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Eyrie
Eyrie tells the story of Tom Keely, a man who’s lost his bearings in middle age and is now holed up in a flat at the top of a grim highrise, looking down on the world he’s fallen out of love with.
He’s cut himself off, until one day he runs into some neighbours: a woman he used to know when they were kids, and her introverted young boy. The encounter shakes him up in a way he doesn’t understand. Despite himself, Keely lets them in.
What follows is a heart-stopping, groundbreaking novel for our times – funny, confronting, exhilarating and haunting – populated by unforgettable characters. It asks how, in an impossibly compromised world, we can ever hope to do the right thing..
He’s cut himself off, until one day he runs into some neighbours: a woman he used to know when they were kids, and her introverted young boy. The encounter shakes him up in a way he doesn’t understand. Despite himself, Keely lets them in.
What follows is a heart-stopping, groundbreaking novel for our times – funny, confronting, exhilarating and haunting – populated by unforgettable characters. It asks how, in an impossibly compromised world, we can ever hope to do the right thing..
424 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2013
277 people are currently reading
4314 people want to read
About the author
Tim Winton
76 books2,368 followersTim Winton was born in Perth, Western Australia, but moved at a young age to the small country town of Albany.
While a student at Curtin University of Technology, Winton wrote his first novel, An Open Swimmer. It went on to win The Australian/Vogel Literary Award in 1981, and launched his writing career. In fact, he wrote "the best part of three books while at university". His second book, Shallows, won the Miles Franklin Award in 1984. It wasn't until Cloudstreet was published in 1991, however, that his career and economic future were cemented.
In 1995 Winton’s novel, The Riders, was shortlisted for the Booker Prize, as was his 2002 book, Dirt Music. Both are currently being adapted for film. He has won many other prizes, including the Miles Franklin Award three times: for Shallows (1984), Cloudstreet (1992) and Dirt Music (2002). Cloudstreet is arguably his best-known work, regularly appearing in lists of Australia’s best-loved novels. His latest novel, released in 2013, is called Eyrie.
He is now one of Australia's most esteemed novelists, writing for both adults and children. All his books are still in print and have been published in eighteen different languages. His work has also been successfully adapted for stage, screen and radio. On the publication of his novel, Dirt Music, he collaborated with broadcaster, Lucky Oceans, to produce a compilation CD, Dirt Music – Music for a Novel.
He has lived in Italy, France, Ireland and Greece but currently lives in Western Australia with his wife and three children.
While a student at Curtin University of Technology, Winton wrote his first novel, An Open Swimmer. It went on to win The Australian/Vogel Literary Award in 1981, and launched his writing career. In fact, he wrote "the best part of three books while at university". His second book, Shallows, won the Miles Franklin Award in 1984. It wasn't until Cloudstreet was published in 1991, however, that his career and economic future were cemented.
In 1995 Winton’s novel, The Riders, was shortlisted for the Booker Prize, as was his 2002 book, Dirt Music. Both are currently being adapted for film. He has won many other prizes, including the Miles Franklin Award three times: for Shallows (1984), Cloudstreet (1992) and Dirt Music (2002). Cloudstreet is arguably his best-known work, regularly appearing in lists of Australia’s best-loved novels. His latest novel, released in 2013, is called Eyrie.
He is now one of Australia's most esteemed novelists, writing for both adults and children. All his books are still in print and have been published in eighteen different languages. His work has also been successfully adapted for stage, screen and radio. On the publication of his novel, Dirt Music, he collaborated with broadcaster, Lucky Oceans, to produce a compilation CD, Dirt Music – Music for a Novel.
He has lived in Italy, France, Ireland and Greece but currently lives in Western Australia with his wife and three children.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 889 reviews
December 4, 2013
Established author swallows dictionary, spends too much of word budget on a self-indulgent protagonist, generally tries way too hard, for some mystifying reason, and gives up just when the story gets interesting. Angry.
July 29, 2016
I didn't think that a Tim Winton novel would become a page turner, but this one did. Or at least, it did for me. It's a simple novel in many ways, and a somewhat unusual one for Winton. The natural world isn't entirely absent, but the setting is essentially urban, alternating between the Western Australian coastal city of Fremantle, and a leafy suburb of Perth just a short distance away. The central protagonist is Tom Keely, a middle-aged, formerly high-profile environmental campaigner whose career has ended in a spectacular public meltdown. Unhappy, divorced and unemployed, self-medicating what might be a neurological illness with alcohol and pills, Keely has retreated to the isolation of a low-rent apartment block which has seen better days, not so much to lick his wounds as to rub salt into them. There he encounters Gemma, an old childhood friend, and her grandson Kai, a most unusual six year old boy. Drawn into their lives, Keely decides that if he can't save the environment or even himself, he must save Kai.
I love Winton's prose. In this novel, it's neither poetic nor lyrical, but Winton's use of the Australian vernacular is commanding and his dialogue is wonderful. (Although readers who like dialogue to be encased in quotation marks will be disappointed.) I also love the complexity of Winton's characters. Keely may be a sad-sack, but Winton gives him a biting wit which prevents him from being completely unlikable. Winton also gives Keely a truly wonderful mother, Doris, who has become one of my all-time favourite literary parents. Gemma is interesting - manipulative, but understandably so - and Kai's intelligence and strangeness are depicted with compassion and without sentimentality.
Winton is pointed in his critique of Western Australian society and politics and he grapples with the way class operates in what many Australians like to think of as our classless country. Politicians, environmentalists, the mining lobby are particular targets, but nobody really escapes Keely's (Winton's?) despairing cynicism. The satirical aspect of the work may resonate more with Australians - and even more with Western Australians - than with readers from other parts of the world. But that doesn't mean that readers unfamiliar with the Western Australian scene won't be able to draw parallels with issues in their own society.
I'd give the novel five stars, but its ambiguous ending deflated me a bit. Winton doesn't tie up his novels in a neat bow and I respect his choice in that regard, but I would have preferred something a little more definite. That could just be a measure of my involvement with the characters. When you become really attached to characters in a novel, it's hard not to want to know exactly what happens to them.
Please note: There are some spoilers in the comments which follow this review.
September 29, 2014
You'll need something steady to hold on to as you read Eyrie. It is a vertiginous wobble through lives disintegrated by the slow acid drip of despair and addiction, held together by the thinnest strands of determination, survival, and devotion. Tim Winton's latest is not for the faint of soul.
We're in familiar Winton territory here: Western Australia (“which was, you could say, like Texas. Only it was big”) and the industrial, vaguely hipster Perth suburb of Fremantle ('Freo'), with a collection of characters of ambivalent ambition, and knots of family that are impossible to pick loose.
The story's antihero, Tom Keely, recalls Fred Scully from Winton's The Riders: a man whose expectations of the world have been shattered by the reality of his and everyone else's shortcomings, yet redemption is not impossible, coming in the form of a child in need.
Keely is a disaster. Once a successful environmentalist, he lay in ruin on the damp carpet of his squalid Freo highrise in a permanent state of wooziness-felled by drugs, alcohol, and an undetermined illness that causes him to lose time, memory, and occasionally, consciousness. He is forty-nine, broke, unemployed, divorced; his elegant, widowed mother pays his phone bill.
Crushed by some sort of political scandal and cognitive break, Keely is profoundly depressed. The novel's setting reflects the main character's hopelessness-the suffocating summer heat, the grasping, fly-away consumerism, the gangs and homeless, the degradation of his country by mining and industry. Fremantle sounds like the crusty armpit of the southern hemisphere.
But pity not Tom Keely. Unlike his childhood friend, Gemma, whose mother was regularly beaten to a pulp, whose father was wrecked by anger and drink, Keely was raised by involved, enlightened parents. Okay, so there was the strange period when they got caught up in a gang of motorbike evangelists, but really, he had a loving home and a good education. Gemma, an ethereal beauty as a child, has been handled so often, she is ragged from use and cigarettes and wretched fatigue. Her worthless parents have long since shuffled off the mortal coil, but Gemma, now forty-four, has survived. And by chance she and her six-year-old grandson Kai live down the cement breezeway from Keely.
Their presence, their ferocious need and reckless independence, pull Keely back from one brink and push him toward another.
Tim Winton, like Cormac McCarthy, Louise Erdrich, Colm Toibin, Edna O'Brien, is a writer-poet. His prose has such density and texture; it is sensual and viscous. Australian vernacular is particularly rich, to the point of cloying, and Winton uses it to demonstrate the sharp class divides in this country that we think of as a model of social egalitarianism.
This is a novel of ambiguities. You are never quite certain what's happened to Keely-why he abandoned a successful career, what pushed his wife into an affair and an abortion, what illness eats away at his sanity. His true feelings for Gemma are muddled by lust and pity. You'll probably read the last few pages a few times, trying to determine exactly what happened. Lost cause, that. The one bell that rings clear and loud is Keely's single-minded devotion to Kai.
Don't read Eyrie for the answers. Read it for the questions. Read it because it's so very good.
We're in familiar Winton territory here: Western Australia (“which was, you could say, like Texas. Only it was big”) and the industrial, vaguely hipster Perth suburb of Fremantle ('Freo'), with a collection of characters of ambivalent ambition, and knots of family that are impossible to pick loose.
The story's antihero, Tom Keely, recalls Fred Scully from Winton's The Riders: a man whose expectations of the world have been shattered by the reality of his and everyone else's shortcomings, yet redemption is not impossible, coming in the form of a child in need.
Keely is a disaster. Once a successful environmentalist, he lay in ruin on the damp carpet of his squalid Freo highrise in a permanent state of wooziness-felled by drugs, alcohol, and an undetermined illness that causes him to lose time, memory, and occasionally, consciousness. He is forty-nine, broke, unemployed, divorced; his elegant, widowed mother pays his phone bill.
