully in favour of reparations being paid to Indigenous people - and I genuinely had no idea any white person would have written about this subject in 1975! On one of his rare trips to the big city, Jeremy finds himself in fierce debate with a group of wealthy people about paying a tax back to Aboriginal people to do with as they will. After deflecting the usual complaints about "they'd just spend it on drink" (well, isn't that their right if so?) and "they'd sit around not doing anything positive with their wealth ("like rich white Australians do?", Jeremy points out), we get to the crux of the matter. A reparation tax is about expunging a crime that sits at the heart of the idea of the Australian Federation.
[continued below]
February 27, 2018
Bazza Mackenzie meets "As the World Turns"---a long rave
Xavier Herbert must have had a dream editor, because he got away with publishing a 1,463 page monster that should have been cut by at least a thousand pages. While Herbert's descriptions of action or the magnificent landscapes of northern Australia are well-done, he doesn't know what to do with his characters, who all come across as wooden stereotypes. They all 'represent' a type of person found in northern Australian society of the 1930s---the silent macho Ocker, the Irish publican, the Scotsman, the smart Jews, the arrogant Germans, the naive, superstitious Hindu, the sneaky Japanese, the Aboriginal medicine man, the half castes, the Catholic priest, the government bureaucrats, the supercilious British officers, the spoiled city girl, the homosexual, etc. Not one of them ever reveals an iota of inner thought, so the reader is left with simple caricatures, most of whom even talk in painstakingly spelled dialects, which, as when an Eastern European priest gives a three page speech on Church philosophy replete with every "zis", "zen" and "vy", can be excruciating. Herbert's female characters are also appallingly narrow and stereotyped---the author borders on the misogynistic. None of them appear the least bit real. Herbert uses a lot of Aboriginal words and phrases, the accuracy of which might be questioned if his Hindi is anything to go by. A half-caste boy of ten may be endowed with great bush skills, but his disposal of his main enemies strained my credulity to the breaking point. Herbert's tendency to kill off characters when he has no more use for them, or doesn't know how to proceed, is also a sign of over-ambitious writing. I didn't like this book for another reason. Herbert makes repeated calls for an independent Australia. I would hardly argue with that; it's a positive point. But in his search for what an independent Australia might look like, he flirted too much with fascism, rejecting it only because of its violence and anti-Semitism. Is that all that is wrong with fascism? If you are looking for a good novel, this is definitely not it. But to be fair, POOR FELLOW MY COUNTRY does have one virtue. Herbert's ideas about Australian society, Australia's past and possible future are interesting and at the time of publication (mid-1970s) practically unique. One can read this book as a kind of (overlong) polemic on the evils of the white Australian relationship to the land and to the Aborigines. That is the only reason I would read this book. Believe me, it is a long, long slog.
Xavier Herbert must have had a dream editor, because he got away with publishing a 1,463 page monster that should have been cut by at least a thousand pages. While Herbert's descriptions of action or the magnificent landscapes of northern Australia are well-done, he doesn't know what to do with his characters, who all come across as wooden stereotypes. They all 'represent' a type of person found in northern Australian society of the 1930s---the silent macho Ocker, the Irish publican, the Scotsman, the smart Jews, the arrogant Germans, the naive, superstitious Hindu, the sneaky Japanese, the Aboriginal medicine man, the half castes, the Catholic priest, the government bureaucrats, the supercilious British officers, the spoiled city girl, the homosexual, etc. Not one of them ever reveals an iota of inner thought, so the reader is left with simple caricatures, most of whom even talk in painstakingly spelled dialects, which, as when an Eastern European priest gives a three page speech on Church philosophy replete with every "zis", "zen" and "vy", can be excruciating. Herbert's female characters are also appallingly narrow and stereotyped---the author borders on the misogynistic. None of them appear the least bit real. Herbert uses a lot of Aboriginal words and phrases, the accuracy of which might be questioned if his Hindi is anything to go by. A half-caste boy of ten may be endowed with great bush skills, but his disposal of his main enemies strained my credulity to the breaking point. Herbert's tendency to kill off characters when he has no more use for them, or doesn't know how to proceed, is also a sign of over-ambitious writing. I didn't like this book for another reason. Herbert makes repeated calls for an independent Australia. I would hardly argue with that; it's a positive point. But in his search for what an independent Australia might look like, he flirted too much with fascism, rejecting it only because of its violence and anti-Semitism. Is that all that is wrong with fascism? If you are looking for a good novel, this is definitely not it. But to be fair, POOR FELLOW MY COUNTRY does have one virtue. Herbert's ideas about Australian society, Australia's past and possible future are interesting and at the time of publication (mid-1970s) practically unique. One can read this book as a kind of (overlong) polemic on the evils of the white Australian relationship to the land and to the Aborigines. That is the only reason I would read this book. Believe me, it is a long, long slog.
March 9, 2020
Poor Fellow My Country falls somewhere between a 3.5 and a 4.0, so I rounded up because I was feeling generous.
Poor Fellow My Country is an epic. Reading this work is a substantial investment of time—my journey through it took somewhere between seven and eight weeks. Mileage may vary, depending on whether the reader is Australian or not. As an outsider, I suspect that this book means less to me personally than if I were born in the land of Oz, the land down under. That being said, Poor Fellow My Country has much to offer any reader willing to invest the time in Herbert’s magnum opus. There is much to like, even some to love, in Poor Fellow My Country, though it has its shortcomings, too. Let’s start with the positives (yes, I'm doing a pros and cons list--forgive me).
First, Herbert’s descriptions of Australia as a land are truly amazing at times. He is adept in delineating the beautiful landscape of Northern Australia in particular—the rainy season, the mountains and plains, the power of the land as an almost spiritual force. Herbert’s detailed portrait of the physical landscape is clearly borne of a deep love for it. Taking the time to visualize the land is a key ingredient to understanding and enjoying Poor Fellow My Country—it is a pleasure not to be overlooked.
Another strength of Herbert’s is his ability to paint a convincing political climate. Not being much of a politico myself, this aspect of the book did not initially appeal to me. However, by the time I was halfway through, the political machinations and details became increasingly more compelling. Poor Fellow My Country is full of World War II and its seldom-studied effects on Australia, a country sorely lacking in identity during the 30s and 40s. The forces of Communism and Socialism saturate the many pages of the book, and Hitler and Mussolini are observed from afar. Australia’s inner turmoil in finding its place during these global events is portrayed by Herbert in a way that is hard to dismiss.
