The Acolyte

by Thea Astley

Jack Holberg is a blind musician and composer from Queensland who becomes world famous. Paul Vesper, ‘the acolyte’ of the title, tells the great man’s story—and his own—in this dark, funny portrait of an artistic genius and those who worshipped, and suffered, at his feet.

First published in 1972, The Acolyte won the Miles Franklin Literary Award that same year.

Genres: Australia, Fiction, Novels, 20th Century

189 pages, Kindle Edition

First published January 1, 1972

About the author

Thea Astley was one of Australia's most respected and acclaimed novelists. Born in Brisbane in 1925, Astley studied arts at the University of Queensland. She held a position as Fellow in Australian Literature at Macquarie University until 1980, when she retired to write full time. In 1989 she was granted an honorary doctorate of letters from the University of Queensland.

She won the Miles Franklin Award four times - in 1962 for The Well Dressed Explorer, in 1965 for The Slow Natives, in 1972 for The Acolyte and in 2000 for Drylands. In 1989 she was award the Patrick White Award. Other awards include 1975 The Age Book of the Year Award for A Kindness Cup, the 1980 James Cook Foundation of Australian Literature Studies Award for Hunting the Wild Pineapple, the 1986 ALS Gold Medal for Beachmasters, the 1988 Steele Rudd Award for It's Raining in Mango, the 1990 NSW Premier's Prize for Reaching Tin River, and the 1996 Age Book of the Year Award and the FAW Australian Unity Award for The Multiple Effects of Rainshadow.

Praise for Thea Astley:

'Beyond all the satire, the wit, the occasional cruelty, and the constant compassion, the unfailing attribute of Astley's work is panache' Australian Book Review

Reviews

[Luke · Rating 5 out of 5]

Shockingly, I’d never read any Thea Astley until I read The Acolyte. I felt guilty about having not done so, sure, but it wasn’t until I was at a loose end and needed a book quickly that a hasty grab from a bag of books rescued from the last-days sale of a cavernous bookstore brought it to my attention.

And boy, am I glad that chance brought me in contact with the story of Paul Vesper, the titular acolyte of blind (and fictional) composer and pianist Jack Holberg. Because it makes me feel a lot better about my own creative inertia, frankly.

Interestingly, the book – a Miles Franklin winner – was apparently written as a response to Patrick White’s The Vivisector. Where that work focuses on the creative journey of its main character in a universal sense, Astley’s work does the same, and finds, as Kerry Packer said of the afterlife, that there’s nothing fucking there.

Rather than celebrating and analysing the meaning gleaned from a lifetime of hard creative toil, Astley’s writing suggests that there’s fuck-all to be gained by it. Holberg, a blind composer who’s seen as some kind of modern-composition Tiresias by the gullible audiences, is really a terrible pants-man who works barroom piano schtick into high-art set pieces and treats his followers terribly. Vesper, his factotum and general dogsbody, doesn’t even have the benefit of sniffing the farts of success: for his work, he’s regarded as some kind of knackered, broken bloke – though forever attaching himself to women who are attached to another character probably doesn’t help with this.

It’s interesting to see how many reviewers give this book an absolute bollocking. The characters are unlikeable, it’s said, and the proceedings pretentious. And they’re not wrong: there’s not a likeable person in here – well, unless you discount the leather-wearing, vibes playing geriatric aunt – and it’s a grim view of the world of creativity that Astley churns out here. But I find a perverse enjoyment in it. That could be because I like the sort of cacophony that Holberg trucks in – but also because I like the fact that the book, while brief, accurately charts how even success carries a fair amount of failure inside it.

The book works most effectively as a study of codependence. As an examination of how and why people stick together, even to their detriment. The narrator changes jobs and locations with a fair degree of detachment at times, but cannot easily pull himself away from Holberg and his coterie of hangers-on. The Venn diagram of relationships in this thing is complicated, and the areas of overlap are great: there’s no unique relationships – everything is corrupted by proximity, and it takes momentous events, destructive events to force change. It’s claustrophobic in the way only years-long relationships can be.

Everything in the book seems rooted in reality, but viewed slightly askance. I mean, the narrative starts off in a small Queensland town called Grogbusters. But even so, there’s a sense of veracity in Astley’s portraits of drawn-out languor: a capturing of the light that rings true. It’s what pulled me on when parts of the narrative dragged (even though it’s a brief book) or when the gulf between 1972 and now seemed most apparent.

I really enjoyed this work, and it’s pushed me to move more Astley into my to-read pile. If you like wanky modern classical music and the tales of people who’ve cut off their ambition because they simply couldn’t be arsed to make an effort then you’ll like this. If you’re interested in the grimness of working for bureaucracy, and the safety of picking what’s easy – and the undoubted shitfight that follows from such actions – then this is definitely one for you.

