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Helen Garner has kept a diary for almost all her life. But until now, those exercise books filled with her thoughts, observations, frustrations and joys have been locked away, out of bounds, in a laundry cupboard.
Finally, Garner has opened her diaries and invited readers into the world behind her novels and works of non-fiction. Recorded with frankness, humour and steel-sharp wit, these accounts of her everyday life provide an intimate insight into the work of one of Australia’s greatest living writers.
Yellow Notebook, Diaries Volume One, in this elegant hardback edition, spans about a decade beginning in the late 1970s just after the publication of her first novel, Monkey Grip. It will delight Garner fans and those new to her work alike.
‘Garner is scrupulous, painstaking, and detailed, with sharp eyes and ears. She is everywhere at once, watching and listening, a recording angel at life’s secular apocalypses…her unillusioned eye makes her clarity compulsive.’ James Wood, New Yorker
‘On the page, Garner is uncommonly fierce, though this usually has the effect on me of making her seem all the more likable. I relish her fractious, contrarian streak – she wears it as a chef would a bloody apron – even as I worry about what it would be like to have to face it down.’ Guardian
‘[Garner’s] writing expresses a hard-won grace. It brings you closer to the world, and shows you how to love it.’ Monthly
272 pages, Hardcover
First published November 5, 2019
I want to read Freud's Civilization and its Discontents but I'm too stoned.
wishing…I had a real job with people I didn't particularly like, so I wouldn't have to produce my own raison d'être every day, like a spider yanking thread out of its own guts, or wherever the hell they pull it from.
Sentimentality keeps looking over its shoulder to see how you're taking it. Emotion doesn't give a shit whether anyone's looking or not.
I like men. I just like them. (But not Norman Mailer.)
We fought about housework. I saw red and smashed a plate and a bowl.
‘There are more plates here. Why don't you break them as well?’
‘Shut your face.’
He went upstairs and turned the TV on full blast. I swept up the mess. I bawled a lot as I swept, and then as I washed my plain, spotty, forty-year-old face and looked at it in the mirror and thought that I couldn't bear having to go through with another bout of this BATTLING, I also thought, I am about to get my period. It absolutely shits me that this should explain anything. I objectively do most of the housework and it's NOT FAIR.
I use as buckets of cold water thoughts of his wife's preparations for Christmas.
*How we fight, tooth and nail, against real insight. Against letting go of what makes us suffer.
*Why I like the English language: because it contains words like cup. Fat, short and stumpy, and rather optimistic.
*…we don’t want to fight. So we do what women do: we fade away.
*I couldn’t help agonising over it, thinking of the smallness of my scope, the ordinariness of it, its bourgeois nature. What critics will say. What my friends will think and not say. How I will appear before the world. Oh shut up.
*M [Garner’s daughter] has her school friend over for the night. Together they enter an element quite separate from ordinary life - male and female characters, invested accents, vast fantasies, paroxysms of malicious laughter. There’s something terrifying about them.
*Young male photographer: ‘Come on. big smile. Love those big smiles.’ ‘Please don’t tell me to smile.’ ‘You look starched.’ ‘I am starched. I am a starched person.’
*The only passionate love that can co-exist with civilised daily working life is the love we have for our children. The other sort either loses its madness and becomes something else, or blows everything sky-high.
*It is perhaps always hard to find a person who will play out a drama with you right to the end, and not stroll off the stage before the killing starts.
*Maybe a marriage can get up again and walk, after a terrible beating.
*He’ll be like the Russians: he’ll retreat and retreat and retreat until I freeze to death.
*I need to find out why I so often get myself into situations where people have to symbolically murder me.