Crushed by some sort of political scandal and cognitive break, Keely is profoundly depressed. The novel's setting reflects the main character's hopelessness-the suffocating summer heat, the grasping, fly-away consumerism, the gangs and homeless, the degradation of his country by mining and industry. Fremantle sounds like the crusty armpit of the southern hemisphere.
But pity not Tom Keely. Unlike his childhood friend, Gemma, whose mother was regularly beaten to a pulp, whose father was wrecked by anger and drink, Keely was raised by involved, enlightened parents. Okay, so there was the strange period when they got caught up in a gang of motorbike evangelists, but really, he had a loving home and a good education. Gemma, an ethereal beauty as a child, has been handled so often, she is ragged from use and cigarettes and wretched fatigue. Her worthless parents have long since shuffled off the mortal coil, but Gemma, now forty-four, has survived. And by chance she and her six-year-old grandson Kai live down the cement breezeway from Keely.
Their presence, their ferocious need and reckless independence, pull Keely back from one brink and push him toward another.
Tim Winton, like Cormac McCarthy, Louise Erdrich, Colm Toibin, Edna O'Brien, is a writer-poet. His prose has such density and texture; it is sensual and viscous. Australian vernacular is particularly rich, to the point of cloying, and Winton uses it to demonstrate the sharp class divides in this country that we think of as a model of social egalitarianism.
This is a novel of ambiguities. You are never quite certain what's happened to Keely-why he abandoned a successful career, what pushed his wife into an affair and an abortion, what illness eats away at his sanity. His true feelings for Gemma are muddled by lust and pity. You'll probably read the last few pages a few times, trying to determine exactly what happened. Lost cause, that. The one bell that rings clear and loud is Keely's single-minded devotion to Kai.
Don't read Eyrie for the answers. Read it for the questions. Read it because it's so very good.
August 30, 2014
Oh dear. After reading Breath, I expected something amazing out of this book, but alas, I have just finished and am thinking I would like all those hours of my life back. Honestly, this has Winton's signature style of writing, the amazing language that kills you while you fall in love with it, the quiescent implication of bigger, breathtaking things hovering on the horizon, but it's all swamped and negated by the dull plot. It's a great character study of Tom Keeley who has more issues than he does brain cells, but the fact is that you spend much of the novel waiting to see where things will go, what will happen, only to get to the end and find nothing, that it's not going anywhere. This novel is like a rough concept that has good potential, but needs a lot of polishing to become a story. Or maybe I'm just old fashioned in thinking that there needs to actually be a story in a novel; maybe this is Winton testing the boundaries. But if it is, I can't say I'm fond of the attempt.
July 13, 2019
Tom Keely’s life, like a skein of wool, is slowly starting to unravel. He has lost his wife, his job, he no longer answers emails or phone calls. The only real connection left to the world is his contact with his sister and mother. He does not seem to realise the amount of prescription drugs he is taking, or his dependency on them to make it through the interminable days and nights. He is clearly, maybe not to himself, but I believe he knows as well, spiralling down into the depths of depression and isolation.
However, this spiral is challenged when he runs into a woman who also lives on the tenth floor of his building, only a couple of doors down, who recognises him as a childhood friend. Gemma Burk was one of the sisters who used to sleep over at Tom’s house at night when her father was bashing their mother. Tom’s father, Nev, would look after the sisters and confront the husband. Tom feels, not from lack of trying, that he has lived his life in his father’s enormous shadow.
Gemma has a grandson who lives with her who takes a shine to Tom and starts making more intrusions into his life with each day. Their lives are far from ideal and it is obvious to Tom that they have huge problems as well, perhaps problems exceeding his own. The six-year old grandson Kai seems to have some connection to Tom and looks to him maybe as a father figure, a saviour perhaps. As his relationship with Kai grows so does his concern about Kai’s mental state. As Kai becomes more comfortable with Tom he starts to open up and tells Tom about his dreams of falling from their apartment. Tom’s fears deepen when he finds amongst Kai’s drawings of birds, a drawing of the outline of a body, exactly like the ones seen in crime scenes that designate where the body was found. When he questions Kai about it, Kai tells him that it is his outline, where he lands from the fall. Kai tells Tom he will never be old, and Tom thinks he may be suicidal.
Tom realises that their problems may be more desperate than he thinks when a young man, clearly a drug addict, turns up demanding money from Gemma. This man tacitly implies that their lives are in danger if they don’t pay the money by the end of the week. The man turns out to be friends with Gemma’s daughter’s crazed drug fuelled ex-husband.
Tom and his family helped Gemma and her sister years ago. His father took on an almost mythical status in Gemma’s eyes. Now years later Tom must help Gemma again, but is he up to such a task? Is this the time to emerge from his father’s shadow?
Winton, once again, shows how masterfully he writes characters and their relationships. Particularly, characters with problems, flaws, and fears. Also, much like The Shepard’s Hut, he touches on the lack of a stable father figure for Kai. The damage that can be done to one so young, when the father figure is missing, morally, spiritually and physically.
He is also clearly bringing the message to the fore of Australia following America’s path in painkiller addiction and the myriad of problems it causes not just to the individual, but society as a whole.
What Winton also does brilliantly is to leave the reader in the dark as to what has befallen Tom and why he is in such an unstable state. As the novel progresses, we see how badly he is addicted and affected by the painkillers. His background is ambiguously cloudy, and slowly revealed throughout the novel, with information coming from the other characters. As he lets the reader build Tom’s character, he builds suspense, with messages and signs being left on Gemma’s front door, a teddy bear left on the balcony. Tom feels he must do something, but the end of the week is getting closer.
There is a great line in the book, when you are swimming and trying to save somebody drowning, lead with the feet, do not let the them drag you down with them.
As with all Winton’s books, this one has that unique Australian feel to it. It permeates the whole novel. The language, the slang, the location, the heat. I live in Queensland on the east coast, but Winton made me feel like l had been living in Western Australia my whole life.
Brilliant novel, so close to a five. 4.5 Stars.
However, this spiral is challenged when he runs into a woman who also lives on the tenth floor of his building, only a couple of doors down, who recognises him as a childhood friend. Gemma Burk was one of the sisters who used to sleep over at Tom’s house at night when her father was bashing their mother. Tom’s father, Nev, would look after the sisters and confront the husband. Tom feels, not from lack of trying, that he has lived his life in his father’s enormous shadow.
Gemma has a grandson who lives with her who takes a shine to Tom and starts making more intrusions into his life with each day. Their lives are far from ideal and it is obvious to Tom that they have huge problems as well, perhaps problems exceeding his own. The six-year old grandson Kai seems to have some connection to Tom and looks to him maybe as a father figure, a saviour perhaps. As his relationship with Kai grows so does his concern about Kai’s mental state. As Kai becomes more comfortable with Tom he starts to open up and tells Tom about his dreams of falling from their apartment. Tom’s fears deepen when he finds amongst Kai’s drawings of birds, a drawing of the outline of a body, exactly like the ones seen in crime scenes that designate where the body was found. When he questions Kai about it, Kai tells him that it is his outline, where he lands from the fall. Kai tells Tom he will never be old, and Tom thinks he may be suicidal.
Tom realises that their problems may be more desperate than he thinks when a young man, clearly a drug addict, turns up demanding money from Gemma. This man tacitly implies that their lives are in danger if they don’t pay the money by the end of the week. The man turns out to be friends with Gemma’s daughter’s crazed drug fuelled ex-husband.
Tom and his family helped Gemma and her sister years ago. His father took on an almost mythical status in Gemma’s eyes. Now years later Tom must help Gemma again, but is he up to such a task? Is this the time to emerge from his father’s shadow?
Winton, once again, shows how masterfully he writes characters and their relationships. Particularly, characters with problems, flaws, and fears. Also, much like The Shepard’s Hut, he touches on the lack of a stable father figure for Kai. The damage that can be done to one so young, when the father figure is missing, morally, spiritually and physically.
He is also clearly bringing the message to the fore of Australia following America’s path in painkiller addiction and the myriad of problems it causes not just to the individual, but society as a whole.
What Winton also does brilliantly is to leave the reader in the dark as to what has befallen Tom and why he is in such an unstable state. As the novel progresses, we see how badly he is addicted and affected by the painkillers. His background is ambiguously cloudy, and slowly revealed throughout the novel, with information coming from the other characters. As he lets the reader build Tom’s character, he builds suspense, with messages and signs being left on Gemma’s front door, a teddy bear left on the balcony. Tom feels he must do something, but the end of the week is getting closer.
There is a great line in the book, when you are swimming and trying to save somebody drowning, lead with the feet, do not let the them drag you down with them.
As with all Winton’s books, this one has that unique Australian feel to it. It permeates the whole novel. The language, the slang, the location, the heat. I live in Queensland on the east coast, but Winton made me feel like l had been living in Western Australia my whole life.
Brilliant novel, so close to a five. 4.5 Stars.
September 22, 2013
Having been a fan of Tim Winton for my entire twenty seven year old life (starting with Lockie Leonard and Cloudstreet in school, and continuing from there), I wonder if I am biased in my critique. However, after reading the only two reviews of Eyrie so far, I cannot disagree more.
Eyrie is not a plot-driven story, nor do I think it is supposed to be. The joy of this story lies in the simplicity of it's it narrative, in the rawness of its characters and especially in the mundanity of the average blokes life. What makes Winton's work exceptional is that you do want to know what will happen in this nobody's life next. Keely is the average Australian failure - the reason we care what happens to him is that he could be any of us, punished for standing up for what's right. In fact, I think it would be fair to say that this isn't 'nobody's' story - its 'everybody's'.