A final strength of Poor Fellow My Country worth noting is the sheer power of the work. It is one of the only books I have read in the last few years that nearly (nearly) brought me to tears. By the end of the book, I felt fully invested in Australia, rooting for the country to break away from imperial forces and revert to the ways of old. I wanted the Aboriginal people to receive some sort of reparation—to be allowed to live in peace, enjoying their lives as before the arrival of the kuttabah. I wanted to see the “squattocracy” brought low and destroyed. Ultimately, I desired to see Australia take up the mantle of its own identity, loosing the imperial shackles that had no place on the country. I am certain this is precisely how Herbert wanted his readers to feel, and my own experience bears witness to his success.
Unfortunately, Poor Fellow My Country does have its issues, too, some of which are hard to ignore. First, Herbert’s character development is far from perfect. As a fellow reviewer noted, he is often guilty of heavy-handed stereotyping. Many of the characters in the novel feel flat and insipid, mere tableaux for human life. Herbert is particularly guilty of doing this with his female characters. They are often needy and girlish, completely dependent on others for any kind of satisfaction (Rifkah may be an exception to this). The women of his novel are less intelligent than the men and constantly seek affirmation from them. Along these lines, nearly every woman in the book has some kind of unexplained affinity for Jeremy Delacy, the “scrub bull.” In fact, there are several young and sexy women throughout the course of Poor Fellow My Country who want nothing more than to copulate with Jeremy, who is nigh sixty years old. To me, this has the damning appearance of the fantasies of an old man, as Herbert was at the time of writing. It is an aspect of the book better left at the drawing board, and one that never ceased to annoy me.
My other complaint against Poor Fellow My Country is its rather ignorant hatred of Christianity. Now, are there some attacks against Christianity that are well thought out? Sure. However, Herbert’s blatant hatred of the religion is uninformed and unconvincing. He sees it only as a force of imperialism, in which form it is detestable indeed; Herbert chooses to focus on the acts of hypocritical imperialist "Christians," not on the belief system itself. Much like his character development, his diatribes against Christian faith are flat and one-dimensional. Interestingly enough, he does not take this tone with the Cult of the Rainbow Snake, which seems to be a rather violent and menacing religion, whose followers can be excused (or at the least, not seriously condemned) for acts of extreme torture.
Complaints notwithstanding, Poor Fellow My Country is worth the time it requires to read. It is a complex and powerful novel, one that paints the Australia of the 30s and 40s in all its glory and grime. While Poor Fellow My Country is a far cry from perfect, it remains a very good read and one that I will likely return to someday. Mummuk yawarra!
Poor Fellow My Country is an epic. Reading this work is a substantial investment of time—my journey through it took somewhere between seven and eight weeks. Mileage may vary, depending on whether the reader is Australian or not. As an outsider, I suspect that this book means less to me personally than if I were born in the land of Oz, the land down under. That being said, Poor Fellow My Country has much to offer any reader willing to invest the time in Herbert’s magnum opus. There is much to like, even some to love, in Poor Fellow My Country, though it has its shortcomings, too. Let’s start with the positives (yes, I'm doing a pros and cons list--forgive me).
First, Herbert’s descriptions of Australia as a land are truly amazing at times. He is adept in delineating the beautiful landscape of Northern Australia in particular—the rainy season, the mountains and plains, the power of the land as an almost spiritual force. Herbert’s detailed portrait of the physical landscape is clearly borne of a deep love for it. Taking the time to visualize the land is a key ingredient to understanding and enjoying Poor Fellow My Country—it is a pleasure not to be overlooked.
Another strength of Herbert’s is his ability to paint a convincing political climate. Not being much of a politico myself, this aspect of the book did not initially appeal to me. However, by the time I was halfway through, the political machinations and details became increasingly more compelling. Poor Fellow My Country is full of World War II and its seldom-studied effects on Australia, a country sorely lacking in identity during the 30s and 40s. The forces of Communism and Socialism saturate the many pages of the book, and Hitler and Mussolini are observed from afar. Australia’s inner turmoil in finding its place during these global events is portrayed by Herbert in a way that is hard to dismiss.
A final strength of Poor Fellow My Country worth noting is the sheer power of the work. It is one of the only books I have read in the last few years that nearly (nearly) brought me to tears. By the end of the book, I felt fully invested in Australia, rooting for the country to break away from imperial forces and revert to the ways of old. I wanted the Aboriginal people to receive some sort of reparation—to be allowed to live in peace, enjoying their lives as before the arrival of the kuttabah. I wanted to see the “squattocracy” brought low and destroyed. Ultimately, I desired to see Australia take up the mantle of its own identity, loosing the imperial shackles that had no place on the country. I am certain this is precisely how Herbert wanted his readers to feel, and my own experience bears witness to his success.
Unfortunately, Poor Fellow My Country does have its issues, too, some of which are hard to ignore. First, Herbert’s character development is far from perfect. As a fellow reviewer noted, he is often guilty of heavy-handed stereotyping. Many of the characters in the novel feel flat and insipid, mere tableaux for human life. Herbert is particularly guilty of doing this with his female characters. They are often needy and girlish, completely dependent on others for any kind of satisfaction (Rifkah may be an exception to this). The women of his novel are less intelligent than the men and constantly seek affirmation from them. Along these lines, nearly every woman in the book has some kind of unexplained affinity for Jeremy Delacy, the “scrub bull.” In fact, there are several young and sexy women throughout the course of Poor Fellow My Country who want nothing more than to copulate with Jeremy, who is nigh sixty years old. To me, this has the damning appearance of the fantasies of an old man, as Herbert was at the time of writing. It is an aspect of the book better left at the drawing board, and one that never ceased to annoy me.
My other complaint against Poor Fellow My Country is its rather ignorant hatred of Christianity. Now, are there some attacks against Christianity that are well thought out? Sure. However, Herbert’s blatant hatred of the religion is uninformed and unconvincing. He sees it only as a force of imperialism, in which form it is detestable indeed; Herbert chooses to focus on the acts of hypocritical imperialist "Christians," not on the belief system itself. Much like his character development, his diatribes against Christian faith are flat and one-dimensional. Interestingly enough, he does not take this tone with the Cult of the Rainbow Snake, which seems to be a rather violent and menacing religion, whose followers can be excused (or at the least, not seriously condemned) for acts of extreme torture.
