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Journey to the Stone Country
Betrayed by her husband, Annabelle Beck retreats from Melbourne to her old family home in tropical North Queensland where she meets Bo Rennie, one of the Jangga tribe. Intrigued by Bo's claim that he holds the key to her future, Annabelle sets out with him on a path of recovery that leads back to her childhood and into the Jangga's ancient heartland, where their grandparents's lives begin to yield secrets that will challenge the possibility of their happiness together.
With the consummate artistry of a novelist working at the height of his powers, Miller convinces us that the stone country is not only a remote and exotic location in North Queensland, but is also an unvisited place within each of us. Journey to the Stone Country confirms Miller's reputation as one of Australia's most intelligent and uncompromising writers.
With the consummate artistry of a novelist working at the height of his powers, Miller convinces us that the stone country is not only a remote and exotic location in North Queensland, but is also an unvisited place within each of us. Journey to the Stone Country confirms Miller's reputation as one of Australia's most intelligent and uncompromising writers.
372 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2002
40 people are currently reading
930 people want to read
About the author
Alex Miller
28 books150 followersAlex Miller is one of Australia's best-loved writers, and winner of the Melbourne Prize for Literature 2012.
Alex Miller is twice winner of Australia's premier literary prize, The Miles Franklin Literary Award, first in 1993 for The Ancestor Game and again in 2003 for Journey to the Stone Country. He is also an overall winner of the Commonwealth Writers' Prize, in 1993 for The Ancestor Game. His fifth novel, Conditions of Faith, won the Christina Stead Prize for Fiction in the 2001 New South Wales Premier's Awards. In 2011 he won this award a second time with his most recent novel Lovesong. Lovesong also won the People's Choice Award in the NSW Premier's Awards, the Age Book of the Year Award and the Age Fiction Prize for 2011. In 2007 Landscape of Farewell was published to wide critical acclaim and in 2008 won the Chinese Annual Foreign Novels 21st Century Award for Best Novel and the Manning Clark Medal for an outstanding contribution to Australian cultural life. It was also short-listed for the Miles Franklin Award, the Christina Stead Prize for Fiction, the ALS Gold Medal and the Commonwealth Writers' Prize. Alex is published internationally and widely in translation. Autumn Laing is his tenth novel.
Alex Miller is twice winner of Australia's premier literary prize, The Miles Franklin Literary Award, first in 1993 for The Ancestor Game and again in 2003 for Journey to the Stone Country. He is also an overall winner of the Commonwealth Writers' Prize, in 1993 for The Ancestor Game. His fifth novel, Conditions of Faith, won the Christina Stead Prize for Fiction in the 2001 New South Wales Premier's Awards. In 2011 he won this award a second time with his most recent novel Lovesong. Lovesong also won the People's Choice Award in the NSW Premier's Awards, the Age Book of the Year Award and the Age Fiction Prize for 2011. In 2007 Landscape of Farewell was published to wide critical acclaim and in 2008 won the Chinese Annual Foreign Novels 21st Century Award for Best Novel and the Manning Clark Medal for an outstanding contribution to Australian cultural life. It was also short-listed for the Miles Franklin Award, the Christina Stead Prize for Fiction, the ALS Gold Medal and the Commonwealth Writers' Prize. Alex is published internationally and widely in translation. Autumn Laing is his tenth novel.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 126 reviews
March 21, 2024
A fascinating work. A lot of reviews are negative about it but I think they miss the point; there is a monotony and rhythm to life in inland Queensland that Miller has captured well. It's a feeling that might be familiar to those involved in agriculture or land custodianship across Australia and the world. All readers should be warned that this is actually a philosophical novel hidden within a romance novel. The philosophical part slowly sheds its romantic skin throughout the narrative until the end when all romantic pretence is gone. For lack of a better description Miller is an inverse Nicholas Sparks.
When confronting Aboriginal ideas and culture it's extremely important to consider time and what it means to a true custodian. The longest continuously extant culture in the world deals with time on a scale that is hard to describe to those that don't understand their way of life. It's something that you can feel Bo Rennie wrestling with throughout the book. He's a man of both worlds, he knows how to work the land as cattle country to survive in a European dominant society but he's also been educated in the traditional ways too.
The power of Bo's father and his natural talent of corralling stock shows the non-violent path that can merge those two paths. Bo has been struggling to replicate that his whole life. What makes it even harder is that his father's path resulted in him being broken by a system that better suits titles and deeds; liars and cheats. The silence that pervades his father's life and his time with Dougald is one way to deal with reconciliation and the life of a drover but it doesn't sit well with Bo. His Grandmother was also broken by that system and she even more than his father seemingly managed to integrate and thrive in the merging of European and Aboriginal culture. Bo is trying to revive her way of life.
I think it's also crucial to understand that the main character of this novel is actually the land itself. The people on it are transitory. Just as you can see the stories of all those from the generations before, Aboriginal and white, have turned to dust, you can also see the current generation will be forgotten and erased by the land in time too. Miller has similar skills to Cormac McCarthy in his ability to use imagery to tell the story. It seems he also believes that humans are image driven in their thoughts. Perhaps its because the issues he is dealing with are in many ways too big for words.
The final showdown with Aunty Panya is great because throughout the story Bo Rennie's character has been built up as an Aboriginal man who has adhered to the old ways and understands his role as custodian of the land but also understands the way to make it work with Western influence. Not bowing down to the white people but continuing his purpose using their tools. Then you see all of this ripped apart like a thin film of tissue paper as Aunty Panya tells him he doesn't know anything, doesn't understand at all, and even worse has been fraternising with the enemy. The whole structure of his character collapses. It is a truly hopeless feeling.
All this time you've had the presence of Arner sitting there as a witness, a man who seems in many ways unshackled from time and the events happening around him. It's seemingly another path that one could take. Bo is trying to preserve his way of life and what he believes is right for his people, Les Marra thinks he's going to create a new future for his people by building a dam and submerging Bo's country and many people agree with him, Aunty Panya cares only for the past, Annabelle is lost in the space between her own incomplete memories and her foggy future, Trace and Matthew will forge ahead for love, all of them believing their way is the right way. Through all of this Arner sits and observes. He bears witness.