After all, something that is considered either brilliant or horseshit is worth a look, right?

[Noah Melser · Rating 4 out of 5]

1st person perspective of lamentations of man who feels trapped in relationship with a significant composer. Enjoyed the first part, got completely lost through the next after putting it down for a bit and forgetting all the threads. Then it all clicked again and was good. Writing is dense and skilful throughout, fitting with dry Australian prose, but also bouncy and fresh. The nagging is frustrating but creates a claustrophobic heavy feel to struggle with artistic creation that felt insightful and different. I like a human protagonist.

[Jillian · Rating 2 out of 5]

Ugh. I hate all these people and begrudge them every second of my life that was spent on them. I'll exclude Sadie from this review, because she's cool. The rest, however, are the most insufferable ensemble I've come across for a very long time. Thea Astley is clearly a brilliant writer to make me hate them all so much. She has such an interesting turn of phrase and employs a vast vocabulary so I can see why this qualified for the Miles Franklin, but I can't figure out WHY it was the winner. Perhaps there was a paucity of competition that year? I also can't figure out why she went to all the trouble of writing this in the first place. Paul is a wet blanket, but an arrogant one at that. Hilda and Ilse need to get out more and meet a few new people. Preferably independently of each other. So should Paul for that matter. Holberg should stop being such a jerk. I struggled to be interested in what was going on in their lives, hoping that something dramatic or interesting might happen in the next chapter. Without spoiling anything, dramatic events do happen, but I just didn't care. They seem so ultimately pointless. Much like this book.

[Jarmby · Rating 1 out of 5]

The problem with "literature" is that you have to concentrate so hard to try to fathom what the author is actually saying it becomes a task rather than a pleasure.
There are far more interesting books that require concentration to read ( ie non fiction) and far easier and more pleasurable books to read ( ie novels )

[Gavan · Rating 1 out of 5]

So disappointing. This was incredibly dated & after wading through complex yet meaningless turgid prose for a couple of hours, I abandoned after 50 pages ... the book equivalent of a hair shirt? Slow, boring, barely comprehensible & pretentious. Read her great books, like Drylands or A Kindness Cup!

[Alice Grundy · Rating 5 out of 5]

Astley writes marvellous, rich and readable short novels and this is no exception. Her poet's sensibility and her talent for storytelling fuse in this book that is a classic for reason.

[Horticologist · Rating 5 out of 5]

I began reading Astley only recently and this book is one amongst a stellar list of searing works she produced in her lifetime.

Her language is complex, her characters detestable and her prose rich, dense, often stretching to the point of frustration as the reader tries and often strains to rent meaning from the page.

Does this make her a genius or merely pretentious?

If you're after a quick, easy read then this book is not for you. None of her books are really, with the exception of a couple of her later works. Astley rewards slow and patient readers, there's a bit of gristle on every page. It'd been a while since I'd had to use a dictionary while reading a book, but reading The Acolyte it was thumbed through regularly despite the novel being only 158 pages long.

It's a short book but not a quick read. She's packed a lot in.

Paul Vesper is the eponymous acolyte, a hanger-on amongst a whole cast of hangers-on that coalesce around Holberg, the blind composer, fawned over genius and all round arsehole. As Holberg grows from a bawdy bar-playing pianist to a classically trained composer of widely acknowledged genius, he leaves destroyed friendships, death, derision and disillusionment in his wake. And Holberg has zero fucks to give about it all, even his effect on his friends. Especially his friends.

Despite Holberg's absolute contempt for his fellow humans, his hedonistic self-centred pleasure seeking feeds his creative genius. Indeed it's essential to it. It's the only thing that matters to him, if anything matters to him at all. When Vesper threatens to leave several times over, he catches sentimental glimpses of Holberg that tractor-beam him back into the orbit that surrounds the musical genius. Why does he stay? Not even Vesper knows. But he knows.

This book still reads so well today. In an age of febrile celebrity obsession this book has a lot to say about the entourage that surrounds celebrated success stories. And none of it good.

Acerbic, uncomfortable and uncompromising, The Acolyte is a a short book bursting with so many existential themes, but if you're looking for a book that attempts to attach meaning to the often unsavoury beat of existence, this book isn't it. This is a book for nihilists, the frustrated, the abused and the angry and I absolutely adored it.

[Geoff Wooldridge · Rating 3 out of 5]

The Acolyte is the second Miles Franklin winner (1972) in a row that I have found disappointing.

Normally a fan of the renowned Thea Astley, I found this one ponderous, incongruous in style and, ultimately, wondering what was the point of it all.

The Acolyte and narrator of the story is Paul Vesper, a man who befriends a blind musician, Jack Holberg, and becomes something of his lackey or gopher.