Complaints notwithstanding, Poor Fellow My Country is worth the time it requires to read. It is a complex and powerful novel, one that paints the Australia of the 30s and 40s in all its glory and grime. While Poor Fellow My Country is a far cry from perfect, it remains a very good read and one that I will likely return to someday. Mummuk yawarra!
August 24, 2020
"With daylight [the white flowers] fall into rags to dissolve like wafers in the ooze created by rain now falling like warm tears shed for the reality that beauty is forever transient."There is plenty to worship and forsake in this grandiose page-non-turner. For all things X.Herbert I recommend Sean Monahan's website http://xavier-herbert-novels.com/ which includes a free download of his (Monahan's) book "A Long and Winding Road: Xavier Herbert’s Literary Journey". The following quote in particular falls well in line with the intense and conflicted affection I have come to have for XH's XL Miles Franklin Award winner after spending almost 8 months with it:
"All Herbert's experiences, all his thoughts and feelings, all his passions and prejudices, all his knowledge and ignorance were able to rub shoulders down there in the dark, connect, split up, reshape and finally join in the dance upwards into consciousness and onto the printed page." (ch. 9)
May 20, 2016
At 1443 pages, Xavier Herbert’s masterwork Poor Fellow My Country took a month to read. I set myself a target of 50 pages or so each day, and interspersed the reading with other books to (literally) lighten the load. My hardback copy weighs nearly 2 kilos, and it measures 23.5 x 16 x 6cm, which makes it hard to hold in the hand, but it’s heavy going in more ways than one. The book is dense with characters; it alludes to real people and events that involve guesswork about who they are; plot points are resurrected many pages after their first mention; and there are chunks of polemical rants that seem to go on and on forever. The reader needs stamina, tolerance and patience to read Poor Fellow My Country. It is an intensely political novel, and what many Australian readers may find confronting is that Herbert makes no secret of his contempt for his fellow Australians.
Poor Fellow My Country
First edition, 1975
Yet Wikipedia lists Poor Fellow My Country among its “notable” books published for that decade, and it won the Miles Franklin Award in 1975. IMO that’s not because the novel has great prose, or wonderful characters or lyric qualities or even a very good plot. It won, I think, because it’s one of the few books I’ve read that tackles the issue of Australian identity.
Poor Fellow My Country is a lament for the Australia that Herbert thought it could have been, an Australia that could reconcile the dispossession of its indigenous people and throw off its colonial apron strings. I think that most Australians now would have some sympathy with his resentment of Australia’s largely self-imposed deference to all things British, which meant that British still held sovereignty in many areas. Because of the Australian Parliament’s delay in ratifying the Statute of Westminster (1931), by the time WW2 started Australia still wasn’t part of the Commonwealth of Nations but rather still part of the British Empire. Its soldiers were British, travelling on British passports, and under British command. Herbert regarded this as a second dispossession in Australia.
However, I suspect that his vision of a Creole Anglo-Aboriginal nation would sit ill with many, not least our Indigenous people themselves because they want to retain their own unique culture, heritage and identity. Some might also feel that by recording some of their myths and cultural practices in this book, Herbert is guilty of appropriation. He was a champion of indigenous issues for his time, and (according to the introduction in the A&R edition), his efforts to use fiction to bring these issues to a wider audience were valued by Indigenous people in that era, but times have changed. I’d be very interested to read a review of Poor Fellow My Country by a contemporary indigenous reader.
To read the rest of my review please visit https://anzlitlovers.com/2016/05/20/p...
Poor Fellow My Country
First edition, 1975
Yet Wikipedia lists Poor Fellow My Country among its “notable” books published for that decade, and it won the Miles Franklin Award in 1975. IMO that’s not because the novel has great prose, or wonderful characters or lyric qualities or even a very good plot. It won, I think, because it’s one of the few books I’ve read that tackles the issue of Australian identity.
Poor Fellow My Country is a lament for the Australia that Herbert thought it could have been, an Australia that could reconcile the dispossession of its indigenous people and throw off its colonial apron strings. I think that most Australians now would have some sympathy with his resentment of Australia’s largely self-imposed deference to all things British, which meant that British still held sovereignty in many areas. Because of the Australian Parliament’s delay in ratifying the Statute of Westminster (1931), by the time WW2 started Australia still wasn’t part of the Commonwealth of Nations but rather still part of the British Empire. Its soldiers were British, travelling on British passports, and under British command. Herbert regarded this as a second dispossession in Australia.
However, I suspect that his vision of a Creole Anglo-Aboriginal nation would sit ill with many, not least our Indigenous people themselves because they want to retain their own unique culture, heritage and identity. Some might also feel that by recording some of their myths and cultural practices in this book, Herbert is guilty of appropriation. He was a champion of indigenous issues for his time, and (according to the introduction in the A&R edition), his efforts to use fiction to bring these issues to a wider audience were valued by Indigenous people in that era, but times have changed. I’d be very interested to read a review of Poor Fellow My Country by a contemporary indigenous reader.
To read the rest of my review please visit https://anzlitlovers.com/2016/05/20/p...
January 18, 2012
My favourite of all the Miles Franklin winners. It took me a long time to come to grips with this novel. I bought my first copy of it when I was 16 and would try to read it on the bus on the way to work during my school holidays.
I think I tried it 4 times and didn't get anywhere.
Then, while working overseas, I found a copy in a bookshop for $10. Who could resist? I finished it that time. Being older made a huge difference to my capability to complete this. I left it there with a friend (who I am sure never read it)
It took me 2 months to read as part of my Miles Franklin campaign. And I am so pleased that I did.
The movie Australia is kind of a Mills and Boon cut down version of the story. That's to tell you a brief synopsis - not to put you off reading it. It is a wide ranging, heartfelt commentary on the state of Australian politics, place in the world, attitude to aborigines, sexism, racism, stupidity ...and as cantankerous as the author.
I loved it.
I think I tried it 4 times and didn't get anywhere.
Then, while working overseas, I found a copy in a bookshop for $10. Who could resist? I finished it that time. Being older made a huge difference to my capability to complete this. I left it there with a friend (who I am sure never read it)
It took me 2 months to read as part of my Miles Franklin campaign. And I am so pleased that I did.
The movie Australia is kind of a Mills and Boon cut down version of the story. That's to tell you a brief synopsis - not to put you off reading it. It is a wide ranging, heartfelt commentary on the state of Australian politics, place in the world, attitude to aborigines, sexism, racism, stupidity ...and as cantankerous as the author.
I loved it.