The mysterious stone is something many found frustrating but it's quite important because it demonstrates the true destruction wrought on Aboriginal culture by the Europeans. There is lost knowledge that has been stolen from them and they will never get back. Miller uses a very delicate touch to compare this complete annihilation of an oral tradition to the way the termites have turned the books to dust in the Ranna household. The way Annabelle reacts to the books shows how her upbringing has made her value the wrong things. The irony that the preservation of the Ranna station might prevent the dam where millennia of Aboriginal history couldn't is one of the more poignant points in the novel. Only at the very end of the novel does Annabelle realise that the hollowing out of the Aboriginal custodianship of the land through European influence is so many magnitudes deeper than the termite ridden books that it drives her to a deep despair. It is the part of the book that I wrestled with the most. The existential despair of what happened, how to carry on in the face of it, and what the path forward could possibly be.
Annabelle Beck is really only there as a plot device. The story is supposed to be hers but frankly she's completely auxiliary. It's almost as if Miller felt uncomfortable writing about exclusively Aboriginal characters and therefore put Annabelle in to make the book more appropriate coming from a white writer. She's his gateway into a world that's not his. Even though she's the protagonist, she becomes irrelevant because her claim to the land is fleeting compared to the indigenous millennia's long guardianship over it. Her marriage break up becomes so trivial that it's forgotten. The revelation that her grandfather massacred Bo's ancestors essentially wipes the relevance of everything else in her life away. That horrible secret can never be expunged and it certainly leaves the reader feeling nothing but despair at the end of the novel. Bo seems determined to make everything work but it just doesn't feel like it ever could. It's hard to know what to think in the face of this revelation, even though you could feel it coming. It's a feeling that will be familiar to people around the world, how we deal with the guilt of our ancestors actions. We are not them but we have been shaped by them and their actions.
It's an exceptionally grim ending and I can understand why many would be disappointed having slogged there along such a slow meandering path. If you were left annoyed by the lack of resolution for Annabelle then I think this book wasn't for you. Unfortunately you won't know that until you hit the last sentence on the last page.
I've recently read a poem by Judith Wright which captures perfectly the atmosphere of Miller's novel.
Bora Ring
The song is gone; the dance
is secret with the dancers in the earth,
the ritual useless, and the tribal story
lost in an alien tale.
Only the grass stands up
to mark the dancing-ring; the apple-gums
posture and mime a past corroboree,
murmur a broken chant.
The hunter is gone; the spear
is splintered underground; the painted bodies
a dream the world breathed sleeping and forgot.
The nomad feet are still.
Only the rider's heart
halts at a sightless shadow, an unsaid word
that fastens in the blood of the ancient curse,
the fear as old as Cain.
- Judith Wright
When confronting Aboriginal ideas and culture it's extremely important to consider time and what it means to a true custodian. The longest continuously extant culture in the world deals with time on a scale that is hard to describe to those that don't understand their way of life. It's something that you can feel Bo Rennie wrestling with throughout the book. He's a man of both worlds, he knows how to work the land as cattle country to survive in a European dominant society but he's also been educated in the traditional ways too.
The power of Bo's father and his natural talent of corralling stock shows the non-violent path that can merge those two paths. Bo has been struggling to replicate that his whole life. What makes it even harder is that his father's path resulted in him being broken by a system that better suits titles and deeds; liars and cheats. The silence that pervades his father's life and his time with Dougald is one way to deal with reconciliation and the life of a drover but it doesn't sit well with Bo. His Grandmother was also broken by that system and she even more than his father seemingly managed to integrate and thrive in the merging of European and Aboriginal culture. Bo is trying to revive her way of life.
I think it's also crucial to understand that the main character of this novel is actually the land itself. The people on it are transitory. Just as you can see the stories of all those from the generations before, Aboriginal and white, have turned to dust, you can also see the current generation will be forgotten and erased by the land in time too. Miller has similar skills to Cormac McCarthy in his ability to use imagery to tell the story. It seems he also believes that humans are image driven in their thoughts. Perhaps its because the issues he is dealing with are in many ways too big for words.
The final showdown with Aunty Panya is great because throughout the story Bo Rennie's character has been built up as an Aboriginal man who has adhered to the old ways and understands his role as custodian of the land but also understands the way to make it work with Western influence. Not bowing down to the white people but continuing his purpose using their tools. Then you see all of this ripped apart like a thin film of tissue paper as Aunty Panya tells him he doesn't know anything, doesn't understand at all, and even worse has been fraternising with the enemy. The whole structure of his character collapses. It is a truly hopeless feeling.
All this time you've had the presence of Arner sitting there as a witness, a man who seems in many ways unshackled from time and the events happening around him. It's seemingly another path that one could take. Bo is trying to preserve his way of life and what he believes is right for his people, Les Marra thinks he's going to create a new future for his people by building a dam and submerging Bo's country and many people agree with him, Aunty Panya cares only for the past, Annabelle is lost in the space between her own incomplete memories and her foggy future, Trace and Matthew will forge ahead for love, all of them believing their way is the right way. Through all of this Arner sits and observes. He bears witness.
The mysterious stone is something many found frustrating but it's quite important because it demonstrates the true destruction wrought on Aboriginal culture by the Europeans. There is lost knowledge that has been stolen from them and they will never get back. Miller uses a very delicate touch to compare this complete annihilation of an oral tradition to the way the termites have turned the books to dust in the Ranna household. The way Annabelle reacts to the books shows how her upbringing has made her value the wrong things. The irony that the preservation of the Ranna station might prevent the dam where millennia of Aboriginal history couldn't is one of the more poignant points in the novel. Only at the very end of the novel does Annabelle realise that the hollowing out of the Aboriginal custodianship of the land through European influence is so many magnitudes deeper than the termite ridden books that it drives her to a deep despair. It is the part of the book that I wrestled with the most. The existential despair of what happened, how to carry on in the face of it, and what the path forward could possibly be.
