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tildahlia's review against another edition
4.0
I’m always sceptical when someone in their 30s does a memoir and I was bracing for the #straya cringe but this book is a well-written, thoughtful exploration of intergenerational trauma, class and the Australia’s illusion of tolerance and meritocracy. Morton is candid - the bits about him coming to terms with his sexuality as well as his mental health struggles were particularly powerful. It’s a book middle class lefties would do well to read.
evabails's review
3.0
This was not what I expected at all but I really enjoyed it. Has been on my TBR for years, am glad to finally read it.
essjay1's review
5.0
In telling his own story Morton has shown how resilient you have to be to survive poverty and mental illness in this so called “lucky country”. Some of the incidents detailed are shocking yet having dealt with our medical system I find them all too easy to believe. And perhaps he helps to broach that city/country divide. Many will read this and wonder why on earth any sane person would live out there. His description of the big skies and red earth, almost a cliche, but when you have grown up there, it is yours. Hard to explain the sense of place, of belonging, but Morton does a good job of it.
kcfromaustcrime's review
5.0
Less a review and more a gut reaction - I just loved ONE HUNDRED YEARS OF DIRT which was a f2f bookclub book, otherwise it could have sadly become one of those ones on the "so many books, so little time list". I realise that sounds ridiculous that you could love a book that describes a background like Morton's. This is the story of the family of Rick Morton's father and the violence, treachery, and cruelty that ran through generations of them. But it's also the story of a mother with the guts to leave, and a son who is as close to that mother as he could be, without it being cloying, or unrealistic.
It's a sharp, self-aware, often hilarious and always thought provoking analysis of poverty, homophobia, mental health, inter-generational damage and privilege.
"My father was five when his own dad threw him into a wall and ruptured his spleen. He was sent, alone and afraid, to Adelaide, 1100 kilometres away, where he had emergency surgery.”
Imagine taking a different path from a background like that. When you change it with a mother who guides, but doesn't flinch, with a sense of humour that was obviously inherited by her children, all power to you. The difference between the author here and his older brother is more than enough to show what can happen depending upon exposure, reaction and chance.
Now I really have to read his next book MY YEAR OF LIVING VULNERABLY (published in 2021).
It's a sharp, self-aware, often hilarious and always thought provoking analysis of poverty, homophobia, mental health, inter-generational damage and privilege.
"My father was five when his own dad threw him into a wall and ruptured his spleen. He was sent, alone and afraid, to Adelaide, 1100 kilometres away, where he had emergency surgery.”
Imagine taking a different path from a background like that. When you change it with a mother who guides, but doesn't flinch, with a sense of humour that was obviously inherited by her children, all power to you. The difference between the author here and his older brother is more than enough to show what can happen depending upon exposure, reaction and chance.
Now I really have to read his next book MY YEAR OF LIVING VULNERABLY (published in 2021).
krasf's review against another edition
5.0
"As a nation, we have convinced ourselves that all of us has the same standing start, but this is neither true for the working-class whites from broken families nor for those with black or brown skin."
Morton covers so much that it's tough to know where to start. At times I felt like a voyeur peering in at a family that was broken generations ago, and was still struggling with a small semblance of recovery a century later.
There's no denying that this is a harrowing book about Morton's life and that of his forebears. But he doesn't approach it from a "woe is us" perspective. I read it as more of an explanation of what life is like for millions of Australians who live on the breadline, and for whom a $7 increase in outgoing can be the difference between staying afloat and going under.
But it's not just financial stress that he touches on. Morton delves into serious mental health and relationship issues, feeling like a total outsider in a family, a country town, in cities, and in the gay community.
He pinpoints the journalistic profession for taking recruits from middle and privileged classes, which affects the stories that are given prominence and the perspectives they are written from. Having been a middle-classer myself, albiet going into journalism with the chip of 'growing up on a farm' on my shoulder, I never saw it that way. And it pains me to say that, because I am stupid for not seeing it like that.
