Australia's much loved author David Malouf presents a dazzling and illuminating personal essay on the power of imagination—and its effects on the life of a writer—in this first installment of a collectible new series. Beautifully packaged as a pocket-sized keepsake, this treasurable approach salvages a popular writer's inner philosophy from the disposability of journals and magazine columns for the sake of his fans and lovers of esoteric literature the world over.
David Malouf is a celebrated Australian poet, novelist, librettist, playwright, and essayist whose work has garnered international acclaim. Known for his lyrical prose and explorations of identity, memory, and place, Malouf began his literary career in poetry before gaining recognition for his fiction. His 1990 novel The Great World won the Miles Franklin Award and several other major prizes, while Remembering Babylon (1993) earned a Booker Prize nomination and multiple international honors. Malouf has taught at universities in Australia and the UK, delivered the prestigious Boyer Lectures, and written libretti for acclaimed operas. Born in Brisbane to a Lebanese father and a mother of Sephardi Jewish heritage, he draws on both Australian and European influences in his work. He is widely regarded as one of Australia's most important literary voices and has been recognized with numerous awards, including the Neustadt International Prize for Literature and the Australia Council Award for Lifetime Achievement in Literature.
Malouf's little book inaugurates Melbourne University Press's series 'Small Books on Big Ideas'. True to the name of the series, it has only 80 odd pages and is pocket sized. It can easily be read in one sitting of 3-4 hours.
The book is divided into two sections i.e. 'What is it, and how do we come by it?' and 'Experience and History'. As the section-titles would make it clear, the first part of 41 pages is an exposition of what experience might be. Malouf is particularly interested in what happens when one reads a book or watches a film. He argues, drawing from Henry James's thinking about reading-experience in 'Art of Fiction', that experiences such as reading a book or watching a performance are special as they allow us to possess a state of dual consciousness- even as one is immersed in what one is reading or watching, one is also aware that it is one who is doing the reading or watching.
The second section of the book, clearly the weaker of the two in terms of structure as well as content, begins with a very interesting question though. Malouf wonders, by evoking Primo Levi's conception of the Grey Zone ("that large area, 'normality', where men are neither good nor evil but open, according to circumstances or their own individual spirit, to both"), as to whether some among us, while thinking about the most violent incidents in the past, have ever felt that we could have been the perpetrators therein and not, necessarily, the victims. Yet, instead of following up on this very interesting thought that I think strikes at the heart of debates around questions of guilt, morality, and forgiveness, Malouf 'digresses' to briefly discuss the writings of, among others, Solzhenitsyn, Akhmatova, and Pasternak. The critical exegesis championing these writers who thankfully did not give in to majoritarian thinking and practices does indeed make for good reading but, slowly, the reader of 'On Experience' begins to ask as to where Malouf is taking him/her. Sadly, the book is too small for Malouf to be able to properly round off the point that he had begun with. Consequently, the sense that the reader of Malouf's book has at its conclusion is of "could have been such a great thing" and the truth of the following lines from Eliot's "The Hollow Men" suddenly dawns on him/her: This is the way the world ends/Not with a bang but a whimper.
Unfortunately, pretty unspectacular. Malouf relies on name dropping well known historical and literary figures (Shakespeare, Dickens, James, Levi) to meander through an 'essay' on experience that is so broad that it's the literary equivalent of getting stuck in conversation at a Christmas BBQ with your maudlin, Jim Beam-drunk uncle.
"A child learns early how to pick up the facts he needs to make sense of the world and make a 'story' of it—his story."
Interesting; good for what it is. You can sit down to enjoy this extended essay in one or two sittings easily. A pleasant digression on imagination and the theatre of the self.
David Malouf is one of our best-loved authors, and this pocket-sized book (part of the Melbourne University Press series, Little Books on Big Themes) is a treasure. In a mere 86 pages, the author has shared so many insights, and in such exquisite language, it almost feels like a transgression to try to discuss it. On Experience is really an extended essay and takes such a short time to read, that anyone reading this post would be far better off to stop now and read Malouf’s book instead. I hope that if you do keep reading, it tempts you to source the book and read it for yourself…
In Part 1, Malouf suggests that experience is more than those events that happen to us, but are also ‘glimpses of reality’ that come to us through intuition, insight and imagination. The texts we read and the films we see help to build up ‘experience’ so that how we understand our world becomes not just our own direct experiences, but also experiences divined and made into our own knowledge by some ‘secret machinery’. Quoting Henry James, Malouf tells us that writers have a special skill in sharing real and imagined experiences so that they become ours as well, because writers are acutely observant: they eavesdrop, and they have an ‘immense sensibility’. Good film-makers do this too.