July 7, 2021
I'm definitely glad I read this, and quite a lot of it I genuinely loved, but it's also kinda patchy and there's not much in the way of narrative momentum. Still, I feel like every Australian should read this at some point in their lives. There's a lot of really great stuff in here, particularly when Herbert just lets the characters interact with each other, or when he himself gets extremely (and hilariously) opinionated, but it's just a tad too flawed to be the so-called Great Australian Novel. But then maybe the fact of those flaws is what makes it the Great Australian Novel. I don't know.
April 18, 2020
There are those vast forms that have informed the cultures of entire nations, but because they are cultures that are rarely discussed in the mainstream, they tend to be relics of a time and history which are often forgotten. As I began Poor Fellow My Country, the Miles Franklin winning novel of Xavier Herbert, I was immediately struck, by his description, of a boy… “Aboriginal… distinctly so by cast of countenance, while yet so lightly coloured as to pass for any light-skinned breed even tanned Caucasian. His skin was cream-caramel, with a hair-sheen of gold…. His nose, fleshed and curved in the mould of his savage ancestry, at the same time was given enough of the beakiness of the other side to make it a thing of perfection. Likewise his lips. Surely a beautiful creature to any eye but the most prejudiced in the matter of race. Indeed, but for knowing the depth and breadth of prejudice against the very strain that gave him perfection, one might well be amazed to know that such a thing could stand the sight of him. Yet most people… would dismiss him as just a boong. He was aged about eight.”
This is the first paragraph of Poor Fellow My Country. It is the longest known novel written in Australia, the language is sharp, and compelling, fully in control, and yet, it is both noble, and condescending. This is a book of the 1970s, and it is clear that Herbert, as a white Australian, was trying to do justice to an Aboriginal character. In fact, the whole book is meant to a chronicle of this little boy’s life, a story of how Prindy grows and weathers Australian life in the 1940s, over 1400 pages. And, yet, in the same way that no matter how much we clean our nails, a little bit of dirt gets into the space between the clavicle and the skin, Herbert cannot change the fact that he is a white man writing about an Aboriginal. And it is this very fixed gaze of his, to do good with language, and yet never truly enter the mind of his character, which made this book a most puzzling read.
Certain things about, I liked. It is rare to read a work of naturalism from Australia, and much like Ruth Park’s much better Harp in the South, I found myself feeling a sort of empathy for a slice of life I rarely delve into. Herbert has a lot of sympathy and honesty in his writing, and generally he creates well-rounded shades to his characters, a difficulty when one is trying to tell a tale outside of one’s perspective. It is one of the longest books ever written, and from a culture I’m very much a foreigner too. I wanted to like it so much more than I could.
Herbert’s syntax is unrelentingly simple. He writes in short and terse sentences, and he rarely strays from it. Because the style is told in Herbert’s voice and not Prindy, the character feels inanimate. Herbert has a great ear for dialogue, and renders all the different styles of speaking of Northern Australia extremely well. Unfortunately, as someone who doesn’t know the Austrialian dialect of English well enough, his use of apostrophe and broken sentences was a little taxing for me. A lot of it felt too long. A lot of it felt it could have been cut up, or tossed out.
After finishing Poor Fellow My Country, I felt like I read a really long book. Not in the sense that I read an epic of literature, which rewards one’s reading time with the philosophical and emotional weight of its world, but instead a book I went through a lot of in order to finish. It was a book I barely understood. It was a book that felt out of place for the story it was trying to write. I would say that perhaps I am too much of a foreigner in many aspects to be able to fully appreciate this classic, and that is something I have to accept, that not all books are universal, or are open enough to talk on those terms. At the same time, for a book that was trying to go specific into a social problem and give it depth, I wish that it tried harder to give its characters more life. Perhaps not more sympathy, or more thought, but just life.
Regardless, I would still recommend this book, for anyone who wants to read a neglected 20th century classic, for anyone who wants a portrait of the Aboriginal condition through white eyes.
This is the first paragraph of Poor Fellow My Country. It is the longest known novel written in Australia, the language is sharp, and compelling, fully in control, and yet, it is both noble, and condescending. This is a book of the 1970s, and it is clear that Herbert, as a white Australian, was trying to do justice to an Aboriginal character. In fact, the whole book is meant to a chronicle of this little boy’s life, a story of how Prindy grows and weathers Australian life in the 1940s, over 1400 pages. And, yet, in the same way that no matter how much we clean our nails, a little bit of dirt gets into the space between the clavicle and the skin, Herbert cannot change the fact that he is a white man writing about an Aboriginal. And it is this very fixed gaze of his, to do good with language, and yet never truly enter the mind of his character, which made this book a most puzzling read.
Certain things about, I liked. It is rare to read a work of naturalism from Australia, and much like Ruth Park’s much better Harp in the South, I found myself feeling a sort of empathy for a slice of life I rarely delve into. Herbert has a lot of sympathy and honesty in his writing, and generally he creates well-rounded shades to his characters, a difficulty when one is trying to tell a tale outside of one’s perspective. It is one of the longest books ever written, and from a culture I’m very much a foreigner too. I wanted to like it so much more than I could.
Herbert’s syntax is unrelentingly simple. He writes in short and terse sentences, and he rarely strays from it. Because the style is told in Herbert’s voice and not Prindy, the character feels inanimate. Herbert has a great ear for dialogue, and renders all the different styles of speaking of Northern Australia extremely well. Unfortunately, as someone who doesn’t know the Austrialian dialect of English well enough, his use of apostrophe and broken sentences was a little taxing for me. A lot of it felt too long. A lot of it felt it could have been cut up, or tossed out.
After finishing Poor Fellow My Country, I felt like I read a really long book. Not in the sense that I read an epic of literature, which rewards one’s reading time with the philosophical and emotional weight of its world, but instead a book I went through a lot of in order to finish. It was a book I barely understood. It was a book that felt out of place for the story it was trying to write. I would say that perhaps I am too much of a foreigner in many aspects to be able to fully appreciate this classic, and that is something I have to accept, that not all books are universal, or are open enough to talk on those terms. At the same time, for a book that was trying to go specific into a social problem and give it depth, I wish that it tried harder to give its characters more life. Perhaps not more sympathy, or more thought, but just life.
Regardless, I would still recommend this book, for anyone who wants to read a neglected 20th century classic, for anyone who wants a portrait of the Aboriginal condition through white eyes.
January 21, 2020
An achievement more than a masterpiece.