Eyrie is not a plot-driven story, nor do I think it is supposed to be. The joy of this story lies in the simplicity of it's it narrative, in the rawness of its characters and especially in the mundanity of the average blokes life. What makes Winton's work exceptional is that you do want to know what will happen in this nobody's life next. Keely is the average Australian failure - the reason we care what happens to him is that he could be any of us, punished for standing up for what's right. In fact, I think it would be fair to say that this isn't 'nobody's' story - its 'everybody's'.
November 6, 2014
You must have had that experience of opening a door and realising oops, sorreeee – wrong room! That was me reading the first chapters of this book. It was a room I’d been in before and I don’t want to go in again. The room of the mind of the middle-aged Western white guy, who, according to numerous authors (and film-makers), will, these days, be full of self-loathing (after all, you created this godforsaken planetary mess we now wallow around in, didn’tcha?), and which may be rendered with deep anguish or more usually with bitter bleak humour, as required.
I’ll bet Tim Winton’s heart is in the right place, and hopefully the rest of his internal organs too. But…page opened at random (118):
This was what happened now. It was occurring everywhere. People reduced to toting up whatever made them valuable to the market. Which was to say the bosses.
is something I feel I may have read before.
So : o dear o dear I have a hangover and my penis doesn’t work and my life is a disaster. So many variations on a theme : Everyman/Roth; Platform/Houellebecq; A Fraction of the Whole/Toltz; Bonfire of the Vanities/Wolfe; Independence Day/Ford; Netherland/O’Neill leading back to the ur-texts of Money/Amis and Herzog/Bellow. So many of them. For some of these moaning men their penises do work and they appear to have something in the bank but they still like to contemplate sadly yet wisely for page upon page.
I’m outta here.
I’ll bet Tim Winton’s heart is in the right place, and hopefully the rest of his internal organs too. But…page opened at random (118):
This was what happened now. It was occurring everywhere. People reduced to toting up whatever made them valuable to the market. Which was to say the bosses.
is something I feel I may have read before.
So : o dear o dear I have a hangover and my penis doesn’t work and my life is a disaster. So many variations on a theme : Everyman/Roth; Platform/Houellebecq; A Fraction of the Whole/Toltz; Bonfire of the Vanities/Wolfe; Independence Day/Ford; Netherland/O’Neill leading back to the ur-texts of Money/Amis and Herzog/Bellow. So many of them. For some of these moaning men their penises do work and they appear to have something in the bank but they still like to contemplate sadly yet wisely for page upon page.
I’m outta here.
September 12, 2021
While reading Eyrie, I realized how little most authors of fiction care about realism. This book was so realistic it hurt, sometimes.
Many of us know the frustrations of having a child or pet that is obviously suffering, but cannot communicate exactly what the problem is. If you appreciate and can tolerate this particular flavor of realism, this book provide hours of absorbing reading. If it totally pisses you off (a stance I can appreciate) then you'll throw this across the room about halfway through.
One of the features of the other Winton books I've read is that it usually takes him about a page and a half to get his hooks into me. This one was different -- I didn't warm up to the main character right away, or indeed ever. But Winton has other ways of keeping my interest. His offhand description of a frou-frou restaurant menu:
But this makes it sound like a litany of clever complaints. In fact, this is a book about agency -- the ability to make changes in the world. There are four principle characters in the book, and three of them have to make deep and meaningful decisions. I am always invested in the outcome of Winton's books, but this one breaks new ground by injecting urgency and fear in a way he hasn't done before. This novel has an intensity that has not been present in the other stories of his I've read, and that intensity was sprung on us by surprise about two thirds of the way through.
Most of his books greatly polarize readers, but this one seems to have a broader spectrum of opinions. In that sense, it isn't a typical Winton book. But in the mastery of language, of getting into people's heads and understanding how people actually make decisions, he is almost peerless.
One of many mysteries, however, that was not resolved: What the fuck is a coxcomb of Serrano solar?
Many of us know the frustrations of having a child or pet that is obviously suffering, but cannot communicate exactly what the problem is. If you appreciate and can tolerate this particular flavor of realism, this book provide hours of absorbing reading. If it totally pisses you off (a stance I can appreciate) then you'll throw this across the room about halfway through.
One of the features of the other Winton books I've read is that it usually takes him about a page and a half to get his hooks into me. This one was different -- I didn't warm up to the main character right away, or indeed ever. But Winton has other ways of keeping my interest. His offhand description of a frou-frou restaurant menu:
Every vegetable, every bit of protein on the list had a provenance more complex than a minor Rembrandt. And he didn't know what half of it meant. What the fuck was a coxcomb of Serrano solar?Reflecting on his father, a renowned preacher/civil rights advocate:
How would he have fared, had he survived? This was an era for reptiles, not bears. Would he have faced down the shellacked bump and grind of the evangelical super-church, the evil sugar-drip of prosperity theology?
But this makes it sound like a litany of clever complaints. In fact, this is a book about agency -- the ability to make changes in the world. There are four principle characters in the book, and three of them have to make deep and meaningful decisions. I am always invested in the outcome of Winton's books, but this one breaks new ground by injecting urgency and fear in a way he hasn't done before. This novel has an intensity that has not been present in the other stories of his I've read, and that intensity was sprung on us by surprise about two thirds of the way through.
Most of his books greatly polarize readers, but this one seems to have a broader spectrum of opinions. In that sense, it isn't a typical Winton book. But in the mastery of language, of getting into people's heads and understanding how people actually make decisions, he is almost peerless.
One of many mysteries, however, that was not resolved: What the fuck is a coxcomb of Serrano solar?
January 13, 2014
Largely a middle class, misogynistic, self indulgent ramble. I wanted to like it but I found it cliched. All of it. The characters were primarily one dimensional and stereotyped; whilst all flawed, including the irritating Doris, which should have made them interesting, they felt contrived. The reflections on politics and mining felt aspirational and rehearsed; like a try hard at a party dropping one liners and names to gain status. And the plot linear; was there really any other way it was going to end based on the constant repetition of his 'hero' father? It gathered momentum as it neared the climax and I did like the ending but still felt it was predictable. The overt social commentary probably impeded the thriller aspect for me.
I wanted to like it. I loved the descriptive passages in so many parts, the grimy Freo, the urban landscapes, the river, the concert etc. Being a Sandgroper I found it entertaining to try and figure out exactly which streets and shops Winton was describing but I just couldn't engage with the characters.
I love flawed characters in texts. I love ambiguous endings. I love complicated authentic relationships but this just felt contrived.
I wanted to like it. I loved the descriptive passages in so many parts, the grimy Freo, the urban landscapes, the river, the concert etc. Being a Sandgroper I found it entertaining to try and figure out exactly which streets and shops Winton was describing but I just couldn't engage with the characters.
I love flawed characters in texts. I love ambiguous endings. I love complicated authentic relationships but this just felt contrived.
November 23, 2013
You don't read Winton for a simple, easy story line; he draws you in if you're willing, his words have a strange power. You don't realise it's happening, but somehow you enter into the character's mind. Eg in Breath, I felt myself breathing in time with the story, whether out in the ocean being breathless or diving under the water holding my breath. Eyrie is somewhat similar, his prose has me breathing in time with each character. I see through their eyes, I smell the food or the stale water sodden carpet. While my ego wants Tom Keeley to get himself together, go to the doctor; or Gemma to be kinder, gentler, grateful, these are in the end real people with huge unsolvable problems. Winton offers us the opportunity to get under their skin, see what it's like to be in their lives. Lives that most of us have no idea of. And children like Kai do exist, there is no fairy godmother to save them. They might make it, might not.
I think Keeley has helped Kai to see other possibilities. And Gemma too may see things differently after Tom's final efforts.
My interpretation of the ending is that Clappy stabs him. P. 422 "felt the boyish thinness of his flashing wrist. And heard the knife before he saw it."
Then " he ran on squelching feet" and "cold feet, slippery wet" and "sir there is bleeding". Whether he dies or not doesn't really matter, he finally feels he has achieved something, and helped Gemma and Kai "I am well".
Kai is safe,Gemma is safe for the time being. In the future Doris will be there to lend a hand if necessary.
At the end I did feel disturbed but re reading it I feel lighter, "airy" in fact.
I think we are privileged to have Winton writing Australian stories. You don't read him for light entertainment, you read him for wisdom, a sort of enlightenment. Oh and I think he captures Freo perfectly.
I think Keeley has helped Kai to see other possibilities. And Gemma too may see things differently after Tom's final efforts.
My interpretation of the ending is that Clappy stabs him. P. 422 "felt the boyish thinness of his flashing wrist. And heard the knife before he saw it."
Then " he ran on squelching feet" and "cold feet, slippery wet" and "sir there is bleeding". Whether he dies or not doesn't really matter, he finally feels he has achieved something, and helped Gemma and Kai "I am well".
Kai is safe,Gemma is safe for the time being. In the future Doris will be there to lend a hand if necessary.
At the end I did feel disturbed but re reading it I feel lighter, "airy" in fact.
I think we are privileged to have Winton writing Australian stories. You don't read him for light entertainment, you read him for wisdom, a sort of enlightenment. Oh and I think he captures Freo perfectly.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
October 24, 2013
Tim Winton is my second-favourite contemporary author so I am probably biased coming into this, but Eyrie doesn't disappoint. He captures this moment of time, and the location, so very well. It is a brilliant snapshot of Perth and Fremantle, and the differences between the two. He has an uncanny eye, and some of his sardonic reflections of the West are ripsnorters, although there is an air of affection to them as well:
That is WA, in two short paragraphs, captured perfectly.
This is more a story of characters than plot: a man in decline, a woman trying to hold the remains of her family together, and a boy who thinks he'll never get to be old.