Annabelle Beck is really only there as a plot device. The story is supposed to be hers but frankly she's completely auxiliary. It's almost as if Miller felt uncomfortable writing about exclusively Aboriginal characters and therefore put Annabelle in to make the book more appropriate coming from a white writer. She's his gateway into a world that's not his. Even though she's the protagonist, she becomes irrelevant because her claim to the land is fleeting compared to the indigenous millennia's long guardianship over it. Her marriage break up becomes so trivial that it's forgotten. The revelation that her grandfather massacred Bo's ancestors essentially wipes the relevance of everything else in her life away. That horrible secret can never be expunged and it certainly leaves the reader feeling nothing but despair at the end of the novel. Bo seems determined to make everything work but it just doesn't feel like it ever could. It's hard to know what to think in the face of this revelation, even though you could feel it coming. It's a feeling that will be familiar to people around the world, how we deal with the guilt of our ancestors actions. We are not them but we have been shaped by them and their actions.
It's an exceptionally grim ending and I can understand why many would be disappointed having slogged there along such a slow meandering path. If you were left annoyed by the lack of resolution for Annabelle then I think this book wasn't for you. Unfortunately you won't know that until you hit the last sentence on the last page.
I've recently read a poem by Judith Wright which captures perfectly the atmosphere of Miller's novel.
Bora Ring
The song is gone; the dance
is secret with the dancers in the earth,
the ritual useless, and the tribal story
lost in an alien tale.
Only the grass stands up
to mark the dancing-ring; the apple-gums
posture and mime a past corroboree,
murmur a broken chant.
The hunter is gone; the spear
is splintered underground; the painted bodies
a dream the world breathed sleeping and forgot.
The nomad feet are still.
Only the rider's heart
halts at a sightless shadow, an unsaid word
that fastens in the blood of the ancient curse,
the fear as old as Cain.
- Judith Wright
May 3, 2022
Australia is an absolutely gigantic country, almost the whole population of which lives in a little band of civilisation around the circumference. Move more than an hour or so inland from most points, and you're in a huge, empty landscape of tiny settlements (where there are settlements at all) separated by vast stretches of red desert, scrubland, or tropical jungle. It's in these spaces that the country finds its identity – the site of all those pioneer ranges and cattle stations by which Australia likes to define itself, and also the homelands of the Aboriginal peoples who have been here for the unimaginable span of some fifty millennia.
The relationship between these two histories is one that Australia doesn't like to talk about much – so much so that it's sometimes called the ‘great Australian silence’. This book is another game literary attempt to fill that silence, and one of the better ones. It's a big, slow book and a lot of people have found it a bit boring. But it does use its time to wrestle with some correspondingly big subjects, and it tries to build up a momentum in order to make a statement that gets to the heart of the country's identity.
It starts domestically enough, with a Melbourne professor whose husband leaves her, precipitating a trip back to her childhood home in northern Queensland. Here Annabelle attaches herself to a group of archaeologists performing cultural surveys in land earmarked for exploitation by mining companies, and finds herself exploring the territory of her cattle-farming ancestors.
On one level, this is a kind of romance, with Annabelle gradually developing a relationship with the gruff Aboriginal ex-stockman Bo Rennie. But it never descends into sentimental cliché; instead, the interpersonal stuff is used as a cover for other subjects, as Annabelle finds herself going back into her family history and the history, by extension, of the whole country.
Miller's writing is a little too detailed for my taste – this is one of those books where someone doesn't just do the washing-up, they carry the dishes over to the sink, turn on the tap, run the plates under hot water…etc. Similarly in the long, precise descriptions of outback Australia, Miller sometimes gets a little carried away. A riverbed, for instance, is described as
…which would be OK, except that the sentence just keeps on going:
Come on now. The idea of ancient civilisations, though, is one that recurs in a lot of Miller's metaphorical flourishes – and with reason, since it gradually becomes clear that his real interest is in Australia's status as a land of two peoples. ‘Like the Israelis and the Palestinians,’ he even suggests at one point. This idea is built up in layers and layers of complexity: ancient Aboriginal sites are contrasted with sites of early-European settlement, now abandoned – an equivalence which is then immediately challenged in the book.
If the narration can be a little fussy at times, there is compensation. I loved the rich Australian language in which this world is described: a world of demountables and buildings of fibro-cement and weatherboard with squeaking flywires, set in a landscape inhabited by mopokes, king browns and scrubber bulls, a landscape of bendee and brigalow scrub, of wiregrass and sugar grass, ironbarks and bitter barks, yellowbox, cabbage-palms, melon holes and cumby cumby. A world of servos, fluoros, ducos and smokos.
In the end, the relationship between Annabelle's ancestors and the ancestors of her Aboriginal lover Bo is no great surprise, since we already know all we need to know about how those interactions generally went. The secrets, withheld to the end of the novel, are not revelatory, except inasmuch as they have been personalised – and perhaps that is reason enough to spend so much care building up to them, given how hard it is for so many to hear. ‘The truth was simple enough,’ as Miller puts it, in a welcome moment of concision – ‘but nearly impossible to deal with.’
The relationship between these two histories is one that Australia doesn't like to talk about much – so much so that it's sometimes called the ‘great Australian silence’. This book is another game literary attempt to fill that silence, and one of the better ones. It's a big, slow book and a lot of people have found it a bit boring. But it does use its time to wrestle with some correspondingly big subjects, and it tries to build up a momentum in order to make a statement that gets to the heart of the country's identity.
It starts domestically enough, with a Melbourne professor whose husband leaves her, precipitating a trip back to her childhood home in northern Queensland. Here Annabelle attaches herself to a group of archaeologists performing cultural surveys in land earmarked for exploitation by mining companies, and finds herself exploring the territory of her cattle-farming ancestors.