Deliberately (?) no emotions are written in to the narrative. Example: the episode in which Jeremy is dropped off in the Outback to experience its solitude (Chap. 19, IV). Beautiful writing but we get no description of how he is actually experiencing that solitude and later his fears during the night alone - only descriptions of his outer appearance and actions. This removal of emotions from characters (their stoicism, perhaps - typical of the Australian character) numbs the reader so that we remain at a distance from them, never wholly involved with them.
No-one is shown to be truly connected with anyone else throughout the novel. They are just solitary individuals in a landscape. No real reciprocal connection takes place. And when Herbert attempts any sort of affection, the dialogue is pretty woeful
‘The sea gave you to me. The sea took you away. Only the sea can give you back ... and I must die in the sea for it.’ (p.1407)
These people seem to have no inner life. They are shallow, superficial. The most passion they display is through political convictions, at least the non-indigenous ones. In the whole novel I really only felt an interest in Prindy’s character. How I wished Herbert had concentrated on him only!
So, I guess ultimately it’s whether you care for these characters - some are interesting, even fascinating. But they didn’t engage me as life and blood people instead of representations of a type the author has created to personify his ideas. And the detail he goes in to for no obvious end, leaves you overwhelmed and mentally exhausted!
Structurally, not all the parts come together seamlessly- maybe the canvas is just too vast. A mass of incidents that swirl from one to the next.
More positively, the overlay of Indigenous myth and philosophy gives the story a unique dimension, another reality. The command of detail is exceptional. There is a marvellous sense of place. Also, a wonderful feeling of freedom and independence. These people (white and black) are living on the edge, the fringes of society- they are isolated in a vast land. The atmosphere is exciting. (No-one seems to spend much time on everyday chores or have a work routine though!) I also liked Herbert’s passion for his country, his old-fashioned nationalism, his activism and his advocacy for the Aborigines. It’s a great work of the imagination. Teeming with incident, if not action! There are brilliant passages evoking the Indigenous experience of the landscape. In its scope, it leaves most other novels in the shade.
I would give this novel only 2 stars (I had to skim-read from p.800 to finish it) except for the author’s powers of description and his ability to evoke the atmosphere of the 1930s and the Australia of that time.
Deliberately (?) no emotions are written in to the narrative. Example: the episode in which Jeremy is dropped off in the Outback to experience its solitude (Chap. 19, IV). Beautiful writing but we get no description of how he is actually experiencing that solitude and later his fears during the night alone - only descriptions of his outer appearance and actions. This removal of emotions from characters (their stoicism, perhaps - typical of the Australian character) numbs the reader so that we remain at a distance from them, never wholly involved with them.
No-one is shown to be truly connected with anyone else throughout the novel. They are just solitary individuals in a landscape. No real reciprocal connection takes place. And when Herbert attempts any sort of affection, the dialogue is pretty woeful
‘The sea gave you to me. The sea took you away. Only the sea can give you back ... and I must die in the sea for it.’ (p.1407)
These people seem to have no inner life. They are shallow, superficial. The most passion they display is through political convictions, at least the non-indigenous ones. In the whole novel I really only felt an interest in Prindy’s character. How I wished Herbert had concentrated on him only!
So, I guess ultimately it’s whether you care for these characters - some are interesting, even fascinating. But they didn’t engage me as life and blood people instead of representations of a type the author has created to personify his ideas. And the detail he goes in to for no obvious end, leaves you overwhelmed and mentally exhausted!
Structurally, not all the parts come together seamlessly- maybe the canvas is just too vast. A mass of incidents that swirl from one to the next.
More positively, the overlay of Indigenous myth and philosophy gives the story a unique dimension, another reality. The command of detail is exceptional. There is a marvellous sense of place. Also, a wonderful feeling of freedom and independence. These people (white and black) are living on the edge, the fringes of society- they are isolated in a vast land. The atmosphere is exciting. (No-one seems to spend much time on everyday chores or have a work routine though!) I also liked Herbert’s passion for his country, his old-fashioned nationalism, his activism and his advocacy for the Aborigines. It’s a great work of the imagination. Teeming with incident, if not action! There are brilliant passages evoking the Indigenous experience of the landscape. In its scope, it leaves most other novels in the shade.
I would give this novel only 2 stars (I had to skim-read from p.800 to finish it) except for the author’s powers of description and his ability to evoke the atmosphere of the 1930s and the Australia of that time.
July 30, 2019
This is probably so very superficial but it annoyed the heck out of me! There was a lot of blushing done in this book by many characters but especially by Jeremy Delacy. As he is one of the main characters in the book, I supposed he's in a lot of scenes and innumerable blushes was done by him. Of course, different sort of words are used:
"Colouring and swallowing, Jeremy replied…"
"His [Jeremy] face flamed."
"Jeremy was red again:..."
above examples were taken from consecutive 2-3 pages of Chapter 2
but effectively, he's blushing...
I don't get it! He's a middle aged man (this story spans over a decade and he still blushes at the end of it) and supposedly a man's man (he's nicknamed the "Scrub Bull") and then!
Then, all these women were falling all over themselves for HIM! Argh! Okay, I can see the appeal; maybe...? And I don't like any of these female characters: they are either selfish or servile (especially when it comes to Jeremy Delacy, ugh!) or just plain silly (as opposed to being sensible).
On the other hand, I managed to finish a whole 1,440 pages :O so that is an absolutely amazing job by the author to have kept me engaged over the past 9 weeks (that's how long the library let me have this book for). I think it gives us a very fair picture of Australia of that time (beginning a few years after WW1 and ending at end of WW2): the oppression & struggle of the Indigenous people, racism (across many races), & the fickleness of politics. But really, I could've done with half the size of this book.
"Colouring and swallowing, Jeremy replied…"
"His [Jeremy] face flamed."
"Jeremy was red again:..."
above examples were taken from consecutive 2-3 pages of Chapter 2
but effectively, he's blushing...
I don't get it! He's a middle aged man (this story spans over a decade and he still blushes at the end of it) and supposedly a man's man (he's nicknamed the "Scrub Bull") and then!
Then, all these women were falling all over themselves for HIM! Argh! Okay, I can see the appeal; maybe...? And I don't like any of these female characters: they are either selfish or servile (especially when it comes to Jeremy Delacy, ugh!) or just plain silly (as opposed to being sensible).