When I saw Winton speak at the Fremantle Town Hall recently, he said that a good book was like a 'burr in a blanket', and that it would always niggle at you, even when you thought you had disposed of it. Eyrie still has me thinking about it, way after it was closed and put back on the shelf. A pleasant burr, but a burr nonetheless.
Port of Fremantle, gateway to the booming state of Western Australia. Which was, you could say, like Texas. Only it was big. Not to mention thin-skinned. And rich beyond dreaming. The greatest ore deposit in the world. The nation's quarry, China's swaggering enabler. A philistine giant eager to pass off its good fortune as virtue, quick to explain its shortcomings as east-coast conspiracies, always at the point of seceding from the Federation. Leviathan with an irritable bowel.
The great beast's shining teeth were visible in the east, through the kitchen window. Not that he was looking. But he could feel it at his back, the state capital looming out there on the plain in its sterile Windexed penumbra. It was only half an hour up the Swan River, as close and as incomprehensible as a sibling. For while Perth had bulldozed its past and buried its doubts in bluster, Fremantle nursed its grievances and scratched its arse.
That is WA, in two short paragraphs, captured perfectly.
This is more a story of characters than plot: a man in decline, a woman trying to hold the remains of her family together, and a boy who thinks he'll never get to be old.
When I saw Winton speak at the Fremantle Town Hall recently, he said that a good book was like a 'burr in a blanket', and that it would always niggle at you, even when you thought you had disposed of it. Eyrie still has me thinking about it, way after it was closed and put back on the shelf. A pleasant burr, but a burr nonetheless.
December 4, 2013
What a massive disappointment. Great character studies and description of current culture and environment of mining towns Fremantle and Perth in Western Australia. But Winton seemed to have forgotten to include a plot and any kind of ending...I finished the book yesterday and am still wondering what happened to the ending of the book? I feel cheated.
November 3, 2013
Others have commented that they found the main character Tom Keely unlikeable. I did not. Keely may have "dropped his bundle" but even on his darkest days he couldn't completely ignore the bonds of family and friendship, nor turn his back on the pull of the natural world. Though sad and hurting, deep down he still had a heart and a conscience. That's why he had to use booze and medication to try to make them stop talking for a while.
The end of the book came too soon, but there were fleeting minutes when Keely felt a sense of his own arrival: "He surfed down the stairs, thudding through every steel-railed right angle with the wind in his ears. Pursued by his own gathering momentum, he felt stronger and faster by the second. He was peaking. He felt power in his teeth, a great force pressing for escape".
My favourite character was Keely's mother Doris. Kind and intelligent, Doris was constantly trying not to scare her son away - offering support but not too much. Often Keely mistook her competence for judgement. And sometimes, as a devoted mother frustrated at her son's self-destructive behaviour, she did crack and let her feelings show. Doris had learned from experience that people were complicated and quick fixes unlikely. The admirable quality was that she chose to keep extending offers of love and care, even when they were rejected. Doris knew that doing too much for people turned them into victims and deprived them of power that they needed to find for themselves.
I would have preferred a tidier ending to this book…a few more chapters to see Gemma and Kai further along, to make sure Keely survived and got his act together. But perhaps, Doris-like, I need to recognise that people are messy, happy endings can take a long time to create - and that sometimes they never happen at all.
The end of the book came too soon, but there were fleeting minutes when Keely felt a sense of his own arrival: "He surfed down the stairs, thudding through every steel-railed right angle with the wind in his ears. Pursued by his own gathering momentum, he felt stronger and faster by the second. He was peaking. He felt power in his teeth, a great force pressing for escape".
My favourite character was Keely's mother Doris. Kind and intelligent, Doris was constantly trying not to scare her son away - offering support but not too much. Often Keely mistook her competence for judgement. And sometimes, as a devoted mother frustrated at her son's self-destructive behaviour, she did crack and let her feelings show. Doris had learned from experience that people were complicated and quick fixes unlikely. The admirable quality was that she chose to keep extending offers of love and care, even when they were rejected. Doris knew that doing too much for people turned them into victims and deprived them of power that they needed to find for themselves.
I would have preferred a tidier ending to this book…a few more chapters to see Gemma and Kai further along, to make sure Keely survived and got his act together. But perhaps, Doris-like, I need to recognise that people are messy, happy endings can take a long time to create - and that sometimes they never happen at all.
April 28, 2014
I love Tim Winton's writing but I loathed this book. It stunk, in an almost literal sense: it is so packed with sensory details of every pong, whiff and stench; every sticky, slimy, oozy surface, that I often felt I should take a shower after reading. The characters are unlikeable and so thinly drawn that's it's just hard to care. And I really tried to care because I really like Tim Winton (did I say that already?). I think he was just trying too hard with this one. I can imagine his creative writing teacher peering over his shoulder saying "Show, don't tell, Tim. Leave spaces for the reader to infer the meaning. Hint and don't explain." The trouble is that the result is so full of holes that the plot barely holds together, and comes quite unravelled at the end. It's like a saggy, holey pair of fish net tights; the kind I can imagine What'shername, the trashy woman, wearing. Too many unanswered questions. How did Keely lose his job, exactly? Details please, not vague hints. Why is he so washed up, really? What's wrong with the kid? And what happened at the end? No don't tell me. I've lost interest already. The two stars are out of loyalty.
December 14, 2015
Tom Keely lives a life in solitude, away from the world. Somehow he has lost his bearings in his middle age and is held up in his high-rise apartment, where he can look down on the world. One day he runs into a neighbour and her introverted son. The woman recognises him from back in the day. This encounter shakes him up in a way he really doesn’t understand and he soon finds himself letting them into his life.
I’ve only read Breath by Tim Winton in the past, which I didn’t think too highly of, so I wasn’t sure what to expect with Eyrie. I know well enough to never judge an author by one book and Winton is acclaimed enough to make me think there is really something in his writing. While I wouldn’t say this book is amazing, I think I can see why people like Tim Winton as an author.
The plot is incredibly simple; there is nothing special about it and it has all been done before. This does however in fact open Tim Winton up to what he seems to do really well and that is exploring characters. He has this ability of taking these characters that seem to make sense on the surface but underneath they are complex. Humans are complex characters, not inheritable good or bad and I think Winton knows how to write this.
In the end I think the fact that the plot was very basic was my biggest problem with this novel, which is strange I’ve read and enjoyed some great novels that have virtually no plot but Eyrie didn’t work as I hoped. I think the fact that everything felt a little predictable (plot wise) made me feel detached. Apart from the plot, everything seemed to work. I know I shouldn’t get so hung up about the plot, maybe if it wasn’t so obvious I might have gotten more enjoyment from Eyrie.
Tim Winton is a decent writer, I’m sure I will find a book of his that I can connect with. I will keep looking; still have Cloudstreet, Dirt Music and others to try. The urban location of Eyrie meant that this book felt less like an Australian novel, luckily the slang saved it there. Anyone know which one will work best for me? I’m making an effort to read more Australian novels and am also looking for recommendations as well.
This review originally appeared on my blog; http://literary-exploration.com/2013/...
I’ve only read Breath by Tim Winton in the past, which I didn’t think too highly of, so I wasn’t sure what to expect with Eyrie. I know well enough to never judge an author by one book and Winton is acclaimed enough to make me think there is really something in his writing. While I wouldn’t say this book is amazing, I think I can see why people like Tim Winton as an author.
The plot is incredibly simple; there is nothing special about it and it has all been done before. This does however in fact open Tim Winton up to what he seems to do really well and that is exploring characters. He has this ability of taking these characters that seem to make sense on the surface but underneath they are complex. Humans are complex characters, not inheritable good or bad and I think Winton knows how to write this.
In the end I think the fact that the plot was very basic was my biggest problem with this novel, which is strange I’ve read and enjoyed some great novels that have virtually no plot but Eyrie didn’t work as I hoped. I think the fact that everything felt a little predictable (plot wise) made me feel detached. Apart from the plot, everything seemed to work. I know I shouldn’t get so hung up about the plot, maybe if it wasn’t so obvious I might have gotten more enjoyment from Eyrie.
Tim Winton is a decent writer, I’m sure I will find a book of his that I can connect with. I will keep looking; still have Cloudstreet, Dirt Music and others to try. The urban location of Eyrie meant that this book felt less like an Australian novel, luckily the slang saved it there. Anyone know which one will work best for me? I’m making an effort to read more Australian novels and am also looking for recommendations as well.
This review originally appeared on my blog; http://literary-exploration.com/2013/...
September 20, 2017
Well this was different, wasn't it? Just before reading Eyrie, I read The Turning - a series of short stories written in 2006 about the sort of people who are in this 2013 novel.
As I was reading, I found the language jarring and the situations confronting and thought about the mixed reviews I'd read. I didn't think it read like Tim Winton. But it is Winton, right? And I'd signed up for the June challenge and bought the book (eBook) so no way was I quitting.
Then, Keely, our main character (poor miserable lost soul that he is), started thinking his childhood and wandered down to the shore and the swamps - all good Winton territory - and the language changed and Keely seemed a bit refreshed. Whenever he went in the water, he felt relief, and we sensed it through the tone of the language as much as through the actual words.
That's when I realised that the language that annoyed me was about the things that bugged Keely. He would lapse into some lousy bureaucracy-speak and some stupid slang when he was thinking or talking about bad stuff. But when he reminisced or wandered down to the wharves or the swamps, rivers and bush, his thinking changed to the more lyrical descriptive language that Winton excels at.
I think what Keely despises in himself and the 'system' from which he is been expelled is reflected in the tone of his thoughts and speech. He's a man sinking lower and lower so he can fall and hit bottom, because we all know that you have to hit bottom before you help yourself back up. His flat, the pub, the bad guys - the all reek of terrible smells and smoke and despair.