On one level, this is a kind of romance, with Annabelle gradually developing a relationship with the gruff Aboriginal ex-stockman Bo Rennie. But it never descends into sentimental cliché; instead, the interpersonal stuff is used as a cover for other subjects, as Annabelle finds herself going back into her family history and the history, by extension, of the whole country.
Miller's writing is a little too detailed for my taste – this is one of those books where someone doesn't just do the washing-up, they carry the dishes over to the sink, turn on the tap, run the plates under hot water…etc. Similarly in the long, precise descriptions of outback Australia, Miller sometimes gets a little carried away. A riverbed, for instance, is described as
a level stretch of golden sand cutting through the sunlit timber like an abandoned highway from some unnamed metropolis of antiquity
…which would be OK, except that the sentence just keeps on going:
…like an abandoned highway from some unnamed metropolis of antiquity whose population had been dispersed and murdered long ago, the scattered survivors dreaming their time would come again and the great wheel of history turn once more upon another unimaginable revolution of their fate.
Come on now. The idea of ancient civilisations, though, is one that recurs in a lot of Miller's metaphorical flourishes – and with reason, since it gradually becomes clear that his real interest is in Australia's status as a land of two peoples. ‘Like the Israelis and the Palestinians,’ he even suggests at one point. This idea is built up in layers and layers of complexity: ancient Aboriginal sites are contrasted with sites of early-European settlement, now abandoned – an equivalence which is then immediately challenged in the book.
If the narration can be a little fussy at times, there is compensation. I loved the rich Australian language in which this world is described: a world of demountables and buildings of fibro-cement and weatherboard with squeaking flywires, set in a landscape inhabited by mopokes, king browns and scrubber bulls, a landscape of bendee and brigalow scrub, of wiregrass and sugar grass, ironbarks and bitter barks, yellowbox, cabbage-palms, melon holes and cumby cumby. A world of servos, fluoros, ducos and smokos.
In the end, the relationship between Annabelle's ancestors and the ancestors of her Aboriginal lover Bo is no great surprise, since we already know all we need to know about how those interactions generally went. The secrets, withheld to the end of the novel, are not revelatory, except inasmuch as they have been personalised – and perhaps that is reason enough to spend so much care building up to them, given how hard it is for so many to hear. ‘The truth was simple enough,’ as Miller puts it, in a welcome moment of concision – ‘but nearly impossible to deal with.’
September 27, 2014
If I read another description of Bo rolling a cigarette in the Pajero I am going to scream. Why not just call it a truck sometimes? Why do we have to hear about these interminable cigarettes? I am about to start going through with a highlighter to count those cigarettes. It is lazy writing and indicative of many of the annoyances of this book. I am not at all sure I am going to bother finishing it. It is a not very successful attempt at chick-lit sprinkled with race relations and the inhospitability of far North Queensland.
October 31, 2013
Where do I begin! Since when does a seemingly affluent academic say, "Elizabeth and me ...." pp 42? What were the Miles Franklin judges thinking? This book is only a little shy of a mills and boon romance, and while they have their place, they don't deserve Miles Franklin awards. I agree with other reviewers: it is slow. Can only guess that the author has a politically correct moral on his/ her mind. (Alex?). Either way, the didacticism becomes evident in the last half of the book, which I get, but it is long winded to say the least. And the "stone" strand is never resolved. I hope I have not been asked to base a conclusion about the found, spiritual stone in the hands of a white woman, on the ending? It seems that the foreshadowing of the significance of the stone and boy's grandmothers name hinted at in the end, is forgotten. Sorry, but I read this for school and won't be teaching it. Don't want to give anything away but, as a previous reviewer said, the relationships are quite contrived and lack credibility. I'd like to know if the author received funding based on the repeated, repeated, repeated (sorry) mention of the 4wd they used, amongst other brand names mentioned. Wouldn't "car", "4wd" or some other synonym suffice? Beyond 4wd, to convey the fact that they needed a vehicle for off-road driving, it was so unnecessary. I think this is a post post colonial novel or a pseudo post colonial novel( ie Anglo trying to represent a colonised ethnic group) An aside: since when do people eat sausages, steak and bread for every meal? Did I miss something? As a positive, the author does evocatively create a sense of place.
May 12, 2011
At a pace quick enough to pass a lizard lying flat out but slow enough to drink a daiquiri Mr Miller trawls through the stone country of Queensland, Australia with a satisfying and intimate tale. Nothing much resembling a plot. Characters a plenty. Images of a countryside you want to go stand and stare at.
I'm still not sure what I was so drawn to in this novel but it fair sucked me in.
Maybe as a 'pink' Australian living in a city it was the intimacy with the outback land and the locals that had me mesmerised. Through very clever subtlety of language and imagery I also learnt (though not in any way didactically) a little more of how this land looks through the Aboriginal lens.
If you're from this part of the world, it will feel like home - and to the rest of us it feels like we've really, intimately, missed out on knowing anything at all.
I'm still not sure what I was so drawn to in this novel but it fair sucked me in.
Maybe as a 'pink' Australian living in a city it was the intimacy with the outback land and the locals that had me mesmerised. Through very clever subtlety of language and imagery I also learnt (though not in any way didactically) a little more of how this land looks through the Aboriginal lens.
If you're from this part of the world, it will feel like home - and to the rest of us it feels like we've really, intimately, missed out on knowing anything at all.
February 7, 2013
This is one of my all time favourite books. Gently weaving through the minefield that is associated with this issue, it allowed me a deeper understanding of place and connection to country. I later heard Alex Miller talk about this book and he said it is based on a true story...which made me love it even more. Oh and Alex Miller is a gem.
May 6, 2021
Update: I was getting so bored with current 'Dry Country Who/WHY dunnits', that I was grateful to lose myself in a masterwork. Wish there was a sequel; miss these very real-seeming characters.
Stunning writing that makes you feel you know the characters as well as the landscape.
This is not only one of my favourite books, but an important one.. Many Australians have not had much contact with Aboriginal People, and this is such a great introduction to a different culture, and a partly-shared history..
Stunning writing that makes you feel you know the characters as well as the landscape.