I felt that I was less visible because I came from Sydney's western suburbs, from a family where neither of my parents finished high school. But we were never on the precipice of going under financially. I was "lucky" enough to do an unpaid internship at Holt Street, fresh out of uni. Where I also noticed the distinct majority of North Shore, Manly, and inner-west dwellers. It shouldn't have bothered me as much as it did. I felt like a kid in an adult's world, where everyone had tonnes more life experience than I had.
TLDR: If you're Australian (and even if you're not) you should read this book.
Morton covers so much that it's tough to know where to start. At times I felt like a voyeur peering in at a family that was broken generations ago, and was still struggling with a small semblance of recovery a century later.
There's no denying that this is a harrowing book about Morton's life and that of his forebears. But he doesn't approach it from a "woe is us" perspective. I read it as more of an explanation of what life is like for millions of Australians who live on the breadline, and for whom a $7 increase in outgoing can be the difference between staying afloat and going under.
But it's not just financial stress that he touches on. Morton delves into serious mental health and relationship issues, feeling like a total outsider in a family, a country town, in cities, and in the gay community.
He pinpoints the journalistic profession for taking recruits from middle and privileged classes, which affects the stories that are given prominence and the perspectives they are written from. Having been a middle-classer myself, albiet going into journalism with the chip of 'growing up on a farm' on my shoulder, I never saw it that way. And it pains me to say that, because I am stupid for not seeing it like that.
I felt that I was less visible because I came from Sydney's western suburbs, from a family where neither of my parents finished high school. But we were never on the precipice of going under financially. I was "lucky" enough to do an unpaid internship at Holt Street, fresh out of uni. Where I also noticed the distinct majority of North Shore, Manly, and inner-west dwellers. It shouldn't have bothered me as much as it did. I felt like a kid in an adult's world, where everyone had tonnes more life experience than I had.
TLDR: If you're Australian (and even if you're not) you should read this book.
nina_reads_books's review
4.0
I first came across Rick Morton when he was writing for Mamamia many years ago. I found his writing hilarious and insightful and I have more recently also enjoyed the work he has done for the newspaper The Australian. So I was pretty happy to get hold of a copy of his first book, a memoir called One Hundred Years of Dirt.
Morton comes from several generations of harsh farming families where violence and trauma were a common thread. His early life was marked by poverty and for much of his childhood he was raised by his mother as a single parent on the poverty line. He is also gay and these dual perspectives of growing up in a low socio-economic environment and identifying as gay has provided him with a really unique perspective and voice.
This memoir is not a “tell all” of his life but rather it is structured as a series of essays which touch on different aspects of his life and how his upbringing has affected him as an adult. He also uses research and lots of facts and information to round out the essays with commentary on how the voices of people on low incomes is so often ignored in mainstream Australia.
This was an insightful piece of non-fiction with themes of generational trauma, poverty, class and privilege. The stories Morton tells from his childhood are raw and heartbreaking but there is also moments of humour. In some parts I wished he had written more about himself and his past. Towards the end the balance tipped more into the research and facts side of his writing and the final chapter in particular felt a little dry and harder to get into.
Overall though I really enjoyed finding out more about what makes Rick Morton tick and his writing style is definitely one I enjoy reading.
Morton comes from several generations of harsh farming families where violence and trauma were a common thread. His early life was marked by poverty and for much of his childhood he was raised by his mother as a single parent on the poverty line. He is also gay and these dual perspectives of growing up in a low socio-economic environment and identifying as gay has provided him with a really unique perspective and voice.
This memoir is not a “tell all” of his life but rather it is structured as a series of essays which touch on different aspects of his life and how his upbringing has affected him as an adult. He also uses research and lots of facts and information to round out the essays with commentary on how the voices of people on low incomes is so often ignored in mainstream Australia.
This was an insightful piece of non-fiction with themes of generational trauma, poverty, class and privilege. The stories Morton tells from his childhood are raw and heartbreaking but there is also moments of humour. In some parts I wished he had written more about himself and his past. Towards the end the balance tipped more into the research and facts side of his writing and the final chapter in particular felt a little dry and harder to get into.
Overall though I really enjoyed finding out more about what makes Rick Morton tick and his writing style is definitely one I enjoy reading.