When Keely forgets all the bad stuff going on today and thinks about how he used to feel as a kid and what his aspirations were as an environmental activist, his thoughts get quite poetic. I stopped being annoyed at Keely's bad turns - which were many and often - and started enjoying the whole story as I watched the language shift from angry to thoughtful.
Gemma, the childhood friend often 'rescued' by his parents in years past and now Nana of Kai, a probably autistic little boy whose druggie mum (Gemma's daughter) is in jail, forces Keely both to live in today and to remember his past. He has a hard time reconciling the two. He doesn't really know where he wants to live. Loves his mum, Doris, but doesn't really want to live in her home, successful professional that she's become.
Winton is a writer who can make you smell the rancid putridness of a neglected flat or a rotten alley. His repetition of extremely simple, homely meals at little tables shows us exactly how far removed he's become from his formerly quasi-famous life in the public eye. We don't hear much about that, just enough to know that Keely (like Winton) is desperately sad about how Australia, particularly WA, has chosen to follow short-term economic gain over long-term sustainable social and environmental benefit.
Keely tries hard to hang on to the normality of these tiny family moments - shared meals and Scrabble - as a way to keep from losing his mind completely.
He's full of pills - mostly painkillers and sedatives - and grog and we suffer every headache and nauseating day-after with him. Not fun, but understandable.
The crazies are still crazy at the end, and I'm not quite sure where everyone will go from here one, but I have some hope for them.
As I was reading, I found the language jarring and the situations confronting and thought about the mixed reviews I'd read. I didn't think it read like Tim Winton. But it is Winton, right? And I'd signed up for the June challenge and bought the book (eBook) so no way was I quitting.
Then, Keely, our main character (poor miserable lost soul that he is), started thinking his childhood and wandered down to the shore and the swamps - all good Winton territory - and the language changed and Keely seemed a bit refreshed. Whenever he went in the water, he felt relief, and we sensed it through the tone of the language as much as through the actual words.
That's when I realised that the language that annoyed me was about the things that bugged Keely. He would lapse into some lousy bureaucracy-speak and some stupid slang when he was thinking or talking about bad stuff. But when he reminisced or wandered down to the wharves or the swamps, rivers and bush, his thinking changed to the more lyrical descriptive language that Winton excels at.
I think what Keely despises in himself and the 'system' from which he is been expelled is reflected in the tone of his thoughts and speech. He's a man sinking lower and lower so he can fall and hit bottom, because we all know that you have to hit bottom before you help yourself back up. His flat, the pub, the bad guys - the all reek of terrible smells and smoke and despair.
When Keely forgets all the bad stuff going on today and thinks about how he used to feel as a kid and what his aspirations were as an environmental activist, his thoughts get quite poetic. I stopped being annoyed at Keely's bad turns - which were many and often - and started enjoying the whole story as I watched the language shift from angry to thoughtful.
Gemma, the childhood friend often 'rescued' by his parents in years past and now Nana of Kai, a probably autistic little boy whose druggie mum (Gemma's daughter) is in jail, forces Keely both to live in today and to remember his past. He has a hard time reconciling the two. He doesn't really know where he wants to live. Loves his mum, Doris, but doesn't really want to live in her home, successful professional that she's become.
Winton is a writer who can make you smell the rancid putridness of a neglected flat or a rotten alley. His repetition of extremely simple, homely meals at little tables shows us exactly how far removed he's become from his formerly quasi-famous life in the public eye. We don't hear much about that, just enough to know that Keely (like Winton) is desperately sad about how Australia, particularly WA, has chosen to follow short-term economic gain over long-term sustainable social and environmental benefit.
Keely tries hard to hang on to the normality of these tiny family moments - shared meals and Scrabble - as a way to keep from losing his mind completely.
He's full of pills - mostly painkillers and sedatives - and grog and we suffer every headache and nauseating day-after with him. Not fun, but understandable.
The crazies are still crazy at the end, and I'm not quite sure where everyone will go from here one, but I have some hope for them.
December 3, 2017
Tom Keely is a man hiding from his past and falling apart. He has isolated himself in his unit on the top floor of a multistory apartment block in Fremantle, and gets through the day with the help of pills and alcohol. Then he meets Gemma, an echo from his childhood, and her strange six year old grandson Kai. They draw him out of his shell into a world that is both unfamiliar and dangerous.
Like all Tim Winton's books, the setting is as much a character in the story as the people themselves. His descriptions of Fremantle and its residents are evocative if you know the place, colourful and perhaps even a little difficult to comprehend if you don't. If you live in Perth, "the grey city" of the book, that's tough.
I have to admit that I almost didn't finish the book after reading the first few chapters. While I'm sympathetic to the causes that Tim Winton supports so strongly, I felt initially that he was using Keely too obviously as a mouthpiece for his own views. But as the characters and the story developed, and as Keely's past was gradually revealed, his opinions became more understandable and integrated and I couldn't put the book down.
This is not a book to read if you don't like the "f" word. Winton's characters are realistically portrayed and use the language that real people in their situations use. But his characters also struggle with life changing spiritual and emotional issues that anyone can identify with. At times lyrical, at times funny, this is a engrossing read.
Like all Tim Winton's books, the setting is as much a character in the story as the people themselves. His descriptions of Fremantle and its residents are evocative if you know the place, colourful and perhaps even a little difficult to comprehend if you don't. If you live in Perth, "the grey city" of the book, that's tough.
I have to admit that I almost didn't finish the book after reading the first few chapters. While I'm sympathetic to the causes that Tim Winton supports so strongly, I felt initially that he was using Keely too obviously as a mouthpiece for his own views. But as the characters and the story developed, and as Keely's past was gradually revealed, his opinions became more understandable and integrated and I couldn't put the book down.
This is not a book to read if you don't like the "f" word. Winton's characters are realistically portrayed and use the language that real people in their situations use. But his characters also struggle with life changing spiritual and emotional issues that anyone can identify with. At times lyrical, at times funny, this is a engrossing read.
October 13, 2013
If anyone asks me about Tim Winton, I tend to reply – “Oh Cloudstreet – what a fantastic book!” (a book that can’t be ruined despite being studied in high school is extraordinarily great in my book). After reading Eyrie though, I’ll be adding it to my spiel.
Eyrie is different from Winton’s preceding novels in that it takes place completely within a city – Fremantle, Western Australia to be exact. (You can argue that Fremantle is a part of Perth, but the locals would argue that ‘Freo’ has its own bohemian atmosphere and sense of community, worlds away from the Big Bad Soulless City). Eyrie is set on the tenth floor of an ugly sixties apartment block, where the protagonist Tom Keely (or just Keely) resides after the loss of his high profile job, wife and house. He’s drinking and medicating himself into oblivion in the middle of a West Australian summer.
Keely is jaded too. West Australians will take particular delight in the sarcastic taunts at a state that’s growing out of control like an unruly teenager as mining becomes the king:
‘Port of Fremantle, gateway to the booming state of Western Australia. Which was, you could say, like Texas. Only it was big. Not to mention thin-skinned. And rich beyond dreaming. The greatest ore deposit in the world. The nation’s quarry, China’s swaggering enabler. A philistine giant eager to pass off its good fortune as virtue, quick to explain its shortcomings as east-coast conspiracies, always at the point of seceding from the Federation. Leviathan with an irritable bowel.
The great beast’s shining teeth were visible in the east…For while Perth had bulldozed its past and buried wits doubts in bluster, Fremantle nursed its grievances and scratched its arse.’ (page 5)
I adored this statement as despite its brevity, it describes Perth exactly. Always comparing itself to the eastern states of Australia and finding itself inferior (No Starbucks! Krispy Kremes must be hauled across the country in overhead lockers to satisfy the masses in between the McMansion, jet ski, boat, 4 wheel drive and V8 Commodore ute). Fremantle ingrains itself in its history and its creativity, while the city (Perth) is about money, football stadiums and a quay that nobody wants. I loved the biting satire and I hope this translates to readers who aren’t familiar with the complexes of Western Australia.
One bakingly hot day, Keely meets someone on the breezeway outside his flat (it’s not on trend enough to call it an apartment). It’s Gemma, a childhood neighbour, who his parents regularly took in when her father hit her mother. Gemma’s with Kai, who Keely soon finds out is not her son, but her grandson. Gemma looks faded, worn out – life has not been kind to her. Her only daughter is in gaol and she’s working nightfill in a supermarket to make ends meet. Keely is fascinated by Kai – a lost figure at the age of six, strange and reserved. Keely couldn’t save the wetlands in his former job (even though that smacks of corruption), but perhaps he can save Keely and Gemma... Keely becomes entangled in their lives, moving him out of his lonely eyrie and forcing him to glimpse the world that’s going on around him. Contact with his mum, former colleagues and ex-wife show that Keely’s really not right, but what is it? Drink, drugs or something organic? As it becomes evident that Keely can’t solve all of Gemma and Kai’s problems, his world begins to collapse.
Despite Keely having a lot of problems – money, drink, medication to name a few – he’s not really a likable character. He’s not someone you’d take home (even his mum leaves him out on the couch and verandah) and his quest to save Kai didn’t really endear him to me. Was it the lack of get up and go, to wallow in his problems rather than fix them? Was there something wrong with Keely? I did love his cynicism and he came out with some wonderfully acerbic statements about his environment (but Mr Winton, not enough about the Fremantle Dockers [Aussie Rules football team]). As he’s scratching the bottom, Keely’s not afraid to tell it how it is or act in desperation (even if it’s somewhat stupid desperation involving driving around posting anonymous postcards). Gemma is fed up, impatient with what life has dealt her but she has an honesty that Keely lacks. Keely won’t face up to the issues – he takes too many pills and drinks too much, but even Gemma (who he appears to respect occasionally) can’t fix it. Not can his mother, who rose through the working classes to go to university and become a respected person of the western suburbs (one of Perth’s gentler and more expensive areas). Perhaps it’s the gentrification of Keely’s mother that causes him to lose respect for her. Oh sure, he does turn to her in times of need like any son, but I think he feels she’s a traitor to her class. Keely desperately wants to be seen as one of the working class, despite that he’s been on television and had the big house and boat. Even a job washing dishes can’t bring him down to his roots.