The narrative, such as it is, containing few highlights, revolves around a small circle of friends and sexual partners that surround Jack Holberg as his ambition and fame grows.

The relationships among this coterie of men and women are fragile and loose. Jack is married to Hilda, who has an ongoing affair with Paul. Jack has a child, Jamie, with Ilse, who is married to another man. There are various others who play bit parts in this strange and moody world, where artistic temperament creates often tense, sometimes hostile and always an uncertain environment.

Jack, despite his obvious talent as a musician and composer, and the public admiration or adoration that comes with that, is not a pleasant fellow to be around. His blindness is not his primary handicap so much as his fragile ego and volatile temperament.

It was Astley's writing style here that concerned me the most. At times the prose was turgidly formal, bordering on pompous, written seemingly with a thesaurus at hand to extract the most obscure English words ever committed to paper. There were so many words and phrases that I had never encountered before that just seemed so unnecessary. The style was more reminiscent of 19th century formal English than the Australian idiom of the 1970s. The language, except the dialogue, simply didn't fit with a group of knockabout middle class Aussies at a time of enormous social upheaval.

The whole effect was one of incongruity and disassociation - it was not appropriate to the times or the subject matter.

On the positive side, the characters were all very well drawn and emotionally valid and where conversations took place, they were tight and realistic.

Overall, I felt let down on this occasion by Ms Astley, given her other great works such as Drylands and The well Dressed Explorer.

[Tracey · Rating 4 out of 5]

Paul Vesper is in the thralls of composer Jack Holberg, they come together in a ragtag town called Grogbusters, and what follows is a dissection of relationships and power over several decades.
Astley has created some of the most selfish, eccentric, unlikable, horrid, shallow and plain awful characters you can ever imagine on the page. If you are a reader who likes to relate to the main character then steer clear for this is brutal in the way Astley lays bear the most terrible aspects. Not all the characters act in an appalling way but those moments are rare. I mean it takes a remarkable author to make you want to read about the most flawed of human beings. Astley has mastered that here. The women in this novel are, well they just go through the most traumatic of experiences, yet they are continually expected to just 'soldier on'. Some of the incidents involving the women are the hardest to read as there is no sugar coating. Astley really just tells it like it is.
Why do people remain with a genius who is self-centered, treats people with disdain and is ever so demanding, may be the central question in this novel.
It is not a long book, but you need to take time as a reader to digest the cleverness of words and phrases, as Astley is quite vivid but sparse in her use of words. There is some wonderful phrasing and descriptions.

[Stephen Hickman · Rating 4 out of 5]

A superbly talented writer who is relentless in demonstrating her art. I doubted I had the faculty to understand or continue, but with great patience I waded through stuff that gradually made sense in the recollections of Paul Vesper, the acolyte to the blind musician genius, Jack Holberg. The story feels very unique but the telling is at times tortuous insofar as the author cannot call anything by its name, it has to be metaphor and description on steroids. Creative writing tutors would use this as case study for poor saps looking to spend big on how to write, but this style is unique, very literary, and best left to very clever writers like Astley. It can be tough going. The lexicon is large, and the characters mostly, quite unattractive. That said, I cannot but admire the writer. Brilliant!

[Malvina · Rating 2 out of 5]

This is the story of Paul Vesper, who yes, is musical but instead is pressed into a career as an engineer. When he comes across a blind musician and composer, Jack Holberg, Paul leaves his job and lives with Holberg (and his wife Hilda), helping him transcribe his music and becoming a general chauffeur, minder and dogsbody. Holberg sounds like a musical genius, he truly does, I wish I could hear his music - and the descriptions of the music were magic. But Holberg doesn't treat anyone around him particularly well, including his wife, his wife's sister Ilse, and his son Jamie. The only character I actually liked was his aunt Sadie. She gradually slid into dementia over the passage of the book while retaining a sweetly non-judgemental affection towards everyone. What happens in the end is inevitable, the result of years of subtle (and in some cases, not-so-subtle) abuse.

I found the prose impressive but also quite literary. Each sentence seemed to be overstuffed with an extraordinary amount of superlatives, adjectives, similies, references and such, almost to the point of obscuring the meaning of the sentence. The book was short but the sentences were long, as though each one was born slowly from a profound amount of thought and ideas, each word and phrase pondered on at length before written down.

Not a style I enjoy, but the overall story arc will linger. Before this the only Thea Astley book I'd read was It's Raining In Mango, and I think I might quit while I'm ahead...

[Andrea Baird · Rating 3 out of 5]

I found this a difficult read but worth the effort. Getting inside creative genius and also dysfunctional families and relationships was very real and harrowing.

[JESH · Rating 1 out of 5]

Didn’t like it. All the characters were weak, misanthropic, unpleasant or crazy. The plot was bizarre and disjointed. I liked Astley’s other books more.