On the other hand, I managed to finish a whole 1,440 pages :O so that is an absolutely amazing job by the author to have kept me engaged over the past 9 weeks (that's how long the library let me have this book for). I think it gives us a very fair picture of Australia of that time (beginning a few years after WW1 and ending at end of WW2): the oppression & struggle of the Indigenous people, racism (across many races), & the fickleness of politics. But really, I could've done with half the size of this book.
November 13, 2013
It took a seventeen-hour bus trip and a week on a remote station north of Nyngan and east of Burke, NSW, to get through these 1400 pages of minute print. It is the longest book I've ever read, and the longest work of fiction ever published in Australia. Worth the effort? Hell, yeah. A great, if not, *the* great Australian novel.
February 20, 2022
Poor Fellow My Country is at heart a boy’s own adventure story, following the life of a boy of Aboriginal and Anglo Saxon parentage who at an early age realises that he is destined to become the magic Snake Man of Aboriginal folk lore. The time period is the late 1930s and early 1940s. The setting is a fictitious region in remote northern Australia where the boy is encouraged by his Anglo Saxon grandfather to follow his Aboriginal destiny in opposition to officials from the Department for the Protection of Aborigines who are determined to anglicize the boy.
The book presents a masterful description of the Australian landscape in all its different moods, overlaid by a spiritual landscape as seen through its Aboriginal inhabitants, the book is a joy to read.
The book’s narrative could be described as a fantasy autobiography whereby the elderly author vicariously lives through the character of the boy’s grandfather, a rugged individualist who rejects his squatter upbringing and who thinks that white Australians have destroyed their country by trying to conquer it rather than belonging to it. The grandfather never misses an opportunity to air his views, describing how Australians have no genuine love for their country and are instead just colonisers from the Mother Country, England. He is outspoken and rejects authority, and along the way gains some ardent admirers from the opposite sex, who are invariably very intelligent and gorgeous looking.
There is an underlying misogyny to this book which at first I was willing to overlook. Strong female characters are portrayed but their social achievements are only gained by them sexually flirting with the males of the species who have the real power. I felt sorry for these women but the author seems to accept it as their lot in life, no matter what society or culture they live in, black or white, the female of the species only exists to support the male of the species who is the real agent of change.
The author’s main objective in this book, apart from being an ego trip for himself, is to convince us how destructive Australians have been to their own country. He succeeds in this objective. He also hints at possible remedies for the troubles in Australia and the world at large, via meandering philosophical monologues of the boy’s grandfather, however there are no real remedies revealed, except maybe the simplistic truism: human beings should act intelligently.
Ultimately the author’s misogyny became too much for me. Near the end of this vast narrative, there is a detailed description of a sadistic scene which would make the Marquis de Sade smile with approval. As I read this shocking scene, and its unresolved aftermath, I felt sickened and ashamed to be a male of the human species. I was disgusted and angry, and all I wanted to do with this massive 1,463 page book, which I had been reading for the last month, was to throw it into the nearest rubbish bin!
The book presents a masterful description of the Australian landscape in all its different moods, overlaid by a spiritual landscape as seen through its Aboriginal inhabitants, the book is a joy to read.
The book’s narrative could be described as a fantasy autobiography whereby the elderly author vicariously lives through the character of the boy’s grandfather, a rugged individualist who rejects his squatter upbringing and who thinks that white Australians have destroyed their country by trying to conquer it rather than belonging to it. The grandfather never misses an opportunity to air his views, describing how Australians have no genuine love for their country and are instead just colonisers from the Mother Country, England. He is outspoken and rejects authority, and along the way gains some ardent admirers from the opposite sex, who are invariably very intelligent and gorgeous looking.
There is an underlying misogyny to this book which at first I was willing to overlook. Strong female characters are portrayed but their social achievements are only gained by them sexually flirting with the males of the species who have the real power. I felt sorry for these women but the author seems to accept it as their lot in life, no matter what society or culture they live in, black or white, the female of the species only exists to support the male of the species who is the real agent of change.
The author’s main objective in this book, apart from being an ego trip for himself, is to convince us how destructive Australians have been to their own country. He succeeds in this objective. He also hints at possible remedies for the troubles in Australia and the world at large, via meandering philosophical monologues of the boy’s grandfather, however there are no real remedies revealed, except maybe the simplistic truism: human beings should act intelligently.
Ultimately the author’s misogyny became too much for me. Near the end of this vast narrative, there is a detailed description of a sadistic scene which would make the Marquis de Sade smile with approval. As I read this shocking scene, and its unresolved aftermath, I felt sickened and ashamed to be a male of the human species. I was disgusted and angry, and all I wanted to do with this massive 1,463 page book, which I had been reading for the last month, was to throw it into the nearest rubbish bin!
January 28, 2022
First published in 1975 and winner of the Miles Franklin Award, this 1463 page Australian classic covers SO much territory, and now that I am finally finished (having read numerous other books in between) I feel as if a significant part of my life has ended!
This book is truly epic, and given that it was written nearly fifty years ago, is (sadly!) just as relevant today as it was then. Largely it deals with the culture and plight of the Aboriginal people, and the actions of the white men who caused that plight, but it also covers so much more. Set mostly in the Northern Territory in the period from the late 1930s to 1950s, the intense, emotional, personal and ever shifting story of white farmer and land owner, Jeremy Delacy, his half caste grandson Prindy and all whom they encounter throughout the book, Jewish refugee Rifkah, Jeremy's aboriginal wife Nanago, young activist Alfie and so many others, oozes with Aboriginal Dreamtime tradition and belief. It also deals in considerable depth and length with the corruption of politics, the situation leading up to and during World War II, racism (both against Abiriginal and Jewish people), the futility of war, the class system in Australia at the time and ultimately our own destruction of our home . . . all topics that endure because, eventhough they are set in the specifics of the time, they could still have been written today with very minor contextual change.
The emotional relationships between all the characters bring the story alive and and are also enduring. Although some characters are specific to a bush setting, all are very believable and could be set in a far more contemporary context and would, without much of the lengthy philosophizing and historical discussion, still make a very readable story.
There are very in depth and very lengthy sections that could, I believe, be shortened without detracting from the book as a whole, but that do give both detailed cultural/historical context.