But what about Kai? Kai’s an odd little boy, an old soul lost. He’s certain he won’t grow to be old and can’t stand falling asleep. A deep fascination with Scrabble at age six and balconies. Keely knows there something wrong with him and wants to fix him, but doesn’t know how. Kai’s childhood is nothing like Keely’s was and Keely can’t replicate it.
Winton’s language is as always, beautiful. Every word is crafted just so and short sentences describe big scenes and feelings. It’s a work of art. Fans of quotation marks for speech will be disappointed (Winton doesn’t use them) but the lack of them helps the speech to flow uninterrupted.
This is a book that you won’t forget in a hurry, if ever. A must.
Thank you to The Reading Room for the copy of the book.
http://samstillreading.wordpress.com
Eyrie is different from Winton’s preceding novels in that it takes place completely within a city – Fremantle, Western Australia to be exact. (You can argue that Fremantle is a part of Perth, but the locals would argue that ‘Freo’ has its own bohemian atmosphere and sense of community, worlds away from the Big Bad Soulless City). Eyrie is set on the tenth floor of an ugly sixties apartment block, where the protagonist Tom Keely (or just Keely) resides after the loss of his high profile job, wife and house. He’s drinking and medicating himself into oblivion in the middle of a West Australian summer.
Keely is jaded too. West Australians will take particular delight in the sarcastic taunts at a state that’s growing out of control like an unruly teenager as mining becomes the king:
‘Port of Fremantle, gateway to the booming state of Western Australia. Which was, you could say, like Texas. Only it was big. Not to mention thin-skinned. And rich beyond dreaming. The greatest ore deposit in the world. The nation’s quarry, China’s swaggering enabler. A philistine giant eager to pass off its good fortune as virtue, quick to explain its shortcomings as east-coast conspiracies, always at the point of seceding from the Federation. Leviathan with an irritable bowel.
The great beast’s shining teeth were visible in the east…For while Perth had bulldozed its past and buried wits doubts in bluster, Fremantle nursed its grievances and scratched its arse.’ (page 5)
I adored this statement as despite its brevity, it describes Perth exactly. Always comparing itself to the eastern states of Australia and finding itself inferior (No Starbucks! Krispy Kremes must be hauled across the country in overhead lockers to satisfy the masses in between the McMansion, jet ski, boat, 4 wheel drive and V8 Commodore ute). Fremantle ingrains itself in its history and its creativity, while the city (Perth) is about money, football stadiums and a quay that nobody wants. I loved the biting satire and I hope this translates to readers who aren’t familiar with the complexes of Western Australia.
One bakingly hot day, Keely meets someone on the breezeway outside his flat (it’s not on trend enough to call it an apartment). It’s Gemma, a childhood neighbour, who his parents regularly took in when her father hit her mother. Gemma’s with Kai, who Keely soon finds out is not her son, but her grandson. Gemma looks faded, worn out – life has not been kind to her. Her only daughter is in gaol and she’s working nightfill in a supermarket to make ends meet. Keely is fascinated by Kai – a lost figure at the age of six, strange and reserved. Keely couldn’t save the wetlands in his former job (even though that smacks of corruption), but perhaps he can save Keely and Gemma... Keely becomes entangled in their lives, moving him out of his lonely eyrie and forcing him to glimpse the world that’s going on around him. Contact with his mum, former colleagues and ex-wife show that Keely’s really not right, but what is it? Drink, drugs or something organic? As it becomes evident that Keely can’t solve all of Gemma and Kai’s problems, his world begins to collapse.
Despite Keely having a lot of problems – money, drink, medication to name a few – he’s not really a likable character. He’s not someone you’d take home (even his mum leaves him out on the couch and verandah) and his quest to save Kai didn’t really endear him to me. Was it the lack of get up and go, to wallow in his problems rather than fix them? Was there something wrong with Keely? I did love his cynicism and he came out with some wonderfully acerbic statements about his environment (but Mr Winton, not enough about the Fremantle Dockers [Aussie Rules football team]). As he’s scratching the bottom, Keely’s not afraid to tell it how it is or act in desperation (even if it’s somewhat stupid desperation involving driving around posting anonymous postcards). Gemma is fed up, impatient with what life has dealt her but she has an honesty that Keely lacks. Keely won’t face up to the issues – he takes too many pills and drinks too much, but even Gemma (who he appears to respect occasionally) can’t fix it. Not can his mother, who rose through the working classes to go to university and become a respected person of the western suburbs (one of Perth’s gentler and more expensive areas). Perhaps it’s the gentrification of Keely’s mother that causes him to lose respect for her. Oh sure, he does turn to her in times of need like any son, but I think he feels she’s a traitor to her class. Keely desperately wants to be seen as one of the working class, despite that he’s been on television and had the big house and boat. Even a job washing dishes can’t bring him down to his roots.
But what about Kai? Kai’s an odd little boy, an old soul lost. He’s certain he won’t grow to be old and can’t stand falling asleep. A deep fascination with Scrabble at age six and balconies. Keely knows there something wrong with him and wants to fix him, but doesn’t know how. Kai’s childhood is nothing like Keely’s was and Keely can’t replicate it.
Winton’s language is as always, beautiful. Every word is crafted just so and short sentences describe big scenes and feelings. It’s a work of art. Fans of quotation marks for speech will be disappointed (Winton doesn’t use them) but the lack of them helps the speech to flow uninterrupted.
This is a book that you won’t forget in a hurry, if ever. A must.
Thank you to The Reading Room for the copy of the book.
http://samstillreading.wordpress.com
January 20, 2021
Australia Occidentale, ventunesimo secolo. La bolla speculativa che ha investito Stati Uniti ed Europa non ha avuto gli stessi effetti in Australia (almeno su un piano economico) perché le materie prime che abbondano nella grande isola australe hanno garantito lavoro e reddito a buona parte della popolazione. il senso di insicurezza e precarietà è comunque arrivato e la società australiana ha reagito chiudendosi in se stessa, dimenticando la solidarietà (all’insegna della quale si erano affrontati gli anni settanta del secolo precedente) che viene soppiantata da una lotta spietata per la sopravvivenza: l’anomia (nel senso di mancanza di punti di riferimento e di valori comuni) è la condizione dei personaggi del romanzo di Tim Winton, i quali rimangono ai margini della società.
I nuovi valori sono esemplificati dalla perfida melassa della teologia della prosperità… palude della cooptazione e della collaborazione secondo la quale la salvezza si identifica anche con il benessere concreto: i cristiani hanno diritto al benessere, perché vita materiale e vita spirituale sono connesse.
Tom Keely è cresciuto in una famiglia in cui l’altruismo era un valore (soprattutto per il padre Nev) e che spesso si metteva al servizio della comunità: è questa la fonte che ha alimentato il suo atteggiamento integralista nella difesa della natura australiana, sempre più minacciata dallo sfruttamento delle materie prime che, invece, la maggior parte dell’upper class accetta come contropartita per la sicurezza economica.
Si tratta comunque di gente buona e sincera. Eppure, allo stesso tempo, anche delle monumentali teste di cazzo che usano la bicicletta e comprano cibi biologici ma poi non esitano a lavorare per quegli stessi colossi minerari che perforano, estraggono e distruggono.
Il tradimento di tali valori a opera delle persone più vicine (familiari, vicini, colleghi) ha spazzato via tutte le certezze soppiantate da una profonda diffidenza verso se stessi e gli altri; Tom, incapace di reagire alla decadenza personale e sociale, si rifugia all’ultimo piano del Mirador,
Ecco, sino a qui la cornice sociologica del romanzo di Winton (almeno come l’ho capita io perché il rischio di deliri interpretativi è sempre in agguato!) ed è l’unico aspetto del romanzo che ho trovato interessante perché mi ha consentito di dare un’occhiata (di parte, ovviamente) all’Australia e ai suoi abitanti. La scrittura, invece, mi è sembrata troppo arzigogolata e artificiosa, anche se ho il forte sospetto che le scelte del traduttore abbiano avuto la loro parte: usare termini regionali come squinzia e tamarro per rendere (immagino io) termini gergali dell’inglese australiano introduce un’atmosfera di falsità che mi ha impedito di calarmi del tutto nell’ambientazione del romanzo. Invece che nell’Australia Occidentale mi sono vista dentro Drive In con Ezio Greggio e Francesco Salvi: niente di male, per carità, ma non era quello che mi aspettavo leggendo Il nido.
Non sono riuscita a entrare in sintonia con nessuno dei personaggi: aggressività e incapacità di comunicare i loro tratti essenziali, chiusi dentro la corazza che si sono costruiti per sopravvivere non sono riusciti a raggiungermi e a comunicarmi qualcosa di diverso da rabbia, noia e inutilità. Forse era proprio questa l’intenzione dell’autore che ha voluto creare tutti personaggi negativi e per questo rappresentativi di una società che non tollera debolezze o incertezze. Salva il romanzo (almeno dal mio punto di vista) Kai, un bambino di circa sei anni, segnato da una vita difficile in una famiglia disfunzionale, che si comporta in modo congruo alla sua età e alle sue difficoltà: nessuna saggezza infantile totalmente finta, nessun altruismo o fiducia nel mondo. Forse è proprio questo che non mi è piaciuto nella caratterizzazione dei personaggi: si comportano tutti come bambini di sei anni che hanno deciso di tagliare i ponti con un mondo che non capiscono.
