Hinterland (UQP 2017) is a novel ambitious in scope and in emotion. Set in the fictional town of Winderran (a thinly-veiled clone of Maleny), in the hinterland of southern Queensland, the depiction of the landscape, the environment and the very people themselves are all clearly informed by author Steven Lang's long association with the real place: the rural farming / tree change / artists’ enclave through which most of us become familiar via day trips to cheese factories, art galleries, wineries and bushwalks. His sense of place – of the permeating grip of the light and the weather, of the sunsets and the sky, of nature at its glorious best – imbues the book with a rich and sensuous feel for the community. Winderran is a beautiful place, and that beauty echoes through every page. We can almost see the shifting palette of colour above, we can smell eucalypt and the steaming breath of cattle, we can feel the leaf litter beneath our feet and the fresh, clear water of the local swimming holes. The environment is important out here, and feelings about its preservation run deep.
And this is where the story begins. For while this is a literary novel in that it defers to the beauty of landscape and language, it also propels us forward with a compelling story of controversy, betrayal and violence. Wealthy developers plan to construct a dam to provide much-needed water relief to outlying areas, and down to the coast. But many of the locals consider the dam an ill-thought out and unnecessary white elephant. In the heated discussions and skirmishes that follow, the politics of small-town communities are spotlighted front and centre – neighbours against friends, leaders against voters, locals against ring-in environmentalists.
The story is told from the perspectives of five main characters: Miles, Nick, Eugenie, Guy and Will. Through their quite different voices we see the events unfold from very different viewpoints. Will, particularly, is written in a voice so removed from the others; his personality setting him apart. And this is what brings the characters alive – they are all so separate, not only in their patterns of speech and their habits and their circumstances, but in their motivations and their backgrounds. Which is exactly how some of these rural tree-change areas develop, as a mish-mash of unemployed hippies and wealthy retirees, ardent environmentalists and traditional farmers, edgy artists and hopeful land developers, all in together trying to make a community. It is natural that tensions should run high, and that their ideals and objectives will be vastly different. Conflicts over land often involve intense emotion, as the stakes are so high – land use, land ownership, land history, collective land versus private land, boundary disputes, infrastructure – all are polarising issues.
Steven Lang divines the personalities of his characters with micro-accuracy and an attention to the detail of self-reflective thought that brings them to life as memorable three-dimensional figures. Indeed, one wonders how many locals or members of other small communities may see themselves or their neighbours in the characters in this book. All of the characters are flawed; all are beset by doubts and troubled pasts, by guilt or bad behaviour. Some are haunted by missed opportunities or a misspent youth, some are driven by ruthless ambition and greed. All are united, however, by their need for connection: connection to place and to the land; connection to the past; or connection to each other. All are searching for connection, but each travels a different path in its pursuit.