This book offers, in my mind, very little hope: given humanity's stupidity, bigotry, greed, violence, lack of understanding, compassion and social context, (true when the book was written and still as true now) it's hardly even believable that we are still here today and very believable that we won't be here far into our future. ****
This book is truly epic, and given that it was written nearly fifty years ago, is (sadly!) just as relevant today as it was then. Largely it deals with the culture and plight of the Aboriginal people, and the actions of the white men who caused that plight, but it also covers so much more. Set mostly in the Northern Territory in the period from the late 1930s to 1950s, the intense, emotional, personal and ever shifting story of white farmer and land owner, Jeremy Delacy, his half caste grandson Prindy and all whom they encounter throughout the book, Jewish refugee Rifkah, Jeremy's aboriginal wife Nanago, young activist Alfie and so many others, oozes with Aboriginal Dreamtime tradition and belief. It also deals in considerable depth and length with the corruption of politics, the situation leading up to and during World War II, racism (both against Abiriginal and Jewish people), the futility of war, the class system in Australia at the time and ultimately our own destruction of our home . . . all topics that endure because, eventhough they are set in the specifics of the time, they could still have been written today with very minor contextual change.
The emotional relationships between all the characters bring the story alive and and are also enduring. Although some characters are specific to a bush setting, all are very believable and could be set in a far more contemporary context and would, without much of the lengthy philosophizing and historical discussion, still make a very readable story.
There are very in depth and very lengthy sections that could, I believe, be shortened without detracting from the book as a whole, but that do give both detailed cultural/historical context.
This book offers, in my mind, very little hope: given humanity's stupidity, bigotry, greed, violence, lack of understanding, compassion and social context, (true when the book was written and still as true now) it's hardly even believable that we are still here today and very believable that we won't be here far into our future. ****
March 16, 2022
The whole of this marvelous book is infused with Herbert's love of/jealousy of indigenous Australians - the theme has run across from Disturbing Element to Poor Fellow, that Herbert suffered lifelong agony because, despite having been born here. albeit first generation, he did not consider himself an Australian OF the country - the ground, the water,the air - but a foreign blowin who could never truly belong. A shallow and, despite his hatred of bigotry, a bigoted view.
Everyone is a person of their time and Herbert was of his - I do not judge him, his misogeny and his condescension by today's standards.
His appraisal in the narrative of Australia's abandonment of the chance of nationhood at the time of the Second World war ignores some rather important historical imperatives, but has the kernal (a large kernal) of truth.
I was given a Second Edition in 1975 - the huge hardback - and in the next four years I read it twice. I later found a paperback in a secondhand bookstore in the 1980s and read it again.
Is it great literature, the Great Australian Novel? I don't bloody know!
Dillon
Everyone is a person of their time and Herbert was of his - I do not judge him, his misogeny and his condescension by today's standards.
His appraisal in the narrative of Australia's abandonment of the chance of nationhood at the time of the Second World war ignores some rather important historical imperatives, but has the kernal (a large kernal) of truth.
I was given a Second Edition in 1975 - the huge hardback - and in the next four years I read it twice. I later found a paperback in a secondhand bookstore in the 1980s and read it again.
Is it great literature, the Great Australian Novel? I don't bloody know!
Dillon
May 25, 2022
An Australian classic, beautifully written and an epic read. Herbert has painted a living scene of northern Australia in the late 1930s early 1940s - one of greed, racism and disregard toward Aboriginal women and the land. The story exposes the violence and cruelty of Australia’s northern frontiers. However, Herbert was 74 when he wrote the book and it is hard to distinguish Herbert's voice from that of his character, Prindy - a young Aboriginal boy.
August 9, 2022
This is both an impressive piece of work and an exercise in awful writing. Herbert's characters chew more scenery than you might find in a underwhelming piece of fanfiction. Serious North by Northwest affectations, if you prefer a cinematic reference. I've put it aside after 300 pages, might dip back in from time to time because time and place do interest me.
January 30, 2019
It’s been a long time since it took me so long to read a book, even one this long, but it was worth it. There are some simplifications and excesses, sometimes it can get overly sentimental, but not much or often. On the whole, I wouldn’t cut much. That’s really saying something in this case.
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January 15, 2023I didn’t read this book. The book I did read is called Voicing Change Vol 2 but it’s not in the GoodReads data base, GoodReads doesn’t let you manually add a book now unless you’re authorized. I contacted the people who are authorized to add a book but I never heard anything back.
August 30, 2018
An enormous book about outback Australia and Aboriginal people and the interaction between Aboriginal and non Aboriginal populations pastoralists and townies. I read it a long time ago.
April 13, 2020
The worst (and longest) book I've ever read. An embarrassment to Australian literature.
October 28, 2021
Best book, I have ever read. Such a privilege to read. A book for every Australian to read! Do yourselves a favour, pick it up and start reading.
February 16, 2023
Read this as Crimson Rivers it slayed
May 31, 2025
epic of the best kind
December 9, 2024
Xavier Herbert's Poor Fellow My Country is quite a bit too long for its own good.
Herbert was a Western Australian and multiple time Miles Franklin winner, Poor Fellow, My Country was the last work he published, and it tells the interweaving stories of three figures living in the deep outback of the Northern Territory (largely centered on the fictional town of Beatrice) from the 1930s, through world war II, and beyond. These are: Jeremy Delacy, a white man who regularly discourses (at length) against bigotry and racism, he owns the cattle station of Lily Lagoons, which provides a safe-haven for the local aboriginals. Prindy, Delacy's half-aboriginal grandson, at risk of being taken away from his family as a result of the abhorrent racial policies which produced the Stolen Generation. And Rebekah 'Rifka' Rosen, a Jewish refugee fleeing Nazi Germany, who struggles to fit into the community of Beatrice, and who doesn't actually appear in the novel until the second part, some 500 pages in.
Herbert was part of the Jindyworobak movement in Australian Literature, which sought to create a uniquely 'Australian' culture by integrating Aboriginal cultural stories, language, and mythology within literature. Now, within this book, Herbert expresses an extraordinary depth of knowledge of aboriginal culture and stories, most of which is expressed to the reader through the character of Jeremy Delacy, who frequently talks about this knowledge to anyone and everyone willing to listen - to the extent that at times it can come across as a little artificial. An episode early in the book has a woman whom Delacy is showing his property to straight up admit that she's an English Fascist (after Walter Mosley), thenceforth they have a series of political arguments as Jeremy shows this woman his land and the people that live on it,while simultaneously trying to educate this actual facist, who will never actually take on his words, he knows she will never listen to him, nonetheless, he tries. This kind of thing significantly inflates the pagecount of Herbert's novel, perhaps to it's detriment, I'm hard-pressed to actually reccommend this novel to anyone.
