In writing this weekly blog, I tend to steer clear of commenting on matters that are current fare for the media, especially politics. I would prefer what I write to have a more timeless quality, rather than be tied to the ups and downs of what is happening in the world. However, I find I am prompted to explore deeper issues by my reactions to some current events. One such has grabbed my attention and got my goat.
Her Father’s Daughter
Alice Pung
Black Inc Publishing 2011
ISBN: 9781863955423
$29.95
238 pp
Having just finished reading this book, I feel that I have been allowed to be an intruder in a family home. It is an autobiography written as a third person account, but it is very personal and revealing of the characters in the stories.
I took the dogs out for a walk shortly after sunset and was awed by the beauty of two bright planets in the western sky: Venus close to setting and Jupiter some thirty degrees higher up. The horizon was suffused with bands of deep orange and a strange green.
It started with an innocent nail clipper. At least I thought it was innocent, but I was not allowed to take it on the flight to Perth. As it was sternly removed from my carry-on luggage, I imagined that someone bent on violence could have wrestled it from my grasp as I trimmed my toenails in seat 23D. She could then have used it to pull out the fingernails of one of the cabin staff for serving cold coffee and stale scones.
Sometimes I read what I posted some time ago and it seems rather negative in hind-sight. This set me thinking about the difference between listing all that is wrong with the world and imagining what we can do to solve existing problems.
Writing is a secret pleasure indulged in by dreamers and visionaries, as well as those who have a burning desire to proclaim their insights and wisdom to the world. Reading is also a private pleasure, with the individual questing, searching, drinking in whatever nourishment and flavour the words may offer up.