… il bere gli offriva più conferme che consolazioni. Ma era più facile riempire il vuoto che contemplarlo.
I nuovi valori sono esemplificati dalla perfida melassa della teologia della prosperità… palude della cooptazione e della collaborazione secondo la quale la salvezza si identifica anche con il benessere concreto: i cristiani hanno diritto al benessere, perché vita materiale e vita spirituale sono connesse.
Tom Keely è cresciuto in una famiglia in cui l’altruismo era un valore (soprattutto per il padre Nev) e che spesso si metteva al servizio della comunità: è questa la fonte che ha alimentato il suo atteggiamento integralista nella difesa della natura australiana, sempre più minacciata dallo sfruttamento delle materie prime che, invece, la maggior parte dell’upper class accetta come contropartita per la sicurezza economica.
Ricordi il vecchio slogan? Commissione Territorio e ambiente: Comprendere, Tacere e Accettare. Una volta pensavo fosse un’iperbole. Propaganda. Invece è la verità. Come ogni altro organo del governo, è al servizio dell’industria, per “favorire l’aumento della prosperità”. La corruzione non è più necessaria. E questa è l’offesa più grave. Il sistema funziona benissimo anche senza.
Si tratta comunque di gente buona e sincera. Eppure, allo stesso tempo, anche delle monumentali teste di cazzo che usano la bicicletta e comprano cibi biologici ma poi non esitano a lavorare per quegli stessi colossi minerari che perforano, estraggono e distruggono.
Il tradimento di tali valori a opera delle persone più vicine (familiari, vicini, colleghi) ha spazzato via tutte le certezze soppiantate da una profonda diffidenza verso se stessi e gli altri; Tom, incapace di reagire alla decadenza personale e sociale, si rifugia all’ultimo piano del Mirador,
Dieci piani di uniformità architettonica. E dentro, tutta quella gente che continuava a resistere all’omologazione. Il pensiero gli causò una fitta d’orgoglio, per tutte quelle persone così normali e precarie. Sì, per un momento sentì di voler bene a quei fetenti dei suoi vicini, coi loro fetentissimi cuori.
Ecco, sino a qui la cornice sociologica del romanzo di Winton (almeno come l’ho capita io perché il rischio di deliri interpretativi è sempre in agguato!) ed è l’unico aspetto del romanzo che ho trovato interessante perché mi ha consentito di dare un’occhiata (di parte, ovviamente) all’Australia e ai suoi abitanti. La scrittura, invece, mi è sembrata troppo arzigogolata e artificiosa, anche se ho il forte sospetto che le scelte del traduttore abbiano avuto la loro parte: usare termini regionali come squinzia e tamarro per rendere (immagino io) termini gergali dell’inglese australiano introduce un’atmosfera di falsità che mi ha impedito di calarmi del tutto nell’ambientazione del romanzo. Invece che nell’Australia Occidentale mi sono vista dentro Drive In con Ezio Greggio e Francesco Salvi: niente di male, per carità, ma non era quello che mi aspettavo leggendo Il nido.
Non sono riuscita a entrare in sintonia con nessuno dei personaggi: aggressività e incapacità di comunicare i loro tratti essenziali, chiusi dentro la corazza che si sono costruiti per sopravvivere non sono riusciti a raggiungermi e a comunicarmi qualcosa di diverso da rabbia, noia e inutilità. Forse era proprio questa l’intenzione dell’autore che ha voluto creare tutti personaggi negativi e per questo rappresentativi di una società che non tollera debolezze o incertezze. Salva il romanzo (almeno dal mio punto di vista) Kai, un bambino di circa sei anni, segnato da una vita difficile in una famiglia disfunzionale, che si comporta in modo congruo alla sua età e alle sue difficoltà: nessuna saggezza infantile totalmente finta, nessun altruismo o fiducia nel mondo. Forse è proprio questo che non mi è piaciuto nella caratterizzazione dei personaggi: si comportano tutti come bambini di sei anni che hanno deciso di tagliare i ponti con un mondo che non capiscono.
November 14, 2013
I pushed myself to finish it. I so didn't like the main characters Keely. I also realised how much I LOVE punctuation. Why doesn't Winton use speech marks? It really screwed with my head, making reading dialogue difficult when it is usually the easiest part of the book to digest.
One exchange I did really like was when Keely was at the oboe concert, describing the effect of the music on him and then weeping, then the old lady next to him passes him a "neatly folded tissue...as if he were an ancient bridge partner whose little weaknesses were old news. There's the Elgard yet, she said. I'll never make it, said Keely. Come on, she said. no guts, no glory."
The whole book is like a fictitious example of the thesis postulated in a previous non fiction book I read called 'When helping hurts'. Keely's attempts to help Gemma and Kai seemed so selfishly driven and manoeuvred. Doris tries to point this out to him and tell him that he needs to give them breathing room, so they can help themselves. Cause the help will only last if they orchestrate it not him. I suppose that metaphor was quite a powerful one for me through a real distaste towards Keely and his approach to life and relationships.
Now to the metaphor of the title. Kai's obsession with birds of prey and Keely's experience and knowledge. My thoughts on the meaning of 'Eyrie' - an eagles nest and the view that it can have from up there. Well....any suggestions?
One exchange I did really like was when Keely was at the oboe concert, describing the effect of the music on him and then weeping, then the old lady next to him passes him a "neatly folded tissue...as if he were an ancient bridge partner whose little weaknesses were old news. There's the Elgard yet, she said. I'll never make it, said Keely. Come on, she said. no guts, no glory."
The whole book is like a fictitious example of the thesis postulated in a previous non fiction book I read called 'When helping hurts'. Keely's attempts to help Gemma and Kai seemed so selfishly driven and manoeuvred. Doris tries to point this out to him and tell him that he needs to give them breathing room, so they can help themselves. Cause the help will only last if they orchestrate it not him. I suppose that metaphor was quite a powerful one for me through a real distaste towards Keely and his approach to life and relationships.
Now to the metaphor of the title. Kai's obsession with birds of prey and Keely's experience and knowledge. My thoughts on the meaning of 'Eyrie' - an eagles nest and the view that it can have from up there. Well....any suggestions?
November 26, 2013
The language at the beginning seems a little more obvious than Winton's usually effortless prose - I struggled to engage with it, despite its beauty. Persisting through that, I found the characterisation, dialogue and setting to be heartrendingly accurate. Although as others have pointed out it was seemingly plotless, there's an amazing sense of suspense that compels continued reading. Yes, by the ending a lot is unresolved. But this didn't matter for me.
What struck me was the mightiness of the themes. Here is a character - a city, a society - rife with ugliness, inequality and brutality, morally bankrupt and fraying at the seams. It's almost post-apoocolyptic - survivalism is in full swing, harking back to legendary Australian films like Mad Max. Winton obviously sees that this is where we are heading - and the falling is not sweet.
Winton seems to be heading darker and deeper as his writing life continues. There is less beauty and wonder to balance the horror and decay of society and the people who inhabit it. In that sense I found this to be a deeply sad novel, whose message is less tempered and more pessimistic than Winton's previous works. This is an overt and hard hitting dystopia. I enjoyed it nonetheless.
What struck me was the mightiness of the themes. Here is a character - a city, a society - rife with ugliness, inequality and brutality, morally bankrupt and fraying at the seams. It's almost post-apoocolyptic - survivalism is in full swing, harking back to legendary Australian films like Mad Max. Winton obviously sees that this is where we are heading - and the falling is not sweet.
Winton seems to be heading darker and deeper as his writing life continues. There is less beauty and wonder to balance the horror and decay of society and the people who inhabit it. In that sense I found this to be a deeply sad novel, whose message is less tempered and more pessimistic than Winton's previous works. This is an overt and hard hitting dystopia. I enjoyed it nonetheless.
November 8, 2013
The problem for writers with reputations is that they sometimes escape the eyes of rigorous editors.
'Eyrie'is, as with most Tim Winton books, a broad, challenging, engaging and at times confusing read. As blasphemous as it might sound I struggled with the first few chapters, anxious to engage with Tom the main character but finding him annoying and self-indulgent.
I'm not a reader who expects to 'like' characters. If a writer makes me dislike a character it says something about the strength of his/her writing. But even by the end of 'Eyrie' I still wanted to give Tom a good kick in the bum and tell him to get a grip. And I was confused by the ending, unsure as to what I'd actually witnessed. Nothing felt complete.
This is a story with beautiful sentences; it engages with contemporary ideas, uses believable dialogue but somehow the structure left me confused and dissatisfied.
Did anybody else have a similar response?
'Eyrie'is, as with most Tim Winton books, a broad, challenging, engaging and at times confusing read. As blasphemous as it might sound I struggled with the first few chapters, anxious to engage with Tom the main character but finding him annoying and self-indulgent.
I'm not a reader who expects to 'like' characters. If a writer makes me dislike a character it says something about the strength of his/her writing. But even by the end of 'Eyrie' I still wanted to give Tom a good kick in the bum and tell him to get a grip. And I was confused by the ending, unsure as to what I'd actually witnessed. Nothing felt complete.
This is a story with beautiful sentences; it engages with contemporary ideas, uses believable dialogue but somehow the structure left me confused and dissatisfied.
Did anybody else have a similar response?