This is not only one of my favourite books, but an important one.. Many Australians have not had much contact with Aboriginal People, and this is such a great introduction to a different culture, and a partly-shared history..
May 23, 2011
I give up. I'm bored. I don't care. I'm sorry if you love this book, that's great, but it's not for me.
It might help if I was from Far North Queensland and had some connection to what the author is blathering on about, but it's all flowery crap as far as I'm concerned.
Sorry Australian Literature, once again we find we just can't get along.
It might help if I was from Far North Queensland and had some connection to what the author is blathering on about, but it's all flowery crap as far as I'm concerned.
Sorry Australian Literature, once again we find we just can't get along.
February 13, 2018
Another magnificent offering from Miller. I could tell it was his earlier work, somehow not as sophisticated as his latest offering, ‘Passage of Love’, but something different and just as worthwhile is being offered here. The transcendence of racial differences and reaching a point of peace and acceptance in empathy. Well written... loved the evocative descriptions of the Australian landscape throughout.
February 19, 2022
I loved this book and the way it invoked such a strong sense of place and the people who live there.
I enjoyed the respectful intercultural aspects to the story - Indigenous and non-Indigenous characters, stories and perspectives woven throughout. I also enjoyed the details: like everyone eating steak and sausages all the time.
It was a bit of a slow burn of a book but towards the end I was very immersed.
I enjoyed the respectful intercultural aspects to the story - Indigenous and non-Indigenous characters, stories and perspectives woven throughout. I also enjoyed the details: like everyone eating steak and sausages all the time.
It was a bit of a slow burn of a book but towards the end I was very immersed.
July 5, 2020
Subtle yet rich and beautiful. The story of Annabel is moving and realistic as she journeys back home to the cattle station where she grew up in northern QLD. Beautiful descriptions and some poetic passages worthy of the Miles Franklin. The love story is also prescient and layered with interesting symbolic connotations. Reminds me of Winton, Malouf and White rolled into one.
July 9, 2010
I read this slowly, partly to process the beautiful descriptions of the Australian landscape, but also because the story was really way too slow. If the story had been more engaging this would have been a gorgeous book.
August 28, 2020
This is a subtle book and while I was reading it I wasn’t completely convinced by it. Once I’d finished, I liked it more and it left me pondering a number of things about Australia’s past, present and future in relation to Aboriginal people.
May 17, 2024
I really enjoyed this. Racial problems exist everywhere and it's nice to have respect shown for all. I wish we could make more progress in this area.
April 23, 2017
After a great start, I nearly gave up on this book about half way through; I loved Miller's 'Coal Creek' (the only one of his I'd previously read) but was finding this uninvolving and difficult to pick up once I'd put it down. Mainly because I just could not believe in the relationship between Annabelle and Bo.
Annabelle, an intellectual, educated academic, accustomed to Melbourne's sophisticated food and culture, riding into the sunset with Bo? Really? A man who chain-smokes so badly that the only time he'd ever be breathing clean air is when he's asleep? A man with disgusting habits like hawking and spitting, and sticking his stinking half-smoked cigarettes to tables or dashboards with a glob of saliva? A man who eats solely red and processed meats, butter and white bread (the closest thing to a vegetable he ever consumes is tomato sauce)? If she stays with him, she'll be pretty soon abandoning their precious Verbena Station to nurse him through lung cancer, heart disease or bowel cancer, perhaps all three at once. Run away, Annabellebeck!
However, despite the stomach-turning 'hero', I did stick with this book and loved many parts of it. Miller is supreme in his evocation of the Australian bush, its gaunt and sparse beauty, and in descriptions of its criminal, ongoing rape by European settlers and their descendants. The scenes at the abandoned, decaying Ranna Homestead were haunting and beautiful. And the end, especially the bitter confrontation with the old Murri woman, Panya, was thought provoking and powerful.
Annabelle, an intellectual, educated academic, accustomed to Melbourne's sophisticated food and culture, riding into the sunset with Bo? Really? A man who chain-smokes so badly that the only time he'd ever be breathing clean air is when he's asleep? A man with disgusting habits like hawking and spitting, and sticking his stinking half-smoked cigarettes to tables or dashboards with a glob of saliva? A man who eats solely red and processed meats, butter and white bread (the closest thing to a vegetable he ever consumes is tomato sauce)? If she stays with him, she'll be pretty soon abandoning their precious Verbena Station to nurse him through lung cancer, heart disease or bowel cancer, perhaps all three at once. Run away, Annabellebeck!
However, despite the stomach-turning 'hero', I did stick with this book and loved many parts of it. Miller is supreme in his evocation of the Australian bush, its gaunt and sparse beauty, and in descriptions of its criminal, ongoing rape by European settlers and their descendants. The scenes at the abandoned, decaying Ranna Homestead were haunting and beautiful. And the end, especially the bitter confrontation with the old Murri woman, Panya, was thought provoking and powerful.
January 22, 2013
Annabelle Beck is a 42-year-old academic living a comfortable, intellectual lifestyle in Melbourne with her husband, Steven. She returns home to an empty house; a note on the hallstand from Steven confirms her abandonment due to his fleeting infatuation with an honours student.
Annabelle feels betrayed and discarded, and contacts an old colleague, Susan. Susan arranges a flight to Townsville and takes Annabelle with her on a cultural survey project. One of the people involved in the project is Bo Rennie, a local Aborigine who grew up in the same area as Annabelle. There is an immediate connection between the cultured academic and the knowledgeable ringer.
The cattle property Annabelle grew up on was sold decades before, and after the survey project ends she finds temporary solace in staying in her (deceased) parents home in Townsville. Bo pays a visit and they are thrown together again to do a survey project near an old property in the district owned by the pioneering Bigge family.
For Bo there is a strong ancestral pull of the country in this place; Annabelle uses her archaeological skills to gain a better understanding of what life would have been like for the Bigges on their abandoned property. She spends time in the old library, classic books turning back to the earth courtesy of the termites. The Bigges had been wealthy and had travelled overland for more than a year with all their possessions including a piano to mark out their place in this isolated location.