[Ed Parke · Rating 3 out of 5]

Least favourite Astley so far.

[Chris · Rating 4 out of 5]

I’d expected that at only 158 pages, The Acolyte would offer a quick and relaxing read in between some heavy-duty classics. I was obviously unfamiliar with Thea Astley, Australia’s most critically acclaimed female novelist (winner of four Miles Franklin Awards), who is – as I’ve now discovered – renowned for her dense, “difficult” style.

Australian author Helen Garner has said Astley writes “like a very handsome, strong and fit woman with too much makeup on ... This kind of writing drives me berserk." For example – “This morning, that morning, was honeycombed with personal restlessness. Evening swells up in lavender, blue, black in these parts, the twenty-thousand-fathom sea of acceptance and a sort of timeless soothing, only to be worried out of its mind by a scratch-rash epidemic of star-white.”

But Astley’s style has her fans, too: writer Kerryn Goldsworthy says "I love its densely woven grammar, its ingrained humour, its uncompromising politics, and its undimmed outrage at human folly, stupidity and greed." While I think Astley sometimes lays it on too thickly, overall I’m a fan too. Her text sparkles with poetry and wit: Vesper’s “Rotary Dad and CWA Mum” who died after they “debated the right of way unsuccessfully with a lilac cement-mixer” and Holberg’s aunt Sadie “who played Manilla poker and the stock exchange with the deadliness of a Chicago mobster.”

The Acolyte is certainly hard work for the reader, but it’s worth persevering with. This novel is wonderfully gloomy and claustrophobic from beginning to end, littered with bitter wit and caustic cleverness. The main characters – flawed, fragile and very human – are perfectly created, if not exactly likeable. The “acolyte” is Paul Vesper, whose first-person narrative follows the rise to fame of his mate Jack Holberg, a blind pianist. Holgate accrues, sponsors and entraps a sycophantic group of friends that includes loyal servant Vesper, the devoted Ilsa who Holgate spurns, Ilsa’s sister Hilda (Vesper’s unofficial fiancée) who Holgate marries and then treats callously, Vesper’s colleague Slocombe (“Slum”) who marries Ilsa, plus Holgate’s marvellously irreverent Aunt Sadie and the music lover Bathgate. The relationships are ingrown, unhealthy, uncritical and unhappy – but endlessly absorbing.

These main characters – a "hideous Greek chorus of yes-men who can't do a thing ourselves" – all live together in a “glass box” of a house surrounded by a lush tropical garden. Astley’s vivid evocation of the heat and tropical excesses of Queensland serves to emphasise the claustrophobic lives of Holberg’s cult group (religion being a recurring theme), who are mostly blind (another sustained metaphor and theme) to Holberg’s cruelty and egocentrism.

The irony is that Holberg’s very success and imposing personal character make others blind to his actual disability. At one moving point, Holberg asks what Vesper does when he’s in town, and Vesper says he goes window-shopping or to the cinema. In one of the rare acknowledgements of his disability, Holberg says:
“I'd like to be able to do that too, matey. Window-shop, go to the odd movie. What’s window-shopping really like, eh? If it’s too much of a feast, you’d better not tell me.”

I can thoroughly recommend this short, challenging but rewarding work.

[Dave]

I went to Australia a couple months ago. I got bit by a penguin, which is maybe the highlight of my life. Another highlight: someone made a stuffed animal (she calls them Grumps) that looked like me, complete with a little copy of On Subbing in its hands. (http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3609/3...) It was a totally amazing trip, but there were a couple lowlights:

1. I saw a band that so egregiously ripped off the Promise Ring I felt embarrassed for them;

2. I saw a Borat impersonator, for whom I also felt embarrassed; and

3. I bought The Acolyte.

I bought it because I was intent on getting a novel by a female Australian author, and this book won the 1972 Miles Franklin Award. I also bought it because I liked the cover. Apparently there's an adage warning against that which should be heeded. I'm not into this book at all. There's no plot to speak of, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but the characters aren't likeable and I don't care for the style of writing. I wouldn't go so far as to say I felt embarrassed for Thea Astley, though

[Nancy · Rating 5 out of 5]

#AWW2018 Winner Miles Franklin Award 1972 #Classic

Strong point: clever metaphors, allusions to music,
Catholic rituals and history, poetry.
Half the fun is trying to find all
these ‘gems’ hidden in the text!
Weak point: ch 3 and ch 7 where the story
begins to drag and feels stretched
but just keep on reading!
There's so much to tell...please look at my "review".

REVIEW

[Lisa · Rating 4 out of 5]

What a pleasure it is to read this witty, intelligent book!
See
http://anzlitlovers.wordpress.com/200...