Poor Fellow, My Country is filled with a deep pessimism towards Australia, its racist tendencies, and it's slavish fidelity to mother Britain in matters of commerce, international and domestic politics. This pessimism, it is evident on reading, is the product of a lifetime of frustrated opposition to the generational trends of Australian culture writ large.
Poor Fellow, My Country depicts three outsiders to a deeply racist system, and it's quite unflinching about the way in which it depicts this system, and as such, the book can be a quite uncomfortable to read at times. Herbert makes use of slurs and out-dated and arcane terms for mixed-race people frequently, something which perhaps dates the book to the 70s, as at times it appears that such terminology is used without any awareness that they are deeply fucked things to say, no matter the form (I would have a hard time seeing a modern author depicting the time period using such language), although it lends authenticity to the narration - anyone who has lived rural for any stretch of time will recognise this particular species of racism. Something which makes this somewhat easier to stomach is that it was written from a definitively anti-racist perspective.
Herbert was a Western Australian and multiple time Miles Franklin winner, Poor Fellow, My Country was the last work he published, and it tells the interweaving stories of three figures living in the deep outback of the Northern Territory (largely centered on the fictional town of Beatrice) from the 1930s, through world war II, and beyond. These are: Jeremy Delacy, a white man who regularly discourses (at length) against bigotry and racism, he owns the cattle station of Lily Lagoons, which provides a safe-haven for the local aboriginals. Prindy, Delacy's half-aboriginal grandson, at risk of being taken away from his family as a result of the abhorrent racial policies which produced the Stolen Generation. And Rebekah 'Rifka' Rosen, a Jewish refugee fleeing Nazi Germany, who struggles to fit into the community of Beatrice, and who doesn't actually appear in the novel until the second part, some 500 pages in.
Herbert was part of the Jindyworobak movement in Australian Literature, which sought to create a uniquely 'Australian' culture by integrating Aboriginal cultural stories, language, and mythology within literature. Now, within this book, Herbert expresses an extraordinary depth of knowledge of aboriginal culture and stories, most of which is expressed to the reader through the character of Jeremy Delacy, who frequently talks about this knowledge to anyone and everyone willing to listen - to the extent that at times it can come across as a little artificial. An episode early in the book has a woman whom Delacy is showing his property to straight up admit that she's an English Fascist (after Walter Mosley), thenceforth they have a series of political arguments as Jeremy shows this woman his land and the people that live on it,while simultaneously trying to educate this actual facist, who will never actually take on his words, he knows she will never listen to him, nonetheless, he tries. This kind of thing significantly inflates the pagecount of Herbert's novel, perhaps to it's detriment, I'm hard-pressed to actually reccommend this novel to anyone.
Poor Fellow, My Country is filled with a deep pessimism towards Australia, its racist tendencies, and it's slavish fidelity to mother Britain in matters of commerce, international and domestic politics. This pessimism, it is evident on reading, is the product of a lifetime of frustrated opposition to the generational trends of Australian culture writ large.
Poor Fellow, My Country depicts three outsiders to a deeply racist system, and it's quite unflinching about the way in which it depicts this system, and as such, the book can be a quite uncomfortable to read at times. Herbert makes use of slurs and out-dated and arcane terms for mixed-race people frequently, something which perhaps dates the book to the 70s, as at times it appears that such terminology is used without any awareness that they are deeply fucked things to say, no matter the form (I would have a hard time seeing a modern author depicting the time period using such language), although it lends authenticity to the narration - anyone who has lived rural for any stretch of time will recognise this particular species of racism. Something which makes this somewhat easier to stomach is that it was written from a definitively anti-racist perspective.
April 27, 2025
There’s a lot of conversation about Poor Fellow My Country being the Great Australian Novel. I think it is up there, for its era, and more importantly, for me. But I realise that not many people are going to invest the time it takes into reading it. That’s fine, it makes our experience who put in the hours unique. 850,000 odd words is a heavy commitment for one tome. The tale itself is tragic of course, as most history is. White Australia and indigenous relations, with the Chinese miners, Japanese pearlers and Afghan hawkers amongst all others thrown into the mix, along comes cultural misunderstandings, colonial arrogance and inevitable unhappy endings. It doesn’t shy from the reaction to the bombing on Darwin, not our finest hour, but that’s what you get with Herbert. White man at his miserable worst, and it also doesn’t sycophant to the noble savage image either. There were some pretty brutal scenes involving tribal interactions. Jeremy, one of the main voices was probably Herbert’s mouthpiece as has been postulated. Prindy’s story…well, it’s not a book you come out with a jingoistic fervour singing Waltzing Matilda.
April 29, 2013
This novel took me months to read but I was determined to finish and today I achieved my mission. It could have been two, three or even six different books, such is the breadth and depth of the story.
I can't say truthfully if I liked it as 'like' seems too frivolous a term to use when reviewing such an epic (and I use that term in the true sense of the word). I
am hard put to describe my reaction to this book other than to say I am glad that I finished it but I would not necessarily recommend it. It is harsh, long, truthful and uncomfortable. I
t was at times joyous and other times truly horrible. What never changed is Herbert's extraordinary and evocative descriptions of the north of Australia and the people who live there.
I can't say truthfully if I liked it as 'like' seems too frivolous a term to use when reviewing such an epic (and I use that term in the true sense of the word). I
am hard put to describe my reaction to this book other than to say I am glad that I finished it but I would not necessarily recommend it. It is harsh, long, truthful and uncomfortable. I
t was at times joyous and other times truly horrible. What never changed is Herbert's extraordinary and evocative descriptions of the north of Australia and the people who live there.
August 7, 2016
The longest book in the English language published in one volume - 1463 pages! Long, too long, would benefit from having around 500 pages removed. Having said that, usually an engaging read with some vey interesting and worthwhile (though mainly very negative) alternative views on Australian history, culture and society. A shortened version should be in the reading list of every Australian school child.
February 6, 2015
An excellent read. It is a powerful, haunting, and ultimately sad, reminder of the nature of the way in which our country was colonised.
My only criticism would be that at times, especially in the middle of the book, the flow of the story was weighed down by lengthy and labored political debate. This notwithstanding, I would recommend all mindful Australians read Poor Fellow My Country.
My only criticism would be that at times, especially in the middle of the book, the flow of the story was weighed down by lengthy and labored political debate. This notwithstanding, I would recommend all mindful Australians read Poor Fellow My Country.
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August 30, 2011Amazing, I read this a long time ago ..and I must read it again soon
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