The presence of Steven lurks in the background like an annoying mosquito. Annabelle has barely left town when he is trying to track her down - it didn’t work out with the honours student (Steven is 50 and appears to be full of complex self-justification arguments). Meanwhile, the connection between Annabelle and Bo deepens and they start to sleep together.
In their travels they come across a number of people and families, black and white, and the nature of their growing relationship is understood at times before they seem to realise what is going on. Arner and Trace, Bo’s nephew and niece, join them although Trace fades out of the picture after becoming involved with Matthew Hearn, a young man on a station near the Bigge property, Ranna Station.
Arner is described as a large young man, perhaps morbidly obese, who says virtually nothing and is thought to be gifted in his understanding and importance to his people. This is difficult to gauge through his limited dialogue: the Pajero that Bo and Annabelle travel around in seems to have more of a personality. Arner is aloof, almost somnambulistic, spending as much time as possible in the truck cabin listening to an endless soundtrack of loud and angry hip-hop music. If he is the great hope of the next generation, here’s hoping he wakes up soon.
The entwinement of Annabelle and Bo extends to their families, and towards the end of the book there is a confrontation of sorts with an elder, Panya. Panya lives in a neglected and ramshackle house, enthroned on a broken sofa with a bucket full of excrement beside her. She spills forth a history of the families, of how Annabelle’s grandfather, Beck, was in a group of men that chased down people from her tribe, killing the men, women and children. She was a child at the time, saved by Bo’s grandmother by hiding in the skin of an old bull, looking out to see Beck kill her brother with his stirrup.
The landscape plays an integral role in the novel, and Bo’s understanding of it is frequently expressed not just in word but in gestures. The novel also covers the challenge of returning to place that you once knew well, but now don’t remember or understand at all.
I thought there was too much waffle and found the dialogue at times between Annabelle and Bo didn’t ring true. Paragraphs and paragraphs of dialogue. I get it already.
Annabelle feels betrayed and discarded, and contacts an old colleague, Susan. Susan arranges a flight to Townsville and takes Annabelle with her on a cultural survey project. One of the people involved in the project is Bo Rennie, a local Aborigine who grew up in the same area as Annabelle. There is an immediate connection between the cultured academic and the knowledgeable ringer.
The cattle property Annabelle grew up on was sold decades before, and after the survey project ends she finds temporary solace in staying in her (deceased) parents home in Townsville. Bo pays a visit and they are thrown together again to do a survey project near an old property in the district owned by the pioneering Bigge family.
For Bo there is a strong ancestral pull of the country in this place; Annabelle uses her archaeological skills to gain a better understanding of what life would have been like for the Bigges on their abandoned property. She spends time in the old library, classic books turning back to the earth courtesy of the termites. The Bigges had been wealthy and had travelled overland for more than a year with all their possessions including a piano to mark out their place in this isolated location.
The presence of Steven lurks in the background like an annoying mosquito. Annabelle has barely left town when he is trying to track her down - it didn’t work out with the honours student (Steven is 50 and appears to be full of complex self-justification arguments). Meanwhile, the connection between Annabelle and Bo deepens and they start to sleep together.
In their travels they come across a number of people and families, black and white, and the nature of their growing relationship is understood at times before they seem to realise what is going on. Arner and Trace, Bo’s nephew and niece, join them although Trace fades out of the picture after becoming involved with Matthew Hearn, a young man on a station near the Bigge property, Ranna Station.
Arner is described as a large young man, perhaps morbidly obese, who says virtually nothing and is thought to be gifted in his understanding and importance to his people. This is difficult to gauge through his limited dialogue: the Pajero that Bo and Annabelle travel around in seems to have more of a personality. Arner is aloof, almost somnambulistic, spending as much time as possible in the truck cabin listening to an endless soundtrack of loud and angry hip-hop music. If he is the great hope of the next generation, here’s hoping he wakes up soon.
The entwinement of Annabelle and Bo extends to their families, and towards the end of the book there is a confrontation of sorts with an elder, Panya. Panya lives in a neglected and ramshackle house, enthroned on a broken sofa with a bucket full of excrement beside her. She spills forth a history of the families, of how Annabelle’s grandfather, Beck, was in a group of men that chased down people from her tribe, killing the men, women and children. She was a child at the time, saved by Bo’s grandmother by hiding in the skin of an old bull, looking out to see Beck kill her brother with his stirrup.
The landscape plays an integral role in the novel, and Bo’s understanding of it is frequently expressed not just in word but in gestures. The novel also covers the challenge of returning to place that you once knew well, but now don’t remember or understand at all.
I thought there was too much waffle and found the dialogue at times between Annabelle and Bo didn’t ring true. Paragraphs and paragraphs of dialogue. I get it already.
May 21, 2012
Unfortunately, after a really promising beginning, this book went downhill fast for me. I found it started to drag, and the slow moving descriptions of landscape that I'd so enjoyed in the first third of the book became somewhat repetitious.
And there there was the "x looked at y" issue. Miller uses this a lot. A LOT. Annabelle looked at Bo. Bo looked at Arner. Arner looked at Trace. And so on. Repeatedly. Two or three times a page on occasion. By the middle of the book I was heartily sick of reading this and I found myself looking out for the next instance instead of simply enjoying the story.
The last chapter, however, redeemed a lot for me. Based on the first third and the last chapter, I'd have given the book 4 stars. Based on the middle and the "x looked at y" issue, I'd have given it 2 stars. 3 stars is my compromise.
And there there was the "x looked at y" issue. Miller uses this a lot. A LOT. Annabelle looked at Bo. Bo looked at Arner. Arner looked at Trace. And so on. Repeatedly. Two or three times a page on occasion. By the middle of the book I was heartily sick of reading this and I found myself looking out for the next instance instead of simply enjoying the story.
The last chapter, however, redeemed a lot for me. Based on the first third and the last chapter, I'd have given the book 4 stars. Based on the middle and the "x looked at y" issue, I'd have given it 2 stars. 3 stars is my compromise.