November 15, 2021
I thought this book felt familiar and that I may have read it previously and forgotten. I’ve now realised it is my own familiarity with the locations and Winton’s ability to uncompromisingly use local slang and descriptions in a way that is unique and specific. When he describes the Swan River ...” the water was brown and chunky as a dish full of steeping mushrooms “... I’m flashed back to ferry crossings on a river alive and soupy with jellyfish. The tension in this story brews with the fiercely hot long summer weather that is endemic to Perth. His protagonist , Tom, is trapped in a hopeless situation and his physical and mental health is spiralling out of control. This is Winton exploring the people and places on the grey sandy strip with an unwavering eye.
This audiobook was also excellently narrated by Michael Veitch.
This audiobook was also excellently narrated by Michael Veitch.
May 3, 2020
Self-indulgent boring writing I couldn't bring myself to finish, and talking to others who did, I don't think I missed anything. It seemed like the editor was too intimidated by the author to make the merciful cuts required in the overdone language.
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February 10, 2014Tim Winton's novels present an interesting challenge to Western Australian readers. Few novels of any substance have been written with a West Australian setting (the early works of Randolph Stow being the notable exception), so readers have grown up living imaginatively in other cities, other countries. And for the most part, when reading about those places, we have had to take the writer at her or his word: their descriptions have been all we had to go on.
Winton is different. When he describes the streetscapes of contemporary Fremantle, the setting of 'Eyrie', we know not just what he is describing, but more than he is describing. If he lists some of the shops that the main character passes on his hung-over morning walk between the Johnson Court flats and nearby Coles, we not only know them - we also know which ones he doesn't mention, and wonder about his choice. Winton cannot even hide behind the geographical obfuscations of 'Cloudstreet', which was set in the past. It is a fascinating (and sometimes frustrating) insight into the writerly process, one that gives the reader a kind of uneasy equality with the author.
'Eyrie' is a change of style for Winton. The setting is exclusively urban (no suburbs or beaches or country towns). The book is written in a rather mannered, sometimes overwrought style, no doubt reflecting the unquiet psyche of its disgraced flat-dwelling protagonist. This is far from Winton's characteristic prose, which is lucid, unhurried and humane.
Knut Hamsun has been mentioned as an influence, and is referenced in the text - to me, it seems like Winton has been reading Iain Sinclair, the Hackney psychogeographer. Winton's boomtown Fremantle shares a lot in common with Sinclair's East London in the period leading up to the London Olympics, and Winton seems to be channeling Sinclair's wonderfully overloaded and rancid prose. Winton doesn't manage this style as confidently as Sinclair, although he is a much better novelist...
Full review pending.
Winton is different. When he describes the streetscapes of contemporary Fremantle, the setting of 'Eyrie', we know not just what he is describing, but more than he is describing. If he lists some of the shops that the main character passes on his hung-over morning walk between the Johnson Court flats and nearby Coles, we not only know them - we also know which ones he doesn't mention, and wonder about his choice. Winton cannot even hide behind the geographical obfuscations of 'Cloudstreet', which was set in the past. It is a fascinating (and sometimes frustrating) insight into the writerly process, one that gives the reader a kind of uneasy equality with the author.
'Eyrie' is a change of style for Winton. The setting is exclusively urban (no suburbs or beaches or country towns). The book is written in a rather mannered, sometimes overwrought style, no doubt reflecting the unquiet psyche of its disgraced flat-dwelling protagonist. This is far from Winton's characteristic prose, which is lucid, unhurried and humane.
Knut Hamsun has been mentioned as an influence, and is referenced in the text - to me, it seems like Winton has been reading Iain Sinclair, the Hackney psychogeographer. Winton's boomtown Fremantle shares a lot in common with Sinclair's East London in the period leading up to the London Olympics, and Winton seems to be channeling Sinclair's wonderfully overloaded and rancid prose. Winton doesn't manage this style as confidently as Sinclair, although he is a much better novelist...
Full review pending.
March 26, 2016
This book takes a while to catch it's stride. The first 40 pages are full of cliche and one liners with plenty of nice big words thrown in for effect. If the words are not enhancing the story then they are detracting from it.
Once the story settles you start get a feel for the characters. They are broken, grating, desperate, spiraling downward with not much hope of recovery. In the end the characters fail to redeem themselves and the ending leaves a very unsatisfactory taste.
I actually liked the characters, I could imagine them, hear them as they spoke but they just never seemed to develop to their full potential. Maybe Mr Winton wanted us to understand the foibles of mere humans and that not all stories have happy endings. If so well played.
Huge Winton fan this is just not a favorite.
Once the story settles you start get a feel for the characters. They are broken, grating, desperate, spiraling downward with not much hope of recovery. In the end the characters fail to redeem themselves and the ending leaves a very unsatisfactory taste.
I actually liked the characters, I could imagine them, hear them as they spoke but they just never seemed to develop to their full potential. Maybe Mr Winton wanted us to understand the foibles of mere humans and that not all stories have happy endings. If so well played.
Huge Winton fan this is just not a favorite.
October 16, 2017
Tim Winton, your 'Eyrie' is an osprey above the seagulls. Words on wings that fly and breathe, refusing to remain on the pages. The bittersweet taste of humanity amidst The salt and spray of Freemantle is as keen on the tongue as it is on the heart.
December 17, 2018
Eyrie starts with as good a description of a hangover as you'll find, and from the first moment we know the novel's central character Keely is a mess.
But we only find out gradually what may lie behind his decline, and it's never really fully explained.
Winton is that kind of author. A bit like Keely's memory lapses in Eyrie, he leaves gaps you have to fill yourself.
I like that about his writing, but if you find that frustrating, then this novel is best avoided.
What drives the plot of Eyrie forward is the arrival of someone from Keely's past - Gemma - who takes a flat in the same tower block with grandson Kai.
This is no sweet romance though. There may be a connection, but actually as the novel continues the stronger bond grows between Keely and Kai.
Gemma's past though is also going to complicate life for Keely, and his efforts to help do not always play out well.
I loved the vast majority of Eyrie. Winton is one of my favourite writers. His prose is terrific, but - as he does here - he can also create engaging and complex characters that you want to spend time with. Unlike some of his other books, this is very much an urban novel too, and he convincingly describes a seedy side of Fremantle.
He also doesn't always end novels in a tidy way. That can work well. I personally enjoyed the open-ended conclusion of his previous novel The Riders, feeling that we actually left the story at the perfect moment.
But in Eyrie, Winton pushes that too far for me. I felt frustrated with the ending. I didn't need everything tied up, but I felt we left the world too suddenly for Eyrie to be entirely satisfying.
Perhaps that is a back-handed tribute to how compelled I was by Keely, Gemma and Kai's trajectory, but the conclusion was simply too oblique and left me feeling a little flat. Like all Winton's work, Eyrie is worth reading, but it lacks the final act that could have made it great.
But we only find out gradually what may lie behind his decline, and it's never really fully explained.
Winton is that kind of author. A bit like Keely's memory lapses in Eyrie, he leaves gaps you have to fill yourself.
I like that about his writing, but if you find that frustrating, then this novel is best avoided.
What drives the plot of Eyrie forward is the arrival of someone from Keely's past - Gemma - who takes a flat in the same tower block with grandson Kai.
This is no sweet romance though. There may be a connection, but actually as the novel continues the stronger bond grows between Keely and Kai.
Gemma's past though is also going to complicate life for Keely, and his efforts to help do not always play out well.
I loved the vast majority of Eyrie. Winton is one of my favourite writers. His prose is terrific, but - as he does here - he can also create engaging and complex characters that you want to spend time with. Unlike some of his other books, this is very much an urban novel too, and he convincingly describes a seedy side of Fremantle.
He also doesn't always end novels in a tidy way. That can work well. I personally enjoyed the open-ended conclusion of his previous novel The Riders, feeling that we actually left the story at the perfect moment.
But in Eyrie, Winton pushes that too far for me. I felt frustrated with the ending. I didn't need everything tied up, but I felt we left the world too suddenly for Eyrie to be entirely satisfying.
Perhaps that is a back-handed tribute to how compelled I was by Keely, Gemma and Kai's trajectory, but the conclusion was simply too oblique and left me feeling a little flat. Like all Winton's work, Eyrie is worth reading, but it lacks the final act that could have made it great.
October 18, 2013
I'm a Tim Winton fan so it jars on me to give a three star rating. I struggled with the dark undercurrent of this very urban story. I found it an uncomfortable read and that may have been due to the strong sense of class divide between the two main characters. Was the downward spiralling middle class professional Tom Keely a little too close to the bone? Was his sense of inadequacy in the brutal world of the streets uncomfortably easy to relate too? Was it an uncomfortable read because Tim actually brought out the class tensions in our supposedly egalitarian country so effectively? Maybe to all of the above.
Am I alone in associating Tom Keely with the Richard Roxburgh character in Rake?
This isn't a Tim Winton novel that offers the soaring prose about individuals finding their truth in and through nature that's the heart catching element Tim Winton delivers so well to his readers. There is little nature based wonder in this story. And, because I love that element in his writing, I was a little disappointed. Again it could be that he has effectively described a world that's trashed the environment and where the vacuum left when we rob ourselves of wonder is filled by disillusionment and jaded insights into WA politics and the nature of Perth and Freo.
I may grow in my appreciation of this novel with a re-reading but I can't rate this as high as Dirt Music or Breath.
Am I alone in associating Tom Keely with the Richard Roxburgh character in Rake?
This isn't a Tim Winton novel that offers the soaring prose about individuals finding their truth in and through nature that's the heart catching element Tim Winton delivers so well to his readers. There is little nature based wonder in this story. And, because I love that element in his writing, I was a little disappointed. Again it could be that he has effectively described a world that's trashed the environment and where the vacuum left when we rob ourselves of wonder is filled by disillusionment and jaded insights into WA politics and the nature of Perth and Freo.
I may grow in my appreciation of this novel with a re-reading but I can't rate this as high as Dirt Music or Breath.
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