February 26, 2023
Journey to the Stone Country: The Emperor’s New Clothes?
I found this novel extremely tedious to read: the pace is slow, the action minimal and the sheer amount of description and detail, which others have found beautiful, I found stultifying. Apart from descriptions of natural beauty, do we really need to know what was eaten at every makeshift meal and when characters ‘took a leak’? The climax, Aunty Panya’s rave, is hardly a surprise but here, at least, the description of the Indigenous massacre does touch a chord with the reader, who wakes up for just a moment. What did you make of that section? The all-important journey does not end satisfactorily as Bo and Annabelle do not reach the stone country, but at least there is some recognition of the rightness of white Annabelle not voyeuristically tagging along with Bo when he does eventually go there. There seems to be no resolution to the question of surveying artefacts and/or stopping the dam. I realize that this lack of resolution has been seen as a plus – a realistic way to treat the complex problem of reconciliation and restitution with obligatory characters representing different viewpoints ranging from spiritually based ‘connection to the land’ conservationism to more pragmatic commercial motivation. Why do you think there are so many loose ends?
My main concern with this novel, however, is the cringe-worthy sexism inherent in the depiction of women and the way they are depicted as being viewed by the men in the novel. ‘Viewed’ is a very appropriate word because in at least two ‘romances’ the males, Ian Rennie and Matthew Hearn respectively, cast what is known in feminist literature as ‘the male gaze’ on beautiful Grandma Rennie and Trace, respectively, objectifying them. Would these men have fallen in love at first sight if these women had not been beautiful? Why do they need to be so stunningly attractive? What kind of black velvet wish fulfilment is this? How do you react to these inter-racial love stories? Are they realistic? Are they a reflection of historical reality?
Worse is the depiction of Bo Rennie’s attraction to Annabelle. She is pre-ordained to be his ‘love’, but it is not her looks or her personality but her name he craves – to be tied to AnnabelleBeck, as he often calls her. We get no feeling that her own individual, educated, culturally white personality is of interest to completely self-absorbed Bo – he is symbolically tying himself to a ghost from the past, the red-haired daughter of the white landowner. Is this a wish for revenge, for power? Is it just romantic nostalgia or is it just more male wish fulfilment? Worse is the expectation that the reader will believe that a woman like Annabelle, who really has very little in common with Bo, could return his ‘love’. He chains smokes, sniffs, spits, eats nothing but red meat, doesn’t seem to wash and fails to use English correctly, preferring some hybrid Indigenous/white way of speaking. He is very uncouth and unappealing, yet we are expected to believe that cultured Annabelle, who is used to a comfortable urban life, will shed this to be with this ex-alcoholic on a broken down, isolated, deserted property that no-one has really ‘made a go’ of. Give us a break! Never mind that these thinly developed characters are based on real people. I wonder what they think. How do you react to Bo as a character and to his mystical attraction for Annabelle?
Also, to think about, the obvious question – can the novelist, Alex Miller, be accused of cultural appropriation? Is it right for a white man to try to speak for indigenous Australians? Does he have an authentic voice?
Some people believe that there are ethical problems with writing from an Indigenous viewpoint. For instance:
1. It is wrong for white Australians who have only known a life of relative privilege to write from the position of marginalised Indigenous Australians. How can they understand Indigenous experience and suffering?
2. White Australians do not understand the cultural nuances of Indigenous culture and experience; it is naive and racist to think an authentic Indigenous ‘voice’ can be so easily produced.
3. White writers should not assume that they can ‘speak for’ Indigenous Australians. This may contribute to a cultural silencing of Indigenous voices that, in a just society, must be allowed to speak for themselves.
Although the novel does not adopt an Aboriginal voice, to what extent can the Annabelle-focused perspective trigger some of the three criticisms mentioned above in relation to white Australians representing the Indigenous worldview? Miller certainly does attempt to vicariously enter Bo Rennie’s headspace and to express the values and attitudes of several other Indigenous characters. What do we make of Arner? Is he just hopelessly lost, cut adrift on the cusp of two cultures? What is there spiritual and knowing about a silent giant who watches cartoons and listens to loud music? Is he really the symbolic witness to history or is he just a negative stereotype of a whole generation of culturally conflicted half-breeds? Are other indigenous characters, including Aunty Panya and Dougald Gnapun negative stereotypes? Is the novel, in fact, racist?
One critic argues: The novel portrays the Aboriginal characters as uneducated, dirty, untrustworthy, and obsessed with revenge. Then, more specifically, ‘From the mystical Aborigine through the dusky maiden to the violent warrior, each Aboriginal character occupies a stereotypical position the roots of which reach deep into primitivism. There is then room for criticizing these insidious representations, which cannot break free from the parameters of a colonialist brand of discourse.’ What do you think?
I found this novel extremely tedious to read: the pace is slow, the action minimal and the sheer amount of description and detail, which others have found beautiful, I found stultifying. Apart from descriptions of natural beauty, do we really need to know what was eaten at every makeshift meal and when characters ‘took a leak’? The climax, Aunty Panya’s rave, is hardly a surprise but here, at least, the description of the Indigenous massacre does touch a chord with the reader, who wakes up for just a moment. What did you make of that section? The all-important journey does not end satisfactorily as Bo and Annabelle do not reach the stone country, but at least there is some recognition of the rightness of white Annabelle not voyeuristically tagging along with Bo when he does eventually go there. There seems to be no resolution to the question of surveying artefacts and/or stopping the dam. I realize that this lack of resolution has been seen as a plus – a realistic way to treat the complex problem of reconciliation and restitution with obligatory characters representing different viewpoints ranging from spiritually based ‘connection to the land’ conservationism to more pragmatic commercial motivation. Why do you think there are so many loose ends?
My main concern with this novel, however, is the cringe-worthy sexism inherent in the depiction of women and the way they are depicted as being viewed by the men in the novel. ‘Viewed’ is a very appropriate word because in at least two ‘romances’ the males, Ian Rennie and Matthew Hearn respectively, cast what is known in feminist literature as ‘the male gaze’ on beautiful Grandma Rennie and Trace, respectively, objectifying them. Would these men have fallen in love at first sight if these women had not been beautiful? Why do they need to be so stunningly attractive? What kind of black velvet wish fulfilment is this? How do you react to these inter-racial love stories? Are they realistic? Are they a reflection of historical reality?
Worse is the depiction of Bo Rennie’s attraction to Annabelle. She is pre-ordained to be his ‘love’, but it is not her looks or her personality but her name he craves – to be tied to AnnabelleBeck, as he often calls her. We get no feeling that her own individual, educated, culturally white personality is of interest to completely self-absorbed Bo – he is symbolically tying himself to a ghost from the past, the red-haired daughter of the white landowner. Is this a wish for revenge, for power? Is it just romantic nostalgia or is it just more male wish fulfilment? Worse is the expectation that the reader will believe that a woman like Annabelle, who really has very little in common with Bo, could return his ‘love’. He chains smokes, sniffs, spits, eats nothing but red meat, doesn’t seem to wash and fails to use English correctly, preferring some hybrid Indigenous/white way of speaking. He is very uncouth and unappealing, yet we are expected to believe that cultured Annabelle, who is used to a comfortable urban life, will shed this to be with this ex-alcoholic on a broken down, isolated, deserted property that no-one has really ‘made a go’ of. Give us a break! Never mind that these thinly developed characters are based on real people. I wonder what they think. How do you react to Bo as a character and to his mystical attraction for Annabelle?
Also, to think about, the obvious question – can the novelist, Alex Miller, be accused of cultural appropriation? Is it right for a white man to try to speak for indigenous Australians? Does he have an authentic voice?
Some people believe that there are ethical problems with writing from an Indigenous viewpoint. For instance:
1. It is wrong for white Australians who have only known a life of relative privilege to write from the position of marginalised Indigenous Australians. How can they understand Indigenous experience and suffering?
2. White Australians do not understand the cultural nuances of Indigenous culture and experience; it is naive and racist to think an authentic Indigenous ‘voice’ can be so easily produced.
3. White writers should not assume that they can ‘speak for’ Indigenous Australians. This may contribute to a cultural silencing of Indigenous voices that, in a just society, must be allowed to speak for themselves.
Although the novel does not adopt an Aboriginal voice, to what extent can the Annabelle-focused perspective trigger some of the three criticisms mentioned above in relation to white Australians representing the Indigenous worldview? Miller certainly does attempt to vicariously enter Bo Rennie’s headspace and to express the values and attitudes of several other Indigenous characters. What do we make of Arner? Is he just hopelessly lost, cut adrift on the cusp of two cultures? What is there spiritual and knowing about a silent giant who watches cartoons and listens to loud music? Is he really the symbolic witness to history or is he just a negative stereotype of a whole generation of culturally conflicted half-breeds? Are other indigenous characters, including Aunty Panya and Dougald Gnapun negative stereotypes? Is the novel, in fact, racist?
One critic argues: The novel portrays the Aboriginal characters as uneducated, dirty, untrustworthy, and obsessed with revenge. Then, more specifically, ‘From the mystical Aborigine through the dusky maiden to the violent warrior, each Aboriginal character occupies a stereotypical position the roots of which reach deep into primitivism. There is then room for criticizing these insidious representations, which cannot break free from the parameters of a colonialist brand of discourse.’ What do you think?
May 26, 2013
I think this would have been a much better story without the whole forced drama of the betrayed by her husband part. So many ridiculous parts to that reduced the story to borderline romance novel at times. I wanted to love the scenic descriptions more than I did. I feel like the author was probably doing a excellent job describing it but I could never form a good picture of it and had difficulty keeping directions straight. Still some of the information presented was interesting and thought provoking. Overall though it was pretty dull.
May 4, 2009
Hmmm. Beautiful descriptions of Queensland Australia. Raises all the
significant social, political and even spiritual questions of a land
taken from the original people in a thoughtful way but the "fated
romance" remains contrived. Too bad as it diminishes the otherwise
complex issues the author tries to explore through its characters and their family histories.
'
significant social, political and even spiritual questions of a land
taken from the original people in a thoughtful way but the "fated
romance" remains contrived. Too bad as it diminishes the otherwise
complex issues the author tries to explore through its characters and their family histories.
'
Read
October 3, 2016Alex Miller has tried to explore the meaning of country and land in Australia. Time and belonging to land while precious to both the Aboriginal characters and the white Australians also separate them. An important issues which unfortunately does not ever develop beyond cliches. The connection between the two main characters is never believable.
May 9, 2016
What a powerful book! Deep themes of racism, atrocities, the passage of time on an isolated place.
Northern Australia is so vividly painted and the characters strongly portrayed. A book to be ruminated over for a long time.
Northern Australia is so vividly painted and the characters strongly portrayed. A book to be ruminated over for a long time.
January 2, 2022
Interesting story though I'm sometimes stumped by the characters and what they say at times. In the end though it's really the theme of Aboriginal culture and their sites and their importance/relevance in this modern times versus the moving on with the times which is the clincher for this book.
July 24, 2010
i loved "lovesong" so much and havent quite worked out why this isnt appealling as much to me.... will battle on though as it came highly recommended!
January 25, 2015
The struggle to to read this book was extensive, the author was clearly focusing on the journey rather than the destination. I feel like it was just one big fat metaphor for our earthly existence.
January 1, 2015
Enjoyed this book with its slow pace, good writing and interesting characters. Got a bit annoyed with the repetitive fawning/describing the mysterious Arner but that's a minor issue.
March 7, 2016
Very satisfying read
September 21, 2020
Loved this book
April 20, 2021
Brilliant evocation of place, exquisite landscape writing. Profound portrayal of the crack at the heart of Australian society.
June 23, 2021
I loved this book, it was beautifully written, amazing characters